I am 41 and have chosen not to have children. In my experience, people are curious about creatures like me, so here are my answers to some frequently asked questions. (And fellow non-parents, I’d love to know which questions you get!).

What term should I use for women without children?

I am not fussed about terminology, personally. I usually refer to myself as “childless” (or a “barren old crone” when mercury is in retrograde), but I recognize that some people without kids prefer to be called childfree and would suggest that as your default.

Did you ever want kids?

I have been ambivalent about having kids since I was a teenager. It never felt like my calling or particularly interesting to me, but I still thought I might have kids one day. I have always worked with children and adolescents and I respect the lives and minds of young people. Through my twenties and thirties, I didn’t feel inclined to have a child, but I left open the slim possibility of acquiring a kid through accidental pregnancy (despite my militant birth control use) or a friend dying and leaving me their child (cheerful…). However, neither of those things happened, and I now recognize those fantastical caveats as a way for me to avoid committing to a firm no.

Do you like kids?

Childless women often feel like they have to emphasize how much they just love kids so as not to appear monstrous. I have no such compunction and can honestly say that I like some kids some of the time, but I do tire of kids easily and can find them annoying. I do really enjoy babies, though. For dinner! (No, jk, I love babies). I also find kids are particularly interesting and funny from about age 8 to 11, then they get annoying in a new way for a few years. I teach young adults and have found that late adolescence is my wheelhouse. With all of that said, I do have a deep respect for kids and gravitate to supporting initiatives and charities that support the well-being of little ones. They. Are. The. Future.

Do you judge parents?

Yes. But I judge non-parents too. I love judging!

In all seriousness, I understand that parenting is very challenging and most parents are doing their best. Let your kids watch four hours of TV on Saturday, who cares. Let them eat processed nuggets! (Although, obviously some parents truly deserve to be judged.).

While we’re on the topic, I genuinely don’t understand why parents who leash their children get a bad rap—seems practical to me, and it also makes me laugh.

Have you ever tried to get pregnant?

The subtext of this question is often, “did you deal with infertility?” or “would you have had an abortion if you became pregnant?” No to both. I’ve never tried to become pregnant and have never been pregnant (as far as I know.). It’s impossible to say what I would have done if I’d had an unplanned pregnancy, but I am firmly pro-choice.

How do your family/friends feel about your childlessness?

Fine, as far as I know. My best friends are very supportive, although most of them are parents/aspiring parents. My mother and mother-in-law don’t seem bothered about our not having children (and if they are, they’ve thankfully kept it to themselves). We both have brothers whose wives had babies, which is the perfect scenario for us—our mothers get to live that grandma life, and we get to be auntie and uncle.

How does your partner feel about not having kids?

My now-husband and I started dating when we were 30 (i.e., with plenty of time to pop out a baby or two). On our first date, I told him that I didn’t want kids and he was unfazed. My partner’s take was that he didn’t particularly think about having kids and felt he could go either way, believing that we would make the best of either decision.

Initially, he planned to have a vasectomy at 35 if we hadn’t decided to have children by then, but when 35 rolled around, I was in the throes of a baby question crisis, so we waited. We have an egalitarian relationship and I know he would have been a great dad and co-parent, even if/when that dynamic was tested. It is relevant to add here that he has significant climate concerns and had some ethical questions related to that piece. Had I decided “yes” to kids, we may have explored parenting via adoption, but we didn’t get there (not that there aren’t ethical questions with adoption as well). In any case, we didn’t need to cross that bridge, but it would have been something to confront/explore if we had.

Wait, did you just say you had a baby question crisis?

Oh, yes. I was consumed by the question a couple of times during my thirties. I firmly believe that I’ve thought about not having children more than many parents thought about having children.

I had a couple of serious boyfriends in my 20s, but neither marriage nor children were on my mind. In my mid-30s I decided I needed to be intentional about my decision, as “just seeing what happens” was not an acceptable way for me, personally, to determine a life decision of this magnitude.

My partner and I are privileged (employed, benefits, social support network, financially comfortable, relatively healthy, etc.) and had the luxury of finances/work not needing to be the drivers of my decision, even though I knew our finances and working lives would be impacted.

After a great deal of reading (e.g., The Baby Decision), personal reflection, therapy, visioning activities, and discussions with my partner and close friends, I firmed up my “no.” But it wasn’t an easy journey because pronatalism is a hell of a drug.

How did you finally decide not to have kids?

It came down to two things for me:

First, I realized that, for me, if it’s not a 100% yes (or, honestly, even 80%), then it’s a no. I appreciate that many people have felt much less sure than that, taken the leap, and parenting turned out to be the greatest decision of their lives. But that just isn’t how I operate. I was very firmly a fencesitter who jumped off on the “no” side because it wasn’t an enthusiastic or even cautiously optimistic “yes.”

