Why I dont have kids

I always knew I didn’t want kids. I knew from a really young age. When I was at Primary school some girls in my class had those plastic dolls with the creepy eyes. They would play mother and baby and pretend to feed them and rock them to sleep. I stood up and announced rather dramatically  ‘I’m never having a baby.’ The whole class looked at me. The teacher raised her eyebrows. You’ll change your mind she said. But I never did. 

There’s been a few times where I’ve questioned this belief. I’ve been willing to see things differently. I’ve been willing to follow a different path. But ultimately life has always led me back here. No children. It fees good. 

There are as many reasons why people dont have children as there are people on this planet. I understand how incredibly privileged I am to even have a choice.  I understand this choice is heartbreakingly taken away from so many. I understand this may be a hard read for some but it’s a conversation I want to have. I dont often hear about the happiness that comes from not having children. I dont often hear beautiful stories the relationships formed with other peoples children, or the space thats created for other things. Maybe it's time to open up this narrative.

As teenagers my friends would daydream about being mothers.  I’d screw my face up. Why would you want to do that, I’d say. They saw love and connection and mini versions of them. They saw the cute baby clothes and a loving partner. All I saw were the screaming toddlers in the supermarket, the tired eyes and the constant bargaining. I expressed my disgust. Everyone looked at me and smiled. ‘You’ll change your mind’ they said. I knew I wouldn’t. 

In my early twenties no one was having children so the conversation lay dormant for a while.  I left my sleepy home town to travel around the world for an indefinite amount of time. In the travelling community no one I met had children. No one talked about it. I floated around South East Asia, then Canada, then the US, then Australia. I had no fixed address, no fixed job, no money. Children never crossed my mind. The only time I thought about it was the pregnancy scares and the continual question of how to not get pregnant. 

When I was 15 I start taking the contraceptive pill. If you’re going to be sexually active, this is what you do, the doctors said. There was no question or conversation. No one talked about side effects. No one talked about the reality of taking an artificial hormone every single day, and from such a young age. I remember the little green packets with the days of the week written on the side. I remember the panic if I forgot to take one and the ‘convenience’ of skipping a period if I went on holiday, or there was a big party. I had no reverence for my cycle. I thought that bleeding was something inconvenient and if you could stop it happening, well great. 

No one taught me about the power of my cycle. No one mentioned ovulation. No one taught me how to access my inner wisdom. I stayed on the pill for almost 10 years. I didn’t question it once. I often felt depressed. I gained weight easily. I used food & alcohol to numb out my often extreme mood swings. There were a lot of factors at play back then, but I often think back to my teenage self and wonder how much of this depression was due to the hormones. All that being said I dont wish things had been different. I’m grateful for the tumultuous times. I mean they give me something to write about for a start. When I left the UK it was too complicated to keep taking the pill. I left my boyfriend and birth control behind and started a new life. 

Suddenly I was completely alone walking down Khao Sanh Road with a backpack and my passport, my ticket to infinite freedom. I’d left everything behind. No one knew me. No one knew my past. No one even knew my name. I was totally anonymous. I had no idea where I'd stay that night. I could go anywhere. ANYWHERE. No one knew where I was.  I remember feeling exhilarated and terrified at the same time. the feeling would sometimes paralyse me and I've have to sit down for a moment.

Those years of travelling shaped me. I started to realise that no matter what happened, I’d always be ok. When the bus suddenly stopped in the middle of Laos, the bus driver gave us all our money back and pushed us out into the night, a young girl who was practicing her English let me stay with her family. When I took too many sleeping tablets on the night bus to the Mekong Delta I somehow managed to make my way to a safe guest house before passing out for 3 days straight. When I got attacked by leeches and lost my shoes in the jungles of Myanmar I learnt how to walk barefoot. Even though I put myself in a thousand ridiculous situations, even though I had a terrible sense of direction, even though I was never organised enough to get the right visas, somehow things always worked out. I started to trust myself and more importantly I started to trust in a force greater than me. 

I lived in Sydney’s Inner West  from 2014 - 2018. Again, no one had children. I lived with my friend Miriam and a rotating third housemate. We ate out every night and spent all our money on overpriced Negronis and fancy bread. Children were the last thing on my mind. 

It was only when I landed completely by chance in Batemans Bay that I started to realise how common it was to be a Mum. Everyone I met had kids. Some friends, only a few years older than me had just become grandparents.  People asked me to put a creche in at the yoga studio. I went to parties and children were running around. The first time someone asked me if I children. I remember looking at them completely shocked. What a stupid question, I’m way too young to have children I thought. Then I realised I was 35. 

I moved into a light filled granny flat in Broulee a street away from the beach. My landlords said ‘the kids can be really noisy, it might not be for you.’ '  I used to live behind the train line and under the flight path in Marrickville’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine’.  I remember thinking for the 10000th time, why would anyone have children by choice. Then I got to know the kids and fell totally in love with them. 

I moved in just after the lockdown started, March 2020 which was definitely a strange time to move house. I was attempting to run the yoga studio via Zoom (remember those days!) so all I cared about was working internet. I quickly realised I'd fallen on my feet and moved into an incredible place.  It took me a few months to settle in, buy a hundred plants and make it my own. A few weeks in, the cordless vacuum cleaner suddenly turned itself on and started to move by itself across the floor. I spent the next few nights convinced the house was haunted. I called up two of my psychic friends, one in Bali, one in California. There was a ghost named Philip they both said. We’ve asked him to leave. I burned a lot of sage. The vaccum never turned itself on again. 

I started to get to know the family.  The kids were 2 and 5 when I moved in. Now the little boy is almost 6. I’ve been here most of his life. During lockdown I took up watercolour painting again. I also started practicing guitar and bought a harmonium. As the kids got used to me, they got curious. They’d sneak up the stairs and knock on the glass. We started painted together. They would run around my furniture free space, playing with my crystals and lighting 10 incense at once. Macy would show me her yoga moves. We made up dance routines and started a band. We’d play on the trampoline for hours and they’d invent games like masters and toads, just like my Dad used to play with me and my brother when we were little. I started to fall in love with them. Sometimes I’d be there to put them on the bus or look after them for an hour or two. These interactions would leave me feeling so inspired. Whatever drama I was obsessing about would dissolve. I’d realise that nothing was more important than teaching Macy to paint watercolour leaves. It was the perfect arrangement. Being part of a family whilst also having a lot of my own space and privacy. The relationships I formed with these two little humans will stay with me forever. 

I know that if I had children of my own, these relationships would be different. Maybe I wouldn’t have the time, space or inclination to want to hang out with other peoples children. Maybe I wouldn’t have the same patience or natural joy for play. As I prepare to move out of my Broulee house and start a new adventure North of the bridge I feel sad to say goodbye to this family who have been so supportive and kind through the last 3.5 years. They’ve held me through all the lockdowns and bike accidents and heartbreaks. I’ll remember these connections forever, and although I won’t be far away I know I won’t see them as much and I feel sad. At the same time I’m excited about what’s to come. 

I’m endlessly grateful for all the children in my life. I’m endlessly grateful for the choices I’ve made, and that have been made for me. I’m endlessly grateful for this mysterious, awe inspiring life and all my teachers who come in all forms. Thank you for reading. I love you.