What If I Don’t Have Kids of My Own?
A personal exploration of mothering, choice, timing, fear, and the many forms of nurturing.
This is a more vulnerable share.
I’ve been sitting with this quiet question for years now: how does one decide whether or not to have children?
It’s a deeply personal and often complicated decision, shaped by time, biology, longing, love, fear, responsibility… and the world we live in. It’s also a question I don’t see many people talk about honestly (at least not prior to having children) especially when the answer isn’t simple. So here I am, letting you into the process. I don’t have a tidy conclusion, but maybe the wondering itself is worth putting into words.
I have a beautiful, bright, kind stepdaughter, and I’m incredibly grateful to be part of her life. But when her father and I started dating, she was already well into childhood. And… the obvious fact is that she already has her mom. I also have wonderful nieces and nephews I absolutely adore… children I’ve been lucky enough to know from their very first moments. These relationships mean the world to me. And still, I can’t help but feel something stir in me when I think about not having a child of my own. There’s a difference between loving children and raising one. A difference I’ve always thought I’d experience firsthand.
I’ve always wanted kids. There’s a part of me that has felt I’d be doing a disservice (not just to myself, but to the world) by not having my own. As a woman, the process of bearing a child feels like one of the most natural and intuitive things I could do. And as an empath, someone who cares deeply for others and the world around me, I felt like that kind of love was meant to be passed on.
There’s also a grief in imagining what I might never get to feel…the joy, the awe, the tenderness that comes with being a mother. The tiny hands gripping yours. The sleepy breath of a newborn against your chest. The quiet magic of watching someone become who they are. The love that people say you can’t possibly understand until you’ve held your own child. I think about the family rituals I might never create… the birthdays and school plays, the scraped knees and bedtime stories, the late-night talks when everything feels too big. The general chaos that ensues a house with children… chaos in the best way. And I wonder what parts of me will remain unopened if I never get to experience those things. And as I write this out… tears swell in my eyes.
But at some point I started to wonder: what would it look like to not have a child of my own?
As I got older, and as the realities of science and biology came more into view, things shifted. I met my husband at 36 and we married when I was 40. He’s a handful of years older than I am, so naturally we began to think practically: What would parenting a new child look like at our age?
He always wanted more children… and truthfully, he still does. But even with the best of intentions and effort, aging can’t be ignored. I sometimes wonder what it would mean not just for us as older parents, but for a child growing up with older parents. Best case scenario, they might have us around for 30 or 40 years. Is that enough? Would it feel like enough to them?
Then there’s the world we’re living in right now. And the world we’re heading into.
Yes, there’s always been conflict… war, racism, environmental catastrophes… but sometimes it feels like the weight of it all is heavier than ever. I fear for the children, and the world we’re creating (and have been creating) for them. So much of our culture has focused on personal gain instead of the future. So many people have looked away… choosing convenience or denial… rather than acknowledging the consequences of their choices. The impact it will have on the future.
And then, of course, there’s my body… I’m 42. While terms like “advanced maternal age” and “geriatric pregnancy” feel unnecessarily harsh (especially here in the U.S.), they still carry a very real set of risks. I think about those risks - for myself and for the child - and the fear sets in.
So again, I return to the question: What would it look like not to have children?
There is a kind of freedom in that. The space for travel and adventure (especially as my stepdaughter graduated high school this spring). The capacity to be present in other people’s lives in ways that parenting might limit.
I think about the role of being an aunt - and what that means for both the children and the parents. Parenting is demanding. It asks so much (so I’ve seen and been told by others). But what if one of my roles is to be part of that supportive circle? What if it really does take a village? And what if I’m part of that village?
Would I have the same capacity to show up for my sisters and brothers if I had children of my own? Would I be able to bake over-the-top, custom birthday cakes for my nieces and nephews? Would I be the one sending silly Valentine’s Day cards or tiny shamrock plants for St. Patrick’s Day? Would I remember to send letters through the mail with stickers or custom watercolor pictures because I know how much they love receiving them?
Sometimes I wonder if maybe that kind of nurturing is enough.
And beyond people, I think of my sweet pup… my companion, my joy, and my living responsibility. I think of the plants I start from seed each spring, watching them grow and change through the season. I think of the wild animals I feed in my yard, or the worms I move gently to the grass when I see them stranded on the hot summer pavement after a rainstorm.
It’s all tending. All nurturing.
Not of humans, but of the living.
Still, I can’t help but wonder about the end of my life. When I approach my final years… who will be around me?
I think about legacy. About whether anyone will care. About what I’ll leave behind… and to whom. Who will know my story?
Maybe that’s part of why I’ve felt more called to share it here. Not to escape those thoughts or to be vain, but as a kind of offering… or outlet, I suppose. A way to let some of it live outside of me.
Because I know none of the thoughts above are reasons to have a child. Especially not now.
Fear… of crisis, risk, change, or challenge… is not a reason to bring a child into the world.
But is it a reason not to?
Fear… of loneliness, of having no legacy, of missing out on meaning… is also not a reason to have a child.
But is it a reason not to?
When it came time to decide whether or not to pursue the path of parenting in your own life… how did you know?
What’s Stirring These Thoughts (The Astrological Context)
Cancer is the sign of the mother, and it’s ruled by the Moon - the luminary that governs our emotions, our needs, and our inner security. It represents the nurturing, the nourishing, the caring for. This is the energy of emotional safety, of maternal instincts, of home, and of tending to what (and who) we love.
I think both avenues have equal pros and cons... Not having children is wonderful, having children is wonderful...the question is: which option will you not regret?
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