‘Why’ I’m childless

When I first started my Substack, I think a lot of people expected me to talk more, or at least explain further, my decision not to become a mother. I think I probably did too. At least a handful of people have asked for a follow-up to my Vogue article - and that was over four years ago now. It seems people want a reason.

There was no light bulb moment, there was no big sit-down where we ruled it out, it wasn’t as a result of a terrible experience or because we were told we couldn’t. In fact, we got married with ‘a plan’ to have two: baby number 1 in Year 2 of living in New York, and baby number 2 in Year 5. We’d get them both American passports and we’d move back home to the UK. Well, that plan got ripped up.

Year 2 came around and we felt like we weren’t ready. We agreed to revisit the conversation the following year. Year 3, Year 4.. we just never felt like it was the moment. I can’t tell you exactly when and how, but the narrative shifted from delaying the process to not starting it. I guess, somewhere, it cemented the more we started voicing it.

Naturally, people ask why. We’ve asked ourselves why? I’ve been striving to figure out why ever since. In the search for reasoning, we attached ourselves to things that resonated - the environment felt relatable. Exactly as my Vogue piece says, “I am part of a generation that bittersweetly saw Sir David Attenborough flaunt the beauty of this planet, before the likes of Greta Thunberg revealed its ugliness”. But as we sat with the decision and got more confident in owning it, it’s become clear that above all, I think it’s simply that we’re happy with our life as it is. Why does it need to change?

Well, because society and history and biology and norms would tell you that it has to. What I have enjoyed in becoming somewhat of a ‘spokeswoman’ for being childless is the role of confession-booth I’ve assumed for mothers and non-mothers alike. In a world where it’s becoming increasingly difficult to fall pregnant and people are stretching science beyond capabilities ever achieved before, mothers are scared to talk about the bad days, or admit that it might not be what they thought it would be. In contrast, in a world that continues to project the ‘norm’ as a heterosexual family of four, people feel inadequate if they choose not to adopt this path. I have loved and sympathised hearing all the stories; they vary hugely. They are all special. They are all real.

In the same way that people are advocating and normalising the struggles to fall pregnant (which, for the record, I wholeheartedly support), I want to standardise a childfree option. I recently heard someone say that their lives and social life were so surrounded by children that their decision to have them was so they’d ’fit in’, when in reality, they might prefer a child-free life. No one should feel pressurised into having children.

And so, if you are one of these people, or one of the people on the fence, here are some things I’ve learnt along the way:

People will always ask ‘when’ you’re having children, or ‘how many’ children you have. ‘I’m not’ or ‘I don’t’ is a full sentence. You don’t have to justify it. The response will be ‘oh, not yet’. Ignore it.

Being child-free allows you to have the best of time with your friends - contrary to what you might think. Every parent wants a break - to be themselves, to let their hair down, to do whatever the hell they want. Be the person they do that with.

Being childfree does not mean you dislike children. Speaking as someone with five godchildren and eight nieces and nephews, I hope to make the greatest impact on their lives to the best of my capabilities. Without children of my own, they are the people I want to spoil.

Your friendships will be so diverse. You aren’t contained to the playgrounds or the school gates or the sports fields. Speak and learn from people from all walks of life and invest in those relationships that feed you. Our friends range from 25-65 and we see them all regularly.

You get to pick the best bits. One of my favourite things to do is take my niece to school when I’m in London. Is part of me striving to understand a little feeling of motherhood? Sure, but that’s ok. I love to buy my goddaughter a new outfit ahead of each summer. I can’t wait to play tennis with my godson. You can indulge your relationships with the little people in your life. And, because you’re probably able to give more (time, commitment, support, love), you’ll enjoy doing it all the more.

Don’t feel bad about indulging. You love to travel, you don’t want your body to change, you enjoy time to yourself, you want a marriage focused on your other half, you don’t want your life to change, you enjoy having more disposable income. These are all valid reasons - share them, or don’t, but don’t stop yourself from satiating these things. (To be clear, I’m not saying you don’t have these things if you’re a mother, I’m just sharing potentially intrusive thoughts).

And, full disclosure: it’s possible to feel maternal and womanly but not want children. I wonder every day what it might feel like to be pregnant. I regularly mourn that I will never share that big announcement. I’m sad I won’t be able to appoint godparents. I will never know the love of being a (human) mother. I want someone to love me unconditionally. But I can want all those things but also be ok with my decision not to want children.

Perhaps, actually, there doesn’t need to be a WHY.