Towards the end of my childbearing years, more than a decade ago, I wrote a piece for the Guardian about how I didn’t regret not having children. Even though I’d been told, endlessly, that I would. “Suppose you get to 50 and wish you had?” was the kind of unsolicited comment I received all the time. Better have a child just in case you regret not having one.

I was never one of those women who always knew I didn’t want children. Or knew for sure I did. I’ve often felt envious towards women who have that certainty in their lives. Anyway, I didn’t have children and I’m now way beyond the point where I can, though I wasn’t when I wrote my original piece.

Now I’m on the other side of my childbearing years, do I regret it? Many of my contemporaries who left it till their mid-30s to have kids are now grandparents. I’d have quite liked to be a grandparent, but definitely not the bit that comes before.

Although I do feel pangs of what might have been, I also feel something far stronger. Relief. I managed to get away with it. I didn’t have children just in case I might regret it if I didn’t – and it’s fine.

How many women – or men come to that – have children because it’s what you do? You move in, get married – it’s what you do next. How many people even think about it? At least I’ve thought about it – perhaps because I’m often asked to justify my position or explain why. To end that conversation I now sometimes say I couldn’t have children.

It’s not an outright lie. As it turns out, much as I had thought, the desire to have kids just wasn’t strong enough in me. It was there a bit; like a radio signal that came and went. I’d look at friends’ kids and I’d feel a pang but then it would go away like the beginning of a threatening headache that melts without medication. For women who felt, or feel, strongly maternal I imagine the pang doesn’t leave you till you’ve had a child. And let’s face it, most women do want children. But those who don’t would rather like our decision to be accepted and respected, much like the respect and approval accorded to mothers – many of whom, if they’re honest, just fell into it. Because it’s what you do, isn’t it?

Another assumption often made about childless women is that we can’t stand children. Actually, I adore them. No, really, I do. I often prefer their company to adults’ because children are so delightfully honest and unashamedly blunt. If they like you, it’s genuine. Maybe they like us childless adults because they don’t see us as adults, just bigger versions of themselves who don’t give off that about-to-tell-you-off parent vibe.

Being around other people’s kids also gives you a sense of how it might have been if you’d had them. I’ve taken care of friends’ kids and nieces and nephews from time to time and always felt very privileged that they trusted me, as I’m not a fellow parent. But what was most apparent to me was how much of a servant you are when you look after kids. As one of the young children in Rachel Cusk’s novel Arlington Park puts it to his mother: “We don’t have servants because you’re our servant.” Ah, the honesty of children!

I know parents will say they get loads back from their kids and I don’t doubt it. But I still maintain it puts you into a permanent role of servitude, and I didn’t want that.

I didn’t want to have to take care of someone else for the rest of my life, because parenting is a lifelong job. I only want to be responsible for me. Even though I have a partner with whom I’ve shared 25 unwedded, blissful years, I regard myself as an independent person. Unshackled. Free to be me, make mistakes, have victories, have a life that’s unencumbered.

Does that sound selfish? Another accusation slung at childless people but especially childless women? How is it selfish to take care of yourself and not expect anyone else to? How is it selfish not to bring someone into the world because you don’t have this overwhelming desire to see a bit of yourself in a new person, leave something of you behind? Isn’t it actually rather brave – not selfish at all?

I bet you’re now thinking but what happens when you get old and can’t take care of yourself? Having children in the hope that there’ll be someone there to look after you when you’re elderly and infirm strikes me as far more selfish than being childless. Besides, you’ve no guarantee your children will take care of you when you’re old.

With safe, reliable contraception and plenty of alternatives to motherhood there’s no excuse for having children if you don’t really want them or thought you ought to just in case you regret not having them. Instead why not celebrate how lucky we are to be living at a time and in a place where we can make a choice?

Writing that article 12 years ago I feared I was creating a hostage to fortune. One day I’d want to write another saying I had it all wrong and I regret it horribly; issue a dire warning to young women to be sure to have kids while they still can. Don’t end up like me, devastated and full of regret. That hasn’t happened, though truly I was quite prepared that it might. Instead it’s wonderful to discover my instincts were correct all along. I never saw myself as a mother and I was right not to. It wasn’t for me. I love being a mad old auntie though. You can enjoy children, if you want, without giving birth. And that’s the most joyous discovery of all.