We don't all want the same things in life — what a weird, boring world it would be if that were the case. I’m a woman in my thirties, but I’m not married, and I don’t have children. I have never had the innate desire to be a mum. It’s never been in my life plan, and after a terrible 2020 with minimal socialisation, I’ve survived quarantine with just me myself, and my dog, and I’m still genuinely happy I don’t have children.
I hope I’m not coming off as a monster — that’s the constant fear I have when speaking openly about my desire to be a lifelong child-free woman. I always like to be brutally honest about my views on this matter because child-free women need to be normalised.
Yes, I’m sure your little ones are precious and fulfilling. I have no doubt that your kids may be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. I think that’s beautiful. But personally, I don’t want children and I hope I never have kids.
Why do people feel the need to tell me it’s just a phase I’ll get over?
I know it may be uncomfortable for parents to read that people like me are sincerely ecstatic about not having kids in their home, and I get that. But everything in life is about perspective and we should be able to respect someone else’s decision to choose, even if it’s not what we’d choose for ourselves.
This year, many of us have been reaching out to people we probably wouldn’t have outside of the current worldly circumstances.
I’ve chatted with friends who have kids and friends who don’t. Single friends and married friends. Friends who are having sex, and friends who aren’t having sex at all during the quarantine — everyone has a different story about how they’ve coped with the pandemic.
I’ve left my back door open every day the weather allows during the last few months. The fresh air from outside circulates in my apartment, giving me, my pup, and my many green plants, a reminder that we are alive.
While I had my back door open last week, I heard a neighbour loudly lecture her child about his online homework. The boy started crying, and the mother raised her voice. I had to close my door to block out the yelling match that followed. I looked at my dog and thought, Man, am I lucky you don’t talk back to me.
Later that afternoon as I walked my dog, I heard the cries of a little girl from an apartment on the second floor. I heard the cartoons playing on the television at an earth-shattering volume, and still, I heard the frustration of a dad who was pleading with his little girl to stop crying.