If you want to support independent women's media, become a Mamamia subscriber . Get an all-access pass to everything we make, including exclusive podcasts, articles, videos and our exercise app, MOVE.

I was 13 when my mother first told me not to have children. I was curious. "Why not?"

"Children are hard work. Expensive. Often ungrateful and not always rewarding. There's no rule book, and you live in constant anxiety of something bad happening". That resonated.

My parents were strict with us. We didn't have the same freedoms as my school friends. Mum used to drive us to and from school. If we caught the bus — which dropped us off across the road from home, we had to wait there until Mum walked over, grabbed our hands and escorted us to safety. It felt stifling.

Watch: Five women on why they decided not to have kids. Post continues below.

When I complained, Mum would say to me, "You'll understand when you have children of your own."

So when, just a few years later, she advised me against having children of my own, it felt left of field.

My parents have always been active in our lives. But parenting didn't come easily to them, and they found it stressful — not an ideal realisation after they'd had three of us.

Mum's advice felt solid, and I accepted it surprisingly readily (I'm not one who takes unsolicited advice easily). But at 13, I already knew that having children would mean I'd have to 'grow up' and become 'responsible', which didn't sound like a lot of fun.

It didn't bother me that Mum told me this, because I never questioned if my parents loved us.

Chiquita Searle. Image: Supplied.

Their love was always apparent — in the home-cooked meals, the school uniforms sewed, and the way they'd always ensure we were each able to play a sport.

But parenting is hard. And often you don't realise how hard until you are parents, and by then it's too late. You have to 'lean in' and do the best you can with what you have. And for many, whether they'd be willing to admit it or not, they might not enjoy it.

I had coffee with a psychologist a few years ago, and she told me that the bulk of her clientele were mothers who, regrettably, didn't enjoy being mothers. In fact, they hated it and held a lot of shame and guilt around those feelings that they couldn't share with friends or family. So, they went to therapy to unpack the cognitive dissonance — why they didn't love being mothers the way society says women are 'born' to.

My parents' honesty gave me a roadmap that didn't look like theirs and permission to make different choices. I knew they'd never apply pressure on me to have children, and they have never asked me when I am having them.

My parents encouraged me to pursue my dreams instead of asking me when I will have kids. Image: Supplied.

Instead, they encouraged me to pursue my dreams, get a good education, go to university and have a career so that I could put myself first and do the things that I wanted.

When I share this revelation with other people, they are horrified. They cannot believe my parents told us not to have children. "I'm so sorry!" is often the response. I find it a bit amusing.

Not once have I felt this meant my parents didn't love us. They just wished they'd been able to make different choices. They've even said if they had their time over again, they definitely wouldn't have had us. It doesn't bother me. I'm grateful they didn't try to delude me into believing my whole existence would only be worthwhile if I became a mother.

Over the years, I have watched motherhood play out from afar, observing friends and family raise children. I've watched women take on their children's pain as their own, if they were struggling to make friends at school, or not doing well in class, or being bullied. I've seen the compromises they make and the judgment they experience if they decide to put their own needs ahead of their families'.

There seems to be a level of expected martyrdom that comes with being a mother — who can be the most selfless and sacrifice the most. All I wonder is, to what end?

Emotional and physical exhaustion, mental depletion, loss of career and financial resources, vulnerability if the partnership with the children's father doesn't work out. I can manage all that on my own without the added layer of being a mother.

At the same time, I have friends who love being mothers. They genuinely enjoy their children's company. They look forward to weekends when they can watch them play sport, or simply be around them. Sometimes I will spend time with them at family gatherings, but I always feel out of place.

I simply wasn't built for this world of family. I like silence and space and being alone with my thoughts. Having children, I've found, is not conducive to silence or space.

Funnily enough, I've had more pressure from friends and 'society' to find a partner than to have children. I put this down to me not being the 'maternal' type.

And I chose to get cats instead. Yes! 4 cats. Image: Supplied.

But I have received the platitudes reserved for single women over the years: "It will happen when you least expect it", "It will happen when you stop looking", "You need to love yourself first", "You need to lower your standards", "You need to put yourself out there more" and my favourite, "You need to be more approachable".

I've also had people tell me I won't enjoy the full experience of being a woman if I don't get married or have children.

And while people are well-meaning, they find it hard to reconcile the possibility that I might just not want children or a partner. Why should my decisions about my life that impact only me be a source of consternation for someone else?

I posit that because I've arrived at a place where I genuinely enjoy my own company, I don't experience loneliness. I no longer want to share my space with anyone or jump through hoops to try to attract someone. I've leaned more into who I am and chose to get cats instead. Yes, I have four and yes, I am a meme.

I can feel alone occasionally, but that's only when I'm struggling with something in my life, and in those moments I can call on a close friend, or go to therapy, or hire a coach — things that aren't exclusive to us single folk.

Ultimately, I am now 45 and the option to have children is dwindling. But I am firmly in the camp that if you don't know deep in your bones with a yearning that takes your breath away that you want children, then don't rush into it. Spend some time alone, live by yourself, don't date for a while, save some money, travel, start a band, write a book.

Do things that fill your life first before you choose to fill it with children, because once you have them, as my parents found out, you can't give them back.

Listen to Mamamia Out Loud, Mamamia's podcast with what women are talking about this week.

Feature Image: Supplied.