By Elisabeth Smith
The first time I told my mother I didn’t want to be a mom I was four years old. I told her that when I grew up, I didn’t want to be the mom; I wanted to be the dad. My mom, wonderful person that she is, told me that that was perfectly alright. That was only the beginning of my rejection of commonly expected gender roles.
When I was 17, I went to Planned Parenthood in secret and received my first IUD. I was dating a boy my age at the time and my top priority was to avoid getting pregnant. It was somewhat terrifying to go and have the procedure alone, but I was determined. When I did tell my parents what I’d done, they were actually proud of me for taking precautions.
Whenever I’ve had relationships with men in the past, I’ve always felt an underlying discomfort with the gendered expectations placed on me by society. I was always terrified to become a housewife. I would dress more androgynously and insist on participating in more “masculine” activities, such as car maintenance and home repairs. Even as I entered adulthood, my fear of pregnancy did not subside. I made it clear to every man I dated that children were not an option. This was non-negotiable.
When I first realized that I was queer, I slowly began to make sense of my rejection of gender roles. With that revelation, everything started to fall into place. I strongly believe that my desire to be childfree is connected to my queer identity, though I acknowledge that others may have a completely different relationship with the idea.
In my twenties, I became very passionate about reproductive rights and justice. I attended activist training and protests to protect abortion access whenever possible. As someone whose greatest fear is pregnancy, the issue is very personal to me. I never want to see anyone forced into the role that I have always rejected, myself included.
The day that Ruth Bader Ginsburg died, I saw the writing on the wall for abortion rights. I decided that same day that I needed to get sterilized. I found a list of doctors on the r/childfree subreddit, and reached out to a local doctor to set up a consultation appointment. When I told my parents what I’d decided to do, they were not only supportive, but agreed to cover the costs. I am sure they would have loved to have grandchildren, but they have never asked that of me. I’ll always be extremely grateful to them for their unquestioning support.
Three months later, when I was 28, I had a bilateral salpingectomy to remove my fallopian tubes. Immediately, I felt a sense of relief, safety, and empowerment from what I’d done. That sense of empowerment has not faded in the three years since I had the procedure. My rejection of motherhood is complete and final. It feels amazing to tell people who insist “you’ll change your mind” that it’s too late. It’s impossible now. I love my little scars from the procedure. To me, they are proof that I took control of my own destiny.
Now I am in a relationship with a bisexual woman, who also does not want children. Being in a relationship with a woman for the first time has been freeing in a way I’ve never felt before. I don’t feel the need to constantly fear falling into stereotypical gender roles, because there are fewer socially expected gender roles for two women in a relationship. Nobody asks us when we’re going to have a kid. Even though I’m sterilized now, I don’t know if I could go back to relationships with men after feeling this level of freedom from gendered expectations. I have never wanted to be a wife until I was with my current partner, and now the idea of being her wife thrills me.
I believe that my rejection of motherhood is just one part of my broader rejection of society’s expectations for me as a woman. My queerness is an integral part of that as well. I believe that coming to realize I was queer helped me fully divest from gendered expectations. In fact, it wasn’t until after I realized I was queer that I felt fully comfortable even being a woman. Embracing my queer identity helped me realize that womanhood is not as limited as I once thought. Now that I am out and proud, and now that I have made a final decision on motherhood, I feel freer than ever to be the kind of woman that I want to be.
Elisabeth Smith is a 31-year-old queer woman, and lives in central Ohio, U.S. with her bisexual girlfriend. She is passionately proud of her identity, and cares strongly about the acceptance of bisexual people both outside of and within the LGBTQ+ community.