By Karen D.
You don’t have children? Did you just never meet anyone?” These questions came from a woman I’d known for less than five minutes. It was the latest in a long list of “ugh” comments I have encountered over the past three decades about my parent status.
In my early 20s, I came out as bisexual. My younger brother told our mother he couldn’t wait to be an uncle. Her response was, “I just visited your sister and her girlfriend, so don’t hold your breath!” It was the 1980s, and same-sex partners having children were still a rarity.
Soon after, I came to the realization that I didn’t want to have children, and not for lack of sperm. A gay friend was open to having a child with me. Then I started a long-term relationship with a male partner (and to this day, I still get grilled on why we are not married, but that’s a whole different article).
When I grew up, having children was just a given. Once I decided I was not going to have children, I felt a pressure valve open, relieving something that I did not know I was carrying. My feelings have never wavered.
In my late 20s, I wanted to get my tubes tied. Doctors are incredibly reluctant to perform tubal ligations on people who do not have children already. It’s understandable given it is a surgery and the impact, but there’s a difference between being cautious and consultative vs. being dismissive. How different would this be if I were a man asking for a vasectomy?
Whenever I told anyone that I didn’t want children the response was always, “You’re young; you’ll change your mind.” (Like it’s a phase, sound familiar?)
At least my mom understood. She had me at 19 and if she had to do it again, she would not have. My mom adored my brother and me, but the non-stop worry was very hard on her. I’m built the same way and I know I would have struggled as a parent.
It took me 10 years to get permission to get my tubes tied. I changed my doctor and when I told her I wanted my tubes tied, she told me it made sense. She had patients my age who did not want children, got pregnant, and were faced with a decision they never thought they’d have to make. My doctor was required to refer me to see another doctor for a consultation. That doctor gave me a quick sign-off and she submitted the paperwork for authorization. So, at 39 I had the procedure. I could finally stop taking birth control pills—which over the years was more costly than the surgery copay.
Some people might say that I’m selfish for not having children (well, not might—people have actually said that). What I think is selfish is defining someone’s value by that definition. It’s similar to how people have judged me for being bi or not getting married, or all the other expectations of what others think a woman should be that I am not.
I still don’t know what the best approach is when people have made insensitive comments. Sometimes I take the high road and let it go, although I cannot say that I’ve never used a sharp comeback when someone really got under my skin. There have been times that I started listing all the positive things I contribute to the world and then I’m mad at myself because I feel like I’m justifying who I am.
Being childfree has not only shielded me from the hard things about being a parent. I’m a very independent person and it’s given me a lot of freedom. I’ve been able to take career risks because I was only responsible for myself. I have travelled the world which might not have been possible if I had a child. Even simple things like an impromptu bike ride or eating dinner when I feel like it sounds trivial but are important to me.
Now I’m old enough to be a grandmother, which doesn’t even seem possible. At least the “ugh” comments have slowed way down since it’s obvious that my eggs have reached their expiration date, one of the few benefits of menopause. While I see the joy that children can bring to others, I’m still happy with the choice I made not to have children.
Karen D., an instructional designer from the Boston, Massachusetts area, is very involved in volunteer projects in her community.