I had a meltdown last weekend, maybe. It didn’t entirely make sense, because it’s not like I just realized that people have children, or that people think it’s weird and maybe a little dangerous when others (specifically women) don’t want children. But I was suddenly, once again, seized with confusion and sadness and anger about why it feels like I’m the only one who has no desire whatsoever to get with the program. So I search among my conspirators for folks who felt like I did, hoping there would be at least one who wanted to talk about this on the internet.

I did, and here’s what we came up with.

(Melissa is a feminist writer and blogger in her mid-20s living in Brooklyn, and writes at Alarms Will Ring. Her new fashion blog, New Yorkeur, will be launching later this month.)

Chanel: How do you feel when people ask you when you’re going to have kids?

Melissa: Nutshell, really annoyed. Probably more than when people ask whether I plan to get married. There are a lot of reasons why it annoys me. I guess mainly, people tend to have this combination of complacence and reverence for parenthood and having kids—on one hand, it makes you an adult or a better person (indicating you should be mature/prepared/a certain kind of person); on the other hand, it’s just kind of what people are supposed to do, so you should just get over it and do it (indicating that any old person can, and should, do it). I’m going to go ahead and admit that I had a terrible childhood, and it terrifies me to even think about being a parent after witnessing the poor parenting I had to get by with. Beyond my own personal life plans that make parenthood difficult, I am certain that I would not provide any child with the kind of love and resources they need to be happy and well-adjusted. In my opinion, it’s much better to be upfront about that and decide consciously not to bring someone into my life who I couldn’t take care of than to assume that once this child appears I’ll somehow muster the energy to care for them. But it’s insane how often people disagree with this mode of thinking! I almost always hear from people that I’ll ‘change [my] mind,’ which is really insulting, and falls into this whole pattern of distrusting women’s reproductive choices. It’s not anyone’s business whether or not I change my mind, and to be honest, I’ve tested myself numerous times out of a sense of self-doubt to see if having kids sounds appealing even as a thought experiment.

Unsurprisingly, it still sounds like the scariest thing on Earth.

It’s ironic because I’ll be turning 25 in a few months, which was the age my mother was when she had me (after weathering several miscarriages). We talk about it sometimes, about the wildly different circumstances I’m in relative to her at this age. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting ‘too old’ for certain things, but I think not having kids gives me so much more leeway in terms of taking my time with major life decisions. I couldn’t imagine being responsible for a child at my age, but that’s where my mom was—and where a lot of women find themselves. For those who want kids, they must certainly have to grow up and take on a lot of responsibilities that are hard to fathom if you don’t have kids, and I in no way disparage mothers of any age. But what’s hard to take from people is the implicit assumption that all of the things I’ve learned and done don’t matter as much because I never plan to be a mother. I think that’s one thing that underlies a lot of the thinking that parenthood helps you grow up. The worst part of all that is it’s a catch-22 either way. A lot of Americans love talking about the importance of families and mothers, but there’s extremely little in our policies that show we actually care about parents, particularly mothers. Cuts to the social safety net, our non-existent maternity leave policies, the rampant discrimination against mothers and pregnant women in the workplace—doesn’t sound like there’s tons of demonstrable love for moms out there! And then, as mentioned, if I don’t have kids, there’s still a lot of social stigma against me and people assume I’m selfish or immature or uncaring in ways that they would never think about childfree men.

C: It’s interesting/annoying to me that once I’ve mentioned the fact that I don’t want kids to someone, it becomes a defining characteristic of me. I do hope that I’ve been somewhat successful (whatever that means) in encouraging people to check themselves. It’s so funny/creepy/toxic the degree to which people assume that everyone wants kids. It makes it clear that it’s seen as, like you said, something you just do, because you’re supposed to. (Parents, I’m not saying that you didn’t think about your decision to have a kid, or that you don’t love your kid, or want them… I’m saying that social pressure is intense; we can’t always separate ourselves from it. Nobody makes choices in a vacuum.)



I think the emphasis that we put on women’s alleged “care taking” instinct is dangerous. Not just because men have this instinct too (and the gender binary is bullshit), but because it sees to it, if we let it, that we spend all our time (or try to) and energy maintaining and caring for and building others and not paying any attention to ourselves. Parenting can be a creative act, and that caretaking can make us better people, but you have to want to undertake the responsibility, and you have to know what you’re losing. I’m not willing to give up my writing, and the time I want to spend on it, and if I had a kid, I’d be emotionally and physically depleted. (Do not tell me I’d be inspired by my own child. Do not.)

M: Right. This really ties in to my point about how life experiences/skills/accomplishments always seem to get shafted because they aren’t in pursuit of any caretaking purpose. Honestly? I probably cannot be counted on to care for other people in any serious resource-intensive way. I am a fantastic emotional supporter, and am very giving in that way. But I can barely care for a pet, let alone a person, and nor do I really want to! It’s telling, I think, that mainstream media loves to talk about the ‘mommy track’ and the hapless middle-aged woman realizing at the last minute that she wants to be a parent, but there is radio silence around women who are ambitious, creative, and childfree (me! You! Countless others!).

C: Has anyone ever said to you, “But you’d make such a great mom!” or that you’ll “change your mind”?

M: If anyone has said I’d make a good mom, I don’t remember! Or I blocked it out. Somehow the conversation never gets to that point–it usually stops after I tell the other person firmly that, no, I won’t change my mind and it’s very patronizing to say I will. Would I make a good mom? That’s relative. By my own standards, no. I’d be a terrible parent, and there’s no situation at present where I’d have a child because I wanted it. It’s pretty cut-and-dry to me: no child should be born unless they are wanted. Anything that facilitates the birth of an unwanted child should be done away with. It sounds extreme, but then again, so are a lot of beliefs that compel women to have kids, so.



