When I was 6 years old, and tensions were high, my mom told me, “One day, your kids will be your future karma.”
I immediately yelled back, “Well, I won’t have any kids then!”
Feeling smug, I thought I’d outsmarted my mom and found a loophole to avoid future punishment. Little did I know that my cheeky statement was the start of what would become an unwavering, controversial life decision.
I’ve never found the idea of having kids appealing
Growing up, that statement I’d thrown out at such a young age purely out of spite felt more and more like sound logic. Over time, I realized it actually was the right decision for me. I never felt a yearning to be a mother like the other girls; I never fantasized about playing house, and the more I learned about pregnancy, the cost of diapers, and time spent around babies, the more certain I became that having kids wasn’t in my future.
For 30 years, I held onto my certainty. Not wanting kids was one of the more stable things about me. In between all my gallivanting around the world, changing jobs, and discovering who I am, I always knew I never wanted to become someone’s mother.
Until I turned 35, and my certainty wobbled for the first time.
A conversation made me question myself
One day, my partner of nearly a year sat me down and told me he wanted kids within the next two years.
It was the conversation we’d both been dodging, hands over ears, because we knew where it led. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t immediately say no.
Thoughts I’d never had suddenly rushed in and took up space. It wouldn’t be so bad, right? He’ll be a good dad. I wouldn’t be left alone to raise the children. Kids are all right once they’re housetrained and can talk. Maybe my 6-year-old self was wrong. Maybe I was just being a brat. It’ll be fine.
In a matter of minutes, I was crying uncontrollably, torn between a belief I’d held my entire life and this new wave of uncertainty. So I did what any chronic overthinker does. I went looking for answers on the internet.
I did a deep dive into motherhood
The first stop was Reddit. I read countless threads from r/regretfulparents, fence-sitters, and people who’d been in my exact position: one partner wants kids, the other doesn’t.
Next, I watched hours of pregnancy TikToks, which, instead of helping me find my maternal instinct, only gave me a list of new body horrors.
I desperately wanted to find the comment that would flip a switch in my brain so I could say, “There it is! I do want kids! Everything is fine!”
And it worked. I found the line that stopped my spiraling.
The commenter said: “If it’s not a hell yes, it’s a no. If you regret having kids, you can’t undo it. But if you regret not having a child, that decision only affects you.”
I chose heartbreak over resentment
My indecision was never about wanting kids. Throughout my waffling, I’d never felt joy, excitement, or longing to become a mother, only claustrophobic dread.
What I wanted was to keep the illusion of my relationship alive. I was only looking for a maternal instinct because I didn’t want to admit my partner wasn’t my person, and we needed to let each other go.
I realized that if I had a child with him, it would be out of fear of losing him, not a desire to experience motherhood. I didn’t want to bring a child into that dynamic. My partner deserves someone who wants a family, his kids deserve a mother who wants to be a parent, and I deserve a partner who is equally put off by the thought of collaborating on a fetus.
Despite the gut-wrenching breakup (it holds the spot of my worst heartbreak for now), I gave myself the greatest gift: clarity. Even when the stakes were high and saying yes would have kept the person I loved, I still couldn’t fake it.
My 6-year-old self had been right all along. I’m never having kids.
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