I’m 44 years old and I’ve known since I was 30 that motherhood wasn’t in my plans. This was not a choice my adult circumstances made for I – it was a choice I made for myself. And I’m hardly alone: A new study from Pew Research Center shows that a growing number of Americans are choosing not to become parents. And the main reason that people under 50 gave for this choice? They just don’t want to.
I have long believed that being a father is, without a doubt, the most important and impactful role a person can take on. But I grew up in an unstable and financially insecure home, and as I got older, I realized that choosing not to be a mother would be the wisest and kindest choice I could make for myself.
I remember the first time I “came out” to my mother, revealing that I didn’t plan on having children. I wasn’t married yet, but I had been with my partner for several years. He and I talked a lot about whether fatherhood was something we wanted, and each discussion made it clearer that it wasn’t the right choice for us. My future husband and I were all for being aunt and uncle, but not mom and dad.
But although we were confident in our choice, the people around us were not convinced. Even in my own family, my decision to remain childless was seen as problematic and often questioned.
“He might just be saying that he doesn’t want children,” my mother said. I was driving at the time and remember trying to stay focused on the road as irritation bubbled in my stomach.
“Then I guess we’ll have to disagree,” I remember replying. “Because I choose to believe he’s not lying to me.”
“But he might just be telling you what you want to hear,” she said, doubling her voice. I never brought it up with her again. For what it’s worth, my husband and I are still on the same page 11 years later, without even a hint of a change of heart.
And my dad? He went on a diatribe about how he wanted grandchildren. I reminded him that he is free to have more children if that is truly the life he wants. He never brought it up again, which I consider a victory.
But the resistance did not end with the family. Despite our growing presence in this world, I know firsthand how society views women who don’t have children. Lead to criticism against Vice President Kamala Harris for not having biological children, for example. My family consists of me, my wife and our two cats. We are certified cat people, but we own it. However, because we don’t have children, it sometimes feels like our needs aren’t seen as important or valid. People think of us as mere DINKS – that is, “double income, no kids” – who go on fancy, expensive vacations and spend all our free time at the beach. This idea of what it’s like to choose a kid-free lifestyle couldn’t be further from the truth, at least for us.
I started my career in education as a high school teacher. Much of my life’s work has been dedicated to children. I have seen firsthand how devastating a lack of supportive policies can be for families. I taught in a Title I District, which is a code for schools that serve large populations of students with financial need. I have witnessed children arriving at school sick, hungry, or in dire need of mental health services that were not available. I have long believed that society has a responsibility to take care of its families.
I currently work at a university, where I teach in a preparation program for future teachers. We often talk about child- and family-centered classrooms and what it’s like to be a teacher with a humanizing approach. I inspire them that the students who will one day occupy their classrooms are other people’s children and that the privilege of teaching carries an extraordinary responsibility for them and their families. I may not have children of my own, but I care deeply about educating young people. I’m also the author of middle grade novels that feature young characters who overcome some of the real-life struggles I’ve seen.
Before I started teaching, I briefly worked for a software company. Shortly after I started, a colleague welcomed his first child. I was surprised to learn that our company did not have a parental leave policy and that instead he had to use vacation time – just 5 days – to adjust to his new life with a newborn.
“That’s it this?” I refused. He laughed in response, more at my naivety than the absurdity of the situation.
As a person without children, I will never demand parental leave, but I consider myself an ally of those who want to see more employer support for families. I still don’t understand why this is so controversial.
But despite my support for families, I have often felt that my voice is not welcome.
I found it difficult to form close friendships with parents of young children — they already have parenting groups, and sometimes there doesn’t seem to be room for women and childless couples. It’s sad to me that they will never know that I want the same things they do: widespread social support for families. And they won’t know how much our interests might intersect because it feels like our potential for connection is diminished the minute it becomes clear that I’m not a mother.
As a childless woman, I’ve also learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut during conversations about parenting. In my experience, most people are unwilling to accept that a childless person can have an informed perspective on parenting and children, no matter how aligned our careers and education may be with issues that are relevant to families. Any social media feed about a post about parenthood reveals the underbelly of exactly how society views childless women and their perspectives.
In just a few months, it is possible that we will have not only our first female president, but also our first president without biological children since George Washington. I hope that one day society can find a way to overcome its stereotypes of childless women and recognize our potential as allies. Because although my family will never expand beyond my wife and our cats, I will always be passionately pro-family.
This article was originally published in TODAY.com
