“Kids are more rewarding, since they typically live longer to take care of you in your old age.” This was a quote from an acquaintance who felt the need to explain to me in my 20s that kids are much tougher to raise than dogs. I didn’t respond with my usual sarcastic “you know I’ve never considered that, I thought it was the same” and roll my eyes. Instead, I just listened and said “I have considered that one day I may have no parents, children or grandchildren in my life.”
May 10, 2015 is Mother's Day, and it is also the 5-year anniversary of my hysterectomy and the official end to my ability to carry a child. This blog post will not be about the years of gradual worsening of physical pain, the day I passed out from it, or the stage-4 endometriosis that caused it. It won’t be about the major surgery to remove my uterus and one ovary either. Instead, it will recount the reasons why I decided not to have children, and more poignantly, the reactions I received from others.
First, I didn’t grow up around children except the ones I went to school with. Most of my cousins, who I rarely saw, were much older than me. I am an only child and at one time lived a mile from another house. I have held a baby three times my entire life. Second, like in high school where I didn't accept a basketball scholarship because I missed out on so much life playing year-round, I wanted to enjoy my life, travel, and sleep. Third, I didn't want to raise humans in this world or be responsible for how they turned out. Fourth, I didn't ever want to love something that much. I always guarded my heart. I was extroverted with a lot of acquaintances but few close friends. It was not because I didn't like kids or didn't trust God to protect them. These main reasons are why I decided years ago that I did not want my own children.
The consequences of making this decision known are what I want to share with you. The many times I was called selfish, been told that I would never get or keep a man, or that one will never really love me, and that I should feel guilty for taking for granted what so many others couldn't have. I am not exaggerating. After reading articles and blogs from other women, who called themselves “childless by choice”, I knew I was not alone. I have read that I don't understand what moms deal with, that I don't have a motherly instinct, that I think being a dog-mom is the same thing, and that my friends won't ask me to babysit because of it.
I once heard this so much that I began to believe that the lack of desire to have kids was because I would be a bad mom. At one point I was convinced that if I changed my mind I would be a mom that could never love my child. I have now taught kids for years and have even had dreams that I will raise someone else's kids in the future.
I have since realized that many of these folks have their own issues that have nothing to do with me. I understand that many of the comments came from frustrated mothers who many days regretted their choice, guys who wanted kids one day, or women who wanted kids and couldn't have them. Many people tend to think that because you don't want something for yourself you are judging others for having it and get defensive.
The one thing that almost everyone told me is that I would change my mind. I used to take it personally, especially coming from close friends or family, who were implying that I didn’t know my own mind and that I hadn’t spent a long time considering it. At 33, both surgeons were reluctant to perform my hysterectomy, the last surgeon, coming out during the procedure to ask my family once again if we all were sure.
After the surgery I was unexpectedly upset that it wasn't my choice to make anymore. However, now I realize that taking that decision from me lifted the burden that society placed on me to make one, or in my case what they think is the wrong/selfish one.
Now, I tell people I had a partial hysterectomy, not that I can't have kids. Regardless, the look is almost always the same: pity quickly turns to a fear of saying something wrong. That is why I quickly follow by saying "It's okay, I never wanted kids; I'm thankful that it happened to me instead of someone who wanted them." This is true, it's how I feel, and it puts the other person at ease. I don't consider myself a “people pleaser” but I never want well-meaning people to feel bad. As a friend, I understand the confusion about how to show that you are sorry without conveying pity.
This Mother’s Day, I will be honoring my own Mom who always encouraged me to make having kids my own decision with no guilt. I will be admiring my mom-friends who do what I couldn’t do. Finally, I will be spending time with my aging beagle, who like my acquaintance pointed out years ago, will not be around too many more Mother’s Days.
