I grew up pretending I was a mother; carrying dolls in my arms, soothing imaginary daughters from their nightmares, giving made-up sons the hugs and kisses I wished to have received. The make-believe continued well into my first serious relationship, right out of high school. We knew the name of our unborn kids and, for the first time ever, I was not playing house alone. I believed with every fiber of my being that I wanted to get married by 25 and meet the children of our dreams.  

Until I turned 25, then 26, then 27… and I was nowhere near where I wanted to be. As we grew older, we grew apart. Our dissolution planted seeds of doubts. Life didn’t feel quite so straightforward anymore. Maybe I should focus on myself. Maybe I should focus on my mess. Maybe I shouldn’t be a mother. Maybe I never really wanted to.

The slow unraveling of my nine-year relationship became a pivotal moment in my life – I was forced to reevaluate everything I thought I wanted. Suddenly, I found myself in a whirlwind of self-discovery, navigating through the debris of shattered dreams and unfulfilled expectations.

At the same time, with it came a newfound freedom – a liberation from the confines of a predefined future. I embarked on a journey of self-exploration, seeking meaning beyond the traditional roles. Building a life for myself became not just a choice but a necessity – a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty.

I found solace in the bonds of friendship, an area that was often forgotten during the highs of romance. These friendships, some of the strongest I had ever built, became pillars of support in times of turmoil.

Likewise, my pursuit of passions brought me profound joy. I joined an endless list of dance classes, from hip hop, to heels, to pole dancing. I performed in recitals. I cried at concerts and hummed along Broadway plays. I jumped off cliffs and out of planes. 

Travel was another savior and my escape, opening my eyes to the vastness of the world. From the bustling streets of Sydney to the serene landscapes of Oahu, each destination brought with it a renewed sense of possibility.

Life was, once again, exciting and full of love. I did things I probably wouldn’t be able to, had I really got married and become a mom at 25. 

The aftermath of the breakup was also a period of reckoning – a time to confront my inner demons. Through therapy and self-reflection, I unearthed layers of insecurity, fear of abandonment, patterns of people-pleasing, and the relentless pursuit of validation.

In the midst of this introspection, I started to question the very notion of motherhood – wondering if my desire to become a parent was merely a reflection of my own unmet needs. Perhaps, I ventured, I was searching for a sense of belonging, a surrogate for the love and nurturing I yearned for as a child. A search for safety and stability. 

The mainstreaming of the child-free lifestyle emboldened me to try on the new philosophy. Heck, it’s even become the new hallmark of smart, modern, independent women. And didn’t I want to be one? 

At this point of my journey, I could no longer think of why I would want to become a mother, but could think of plenty of reasons not to. For one, the world is a scary place to welcome a child into. You name a threat that could harm this tiny human that you love with your whole heart, you got it – bullying, racism, climate change, pedophilia, child trafficking, wars. 

Not to mention, raising a child is expensive. It will mean dedicating a big chunk of your hard-earned money to a whole other human being, in addition to your time, your energy, your life. I dedicated a significant portion of my formative years to people-pleasing, placing others at the center of my universe. Is it wise to continue this pattern of prioritizing others at the expense of my own needs, with a child whose dependence on me would be absolute and irreversible? 

With the amount of homework I still had to do to heal my own wounds, it did not feel quite right to parent someone else. Especially when I needed some reparenting myself. With this self-reflection, I settled myself down in the child-free camp. 

As I moved on with my life, the thought of parenthood often flickered in and out of my mind. I’d wonder about the kind of parent I would be – how I’d nurture kindness and intelligence, how I’d navigate the complexities of the digital world, how I’d shield my child from the harsh realities of a judgmental society. These musings would dance around my consciousness, but I’d swiftly quell them, dismissing them with a nonchalant “eh, don’t have to worry about that.”

Yet, still I found myself saving videos on Instagram that offered glimpses into the world of parenting, creating notes on my phone filled with lists of potential children’s names. It was as though my heart was trying to speak a language my mind wasn’t ready to comprehend. 

But I dared to want once and was burned to the ground, so I let the noise of daily life drown out these thoughts. Instead of embracing ambivalence and exploration, I adhered to a rigid belief that parenthood should only be pursued with unwavering enthusiasm – a conviction I had only felt when I was younger and not yet shaken by the reality that life is hard. And so, I never truly allowed myself the space to explore these inklings, to interrogate my desires. Convincing myself that it was a chapter of life best left unexplored, I stuck to my guns. 