C: Weirdly, people have told me I’d be a great mom. Maybe these are people who want their kids to be anarchists. Or they think it’s an expression of low self-esteem, or I’m fishing for a compliment. Look, I would not be a great mom, because I don’t want to be a mom. I don’t want to use my energy and imagination to parent.

There’s this tendency to qualify our statements with “I love kids! I just don’t want my own.” I do not love kids. Spending time with them makes me realize how much energy they require, how much attention, how consuming it is, and how I’m not even a little bit interested in giving up my space, mental and physical, as well as my time. (I know, apparently I’d like my own kids, but just in case that’s not how it works out, I’d rather not take the chance.)

M: Agreed! Your words remind me a lot of the argument one of my aunts makes against becoming a mother. She’s lived very happily intentionally child-free for years, and in Sweden, seemingly one of the most mother/family-friendly governments in the world! (In my extensive thought experiments, I’ve asked myself whether I’d want kids if I lived somewhere more amenable to family life—no dice.) She’s about 42 now, and always seemed very secure in saying she prefers to play with others’ kids and then give them back—she’s been a huge role model for me when it comes to sticking with my guns on not having kids. She has a healthy marriage, loads of independence, a career she enjoys, and the ability to travel as much as she can afford/find time for. And whenever she wants to see kids, she can just visit her siblings or friends who have children. Seems like a win/win to me!

C: As for the “you’ll change your mind” folks: I won’t. And if I did, I probably will not come to you for advice or support, considering how awesomely supportive you were of my life choices. Also, holy crap, it’s OKAY for us to change our minds. That’s not the point. The point is that we’re entitled to our very real feelings when we feel them.

I do think about whether or not I’ll regret it. Maybe I will? I’m 34 now, though, and I’ve been waiting for a long time for this allegedly fierce, unruly, dictatorial biological clock I’ve heard of to kick in for years, and it hasn’t. I would much rather regret something I didn’t do than regret an entire human being. My mother was an example of someone who should not have had kids, even though she wanted me. It seems like every time I have this conversation, or I write about the child free thing, I say something that I know will piss people off, or horrify them. But it’s true. I know it’s a slippery slope here, my mother traumatized me, so that’s why I don’t want kids. And that’s part of it, but our parents are supposed to teach us, no? And the most important thing my mother taught me was that I should trust my instincts.

I’ve worked really hard for the life I have now. It’s not the life that other people would work really hard for, but it’s mine, and it’s based on the thing I have always wanted-freedom and space.

I was thinking about this idea that people without kids have all this time and we spend it being irresponsible? Like, how will you spend your life if you don’t have kids? How could you do anything of value?

M: The irresponsibility thing, yeah, I think that’s a big theme with this conversation: immaturity, lack of adulthood, basically that not having kids makes us ‘less than.’ In my family growing up, caretaking was this constant spectre of how I should lead my life, and I found that so suffocating. (I’m sure a lot of people can relate to having to be the adults when they weren’t yet.) So the moment I could break free of that, I did. Nobody really knows whether the children they have will grow up to do anything of value, but society seems comfortable assuming that the risk is worth it. Most of the time, of course, those children are assumed to be men, and the women will just have more kids and keep making that sacrifice in pursuit of that assumption. I am taking the revolutionary stance that my life has inherent value, even if I never marry and never have children–that stance hasn’t steered me wrong when it comes to finding the life that best suits me, and I haven’t yet found it to make me unhappy. But sure, I’ll wait and see what BioClock has to say later on. I’m guessing it’ll be, ‘Yo, menopause. That’s happening…soonish. Just a heads up.’

C: For me, creating contrary community or radical community is important to my sanity and my survival, because this stuff is so frustrating and isolating and complicated. Do you feel like you have community? Has it been hard for you to negotiate dating?

M: It’s tricky. As I get older I realize a lot of my friends aren’t as committed to childfreeness as I am, or never were at all, and that gets messy. I’m into creating queer networks of kinship, and it seems like marriage and childbirth are real flashpoints when you realize who’s in and who’s out. I want kids in my life and my family, just not in the role of primary caretaker. Sometimes I worry about whether I’ll find that, for sure.

I date primarily straight or bi/cis guys, so a lot of my love/sex life is framed in terms of some kind of heterosexuality. I’ve found that in dating situations with cis men, they are usually really receptive or enthusiastic to hear I don’t want kids, which is sometimes okay but sometimes kind of icky and off-putting. I wonder if other women who engage in heterosexual relations ever experience this? I may be over-sensitized to it, but the current political climate towards women’s reproductive choices makes those discussions with cis men really tough for me. On one hand, I’d really like to be around men who are supportive of my choices; on the other hand, there is the persistent, nagging sense that it’s just an abstract thing for them, and any response (positive or negative) isn’t really about my ability to live a full and happy life, but about their ability to figure out what kind of woman I am and what level of commitment I require. It’d be nice to have a more privilege-conscious conversation with a partner about these decisions.



C: I am in deep worship of the queer networks of kinship. It’s hard when people “bail.” I feel betrayed, to be honest, even though I hope they made the decision that was right for them. I just want to find people who are invested in same ideas of community and revolution as I am, without the tyranny of the couple, or the nuclear family, and with the recognition of privilege and how this all relates back to capitalism and ideas of gender. Mainly, I don’t want us to apologize for the way we think and feel.