Second, I accepted that there are rarely regret-free options when making a difficult decision. I have made space for the likelihood that I will sometimes regret not having children, especially as my peers’ children grow up, gain some independence, and become their own people in the world.

Instead of ignoring the regret, this acceptance has prompted me to think about what it is that I might regret. Being lonely? Not having a ready-made Christmas dinner guest list? Not being looked after when I’m old? Not having a meaningful relationship with someone from the next generation? No one to take trick-or-treating? Concerns about legacy? Questions about the meaning of my life? These are all things I can work on now in ways that don’t involve having children of my own, and I have been doing just that.

There are times, like when a juicy-cheeked little nugget wraps their arms around their mama’s neck and it’s so sweet and powerful, that I can almost imagine having a baby. Then, yep, I might regret that I will never know that feeling. And it’s okay to mourn that. Like Cheryl Strayed said:

I’ll never know and neither will you of the life you don’t choose. We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us. There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore.

I imagine I will salute that ship more than once over the years. I can live with that.

Don’t you worry that you’re missing out on a unique, magical, transcendent love that’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced?

Not really. It sounds nice, but it’s very hard to imagine something I’ve never experienced, so I don’t really worry about missing out (unless I’m ovulating, then I want triplets.).

Don’t you worry that you’re missing out on an essential part of being human?

Yes, sometimes. But not enough to have a child about it.

What do childless people do all day?

The usual stuff. Go to work, tend to our plants, read books, watch TV, make dinner, do laundry, travel, hang out with our loved ones, go camping, volunteer.

I used to feel pressure to accomplish something extraordinary in my childlessness, like I had to earn my existence since I wasn’t contributing to the world by procreating.

And while I don’t feel that way anymore, it’s true that not having children can allow you space and time to devote yourself to something meaningful, like going back to school or caring for a dying friend. I am seeing extraordinary in new ways.

I aspire to leave my little corner of the world better than I left it, and I think that’s enough.

Aren’t you basically selfish for not having kids?

This is a boring accusation that’s lobbied at non-parents by people who need to get a life. Parenthood is not inherently selfless just as non-parenthood is not inherently selfish.

Do I have more free time, more disposable income, and a more flexible life than many parents? Yes, probably. But I’m not just Scrooge McDucking in my money piles and following geese around. I volunteer, donate monthly to several charities, and use my flexibility to show up for loved ones or the community when help is needed.

Am I more selfish than you? Maybe. But it’s not because I don’t have kids. It’s because my parents raised me wrong!

Don’t you worry about not having family as you age?

For me, children are not the only way to make a family. My husband, dog, and I are a family. I have a mother, grandmother, siblings, and in-laws. I have dear friends and their children in my life. I am not worried about a dearth of family, now or as I age. Whether or not I had kids, I would be planning for financial security and care as I age, so nothing changes there.

Do you think of your dog as your baby?

Interestingly, I find that others call him my furbaby or refer to me as his mother, but I don’t view our relationship that way. While I appreciate the generous sentiment, I don’t think of myself as a parent to my dog. He’s my beloved little fella, and he’s certainly wildly spoiled, but he’s our pet.

That said, I sometimes imagine dressing him up in a little outfit to sneak him onto a flight, and then saying, “how dare you, that’s my son!” when I am questioned by airport security. Is that bad?

Any chance you’ll have a late, last-minute baby in your forties?

I had a hysterectomy at age 40 for non-pregnancy-related medical reasons, so nope.

One year out from your hysterectomy, how do you feel about having children?

Over time, I’ve become increasingly peaceful about my decision, and I don’t think about it very often. Not having kids is not a central part of my identity, even though it took up a lot of space in my head for a few years.

I am lucky to have a partner, family, and friends who are loving and supportive, and, happily, I care very little about the opinions of people I don’t know. I don’t feel wounded by clumsy comments from taxi drivers or dental hygienists who are just trying to make conversation. Although, I fully recognize that this may be more difficult to bear if you’re dealing with infertility, pregnancy loss, or a less supportive social/family circle.

Despite myriad articles that try to convince people with and without children alike that their respective paths will be miserable, research tends to show that these groups score relatively similarly on various metrics of well-being over a lifetime, and that other identity factors are likely more impactful.

If parents choose to be parents, and nonparents choose to be nonparents, there is no reason to expect that one group will be better or worse off than the other once other circumstances are controlled (Deaton & Stone, 2013).

The point is, you can have a full, happy, healthy life as a parent or a non-parent. We all derive meaning from different sources and in different ways. We all prioritize different kinds of social roles and labour. We define family in different ways. We value different life experiences. We contribute different things to the world. We have different strengths, skills, and weaknesses. It’s all good.

If you’re reading this post because you’re grappling with the baby question, I wish you peace of mind and peace of heart ❤

Image: Lady No-Kids by Will McPhail