Fearing judgments that might come with changing my mind, I filled the void with distractions. Among others, I used reckless spending as a means of coping with my uncertainty. After all, if I wasn’t planning for the future of a child, why bother saving for it? If a baby is not attached to my boobs, why not jet off at a moment’s notice to another part of the world? I let go of the steering wheel and let life take me where it wanted. I didn’t realize it then, but it was a way to shield myself from the discomfort of confronting the unknown. From the pain of wanting something, and not getting it. 

Then, I met someone. The Tree Grower was resolute in his desire to become a father. I was ready to leave right then and there, but a little voice in my head told me to pause and use this encounter to reflect about what I truly wanted. I don’t know why or how anyone could be so sure, but once again it opened the door to investigate the question of parenthood. 

On the one hand, I grappled with the haunting possibility of succumbing to parenthood simply to preserve a relationship. This was a major watch-out for me, as I was acutely aware of my history of molding and people-pleasing. 

On the other hand… even as I balked at the complexities of parenthood, a glimmer of possibility began to emerge. A vision of a future filled with warmth, love, and the pitter-patter of tiny feet. It was a childhood dream I had long buried – a dream that now seemed within reach.

Yes, parenthood is perhaps one of the toughest things anyone could do. But, even now when I’m no longer in a relationship, I could see myself as a mother, just as much as I could picture living a full life without kids. I could see myself listening to my kids throughout their tumultuous teen years, of how they were trying and failing to fit in, of first crushes and heartbreaks, of dreams and doubts. I could see myself, weathered by time and old age, surrounded by the kids I raised and little ones of their own. And I couldn’t help but marvel, what a life. What a life for someone who had once been an only child navigating a dysfunctional relationship with a single mother. 

I realized that, perhaps, my aversion to parenthood stemmed not from an inherent disinterest, but from a fear of the unknown – a fear that I was now ready to confront. Sure, what I said during my child-free phase was true. I wasn’t ready to become a parent then. I had wounds and unhealthy patterns to heal, so that I wouldn’t bleed on an innocent child. 

But just because something was true at one point in time, doesn’t mean that it has to stay that way for eternity. 

Maybe, just maybe, when the time is right, it’s okay to desire a family of my own.  

It is not shallow. It does not go against the grain of feminism. It does not make me weak for changing my mind. 

It is something I can let myself experience, if and when I have the right partner, if I dare enough to dream once more, if I continue working on myself so I could become a secure mother.

I still can’t say with a hundred percent conviction, YES, I WANT TO BE A MOM. I still don’t get how anyone can be so sure about it. I’m still afraid it will not come true. I’m still afraid that I may regret it when things get hard. But this time, it is something I’m actively reflecting and working on.

This article really struck a chord with me:

Our society allows little room for ambivalence around this topic. This can add another layer of shame because it can often seem like everyone else came to their decision with ease. 

Then one day, the decision has to be made due to age or time or a relationship is about to end or begin over this issue. Fear instead of desire runs the show. Operating on fear is a lonely, excruciating process that leaves many immobilized. 

Of course, many stumble into a situation one way or the other. It’s wonderful when that happens, but chance is not the path to a fulfilled life. Making a conscious decision only after knowing what you want and why you want it is what real freedom is all about. 

In my opinion, if everyone paused and pondered whether or not motherhood or fatherhood was for them — no matter how certain or uncertain they felt about the answer — the experience they would have of coming to an ultimate decision would feel more expansive and have fewer fears attached to it.

My goal is that, if the day comes that I make the decision with my future partner to try for a baby, I can say with confidence that I consciously and willingly choose that. It’s not something that just happens to me. 

At the same time, I think it’s a good thing that I’m not attached to a specific outcome or way of achieving it. Yes, I want to build a life that is rich and a family — whatever that looks like — filled with love, warmth, joy, and safety. But there is not just one way to build a family. Maybe I’ll conceive naturally in my 30s. Maybe I’ll get IVF in my 40s. Maybe I’ll end up adopting. Maybe I’ll foster children in my 60s. Maybe I will never have children at all and my family consists of just me and my partner. Or me and my gay best friends. And that’s okay. 

My life is my life. My path is my path. My time is my time. 

There is no race to win, deadline to meet. 

As long as I dare enough to dream and do my best to get there, whichever way life turns out, it will be amazing and I will be okay, because I make it so. 

And this belief is the best gift I could ever give myself.

Do you see yourself as a parent? Why or why not?

Credits:

Images by Matt Bango