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Personal Perspectives
Do You or Did You Want Kids?
A Personal Perspective: The answer depends on your age and circumstances.
Posted December 26, 2023 Reviewed by Monica Vilhauer
Key points
- Feelings about having kids or not can evolve for an individual over time.
- Non-parents can shift along the childfree/childless continuum.
- Parenthood is only one of many forks we encounter on the trail of life.
I’m not sure why, but when it comes to not having kids, many want to pigeonhole us as either childless—we wanted kids and didn’t get them—or childfree—we chose not to have them. The starkness of both terms simplifies the nuances of our lived experiences.
Truth is, individual circumstances and how we think about not having kids often fluxes over the course our lifetimes. Just as most parents continue to mature and change as a result of having kids, so do most of us who don’t ever have them.
During the pandemic I read my old journals and reflected on my own procreative outcomes and intentions. I discovered I’d seriously considered nearly every childbearing option, from not wanting kids to actively trying to make some.
As an adolescent and into my twenties I leaned childfree, thanks to an overabundance of childcare responsibilities growing up and the dreams I held for my future.
During my go-go years, I started waffling on foregoing kids. I wanted it all then—career, marriage, and the experience of birthing a child. I devoured books about decision making, titles like Baby Maybe, Without Child, and Beyond Motherhood.
When a dear friend decided to start her family, I tried to join in so our kids could be buddies growing up. Granted, my motivation was pretty superficial, but the gusto with which I tried to conceive was intense. A committed Type A, I was determined to succeed at my goal.
My friend got pregnant immediately. I underwent fertility treatments for years, stopping short of IVF because I was emotionally, physically, and financially spent. The grieving process that ensued was formidable. Finally, though, I opened up to hear other non-parents’ stories and reconnected with my own earlier life scenarios.
The ensuing decades have been spent integrating all these procreative experiences into my life narrative. Thanks to the support and frankness of those I’ve encountered who likewise don’t have kids, I now accept and celebrate the myriad ways my procreative energies have matured. I’ve reclaimed being childfree. I mother many without bearing children of my own.
Today I advocate for increased understanding and acceptance of non-parents. My advocacy was put to the test one day by the most challenging audience I ever addressed. I learned a powerful lesson from the message I delivered.
My audience was made up of women on the cusp of beginning in vitro fertilization. Sponsored by a European fertility education group, I’d been asked to elaborate on the very outcome these participants most dreaded—they’d be unsuccessful becoming parents.
I never had the procedure myself and knew I couldn’t truly understand what they were going through. What I did instead was reframe their fears with a simple reminder—they were already quite familiar with the state of not being a parent. That’s how they’d lived every day of their lives thus far; they’d already walked that path for years. Same for every one of us today, parents or not.
If the IVF patients’ ultimate destiny was to remain on a path that didn’t include parenthood, they wouldn’t start over. They would continue to build their future by treading lightly each day while grieving and rekindling curiosity about options and experiences ahead. While the desired path might not be passable, viable options can be explored.
Parenthood offers only one of many forks we encounter on the trail of life. Likewise, unplanned pregnancies may result in unexpected motherhood. Some end up with delightful children, while others struggle mightily with theirs. A plethora of celebrations, estrangements, reconciliations, healing, and hurt will surely punctuate our lives. Our humanity evolves along the paths we take, as well as those we pass by.
Intersections can separate us from one another. Some paths look like they’ll lead a particular direction, but they peter out. Others yield an unexpected view or unintended outcome. We go to college. Or we don’t. We partner up. Or we don’t. We have kids. Or we don’t. Some paths contain spurs of hobbling grief. Others offer joy in forms we could never predict from sources unknown.
Once we move in one direction, we risk losing sight of those following paths we’ve passed by. Only by intentionally reaching out to those on parallel paths can we reconnect with the commonalities we share. Only by opening up to the likelihood our stories will shift over time can we rediscover common ground.
