Rachel Warrilow - Life On Her Own Terms.

Chunky legged babies with chubby cheeks. Cue cooing and high-pitched squealing in every female around me. But where were my maternal urges? 

While my peers were babysitting, I gravitated towards animals, veering away from the word broody that was bandied about at the faintest whiff of talcum powder. Puppies, dogs, cats and kittens, yes; babies, no. Did that make me self-absorbed? Unmotherly? Unnatural?

When my mum pronounced I would never have children, I was a young girl more interested in Spice Girls dance routines. Her words barely pierced my obtuse teenage skin. But it is uncanny how her finely tuned instinct defined my destiny before it was even a twinkle in my eye.  

At the time, I was too naive to read between the lines of my mother’s statement: that I was too irresponsible, selfish, and devoid of maternal instinct to make space for kids in my future. And though I now know that is no bad thing, some people might view me as a shameful anomaly of my gender. Aren’t all women born to be mothers? Aren’t babies the pinnacle of our lives?

With the clarity of hindsight and experience, I understand that my mum's prophecy singled me out as different and unconventional. Now I find this empowering. To have the freedom to make my own choices and mistakes, to go against the grain. To rebel against the sea of females who have been married, impregnated, and enslaved to their bodies and offspring. Voluntary childlessness has given me many opportunities, awarding me the freedom to move countries, travel across continents and switch careers. Had I had children in my prime—at 30, 33, 37?—I would have stayed in the UK rather than making the leap to a Mediterranean island where I have enjoyed a somewhat bohemian existence. Late nights under the stars, early mornings at sunrise. Long, languorous lunches with friends. Impromptu boat trips and weekends at the beach. Weeks in Morocco and India. Had I been a mother, I would have sought “security” for my brood, near my family, back home. Forgoing dreams for financial and emotional turmoil, weighed down by the added guilt that my kids’ childhoods would never be as comfortable as mine. 

In literature and popular culture, the childless woman is regularly painted as cold, vain and calculating; the mother figure is often fetishised and idealised: nurturing, rosy-cheeked, forgiving. In Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Lady Macbeth and the witches are famously evil and ruthless. By contrast, Lady Macduff, who dies heroically trying to protect her children, is presented sympathetically. In The Lost Daughter, Olivia Colman’s character Leda leaves her daughters despite loving them. She simply cannot cope with parenthood, wondering if that makes her “unnatural”. It’s a familiar situation—a sensitive and controversial issue—seldom explored in film. Maggie Gyllenhal’s directorial debut presents motherhood as a full-time, rather unpleasant job, one which we are conditioned to want, on top of a full-time career.

The result? Multitasking from dusk till dawn, with no space, privacy or peace. The inevitable breakdown. But giving it up is not an option. Women who flee the nest, like Leda, are ostracised whereas a departing father evokes a more normalised response. Maybe it is best to accept that we cannot have it all. Or, we should be honest and choose not to have it all. At the end of the film, when Leda is reunited with her kids, it becomes clear that she is not a terrible mother; in many ways, she represents the everywoman. Hers is the internal struggle that is felt by all humans: live life on our own terms or devote our life to someone else, but live with the guilt. 

During a stint as a teacher, I was surprised when some maternal affections emerged. Break times were spent soothing bullied children, helping with their homework and home lives. These formerly elusive feelings felt great: warm, fuzzy, satisfying. Had I been wrong all these years? Was I cut out to be a mother after all? When the last bell rang at the end of the week, I decided no, thank you. 

I will always have the greatest respect for all mothers; I am sure that parenting is one of life’s finest gifts. But there is a reason why more women than ever are making the decision to remain childfree. We can enjoy small pockets of motherhood where we find them.

Emma Reynolds - An Expanded Point Of View.

I remember when I first met you. Those tiny hands, the long stretched out limbs. Your eyes resting, searching, dazzled by the outside world. An implosion of love for another being, a desire to protect against all odds, overcame me. And your mum, your brilliantly brave and strong mum. The pride and love for my best friend creating and birthing this utterly divine boy enveloped me as I became a chosen auntie. It was where I would begin to uncover what motherhood meant for me and would result in years of unravelling my own truth against the backdrop of societal norms and expectations I understood to be my reality.

I remember listening to a conversation between Elizabeth Gilbert and Oprah about motherhood and the idea of demonstrating the traits we associate with being a mother outside of the limits of being a parent. It is such a vivid recollection like someone had taken out a palette and added colour to my world view, to myself. I started to get it. You don’t need to be a mother to your own children to be motherly.

If you give me a fresh-out-of-the-oven bundle to hold, I will keep them close until you prize them away. I feel pride in seeing people I knew as awkward teenagers or fumbling twenty-somethings become guiding lights for the next generation. I love seeing their bumps grow, their babies arrive, constantly amazed by the beauty in creating life. My love for them knows no bounds and yet the question that lingers in the shadows, whispered into my ear remains, “but when are you going to have a baby?”

The adjective for mothering is “relating to or characteristic of a mother, especially in being caring, protective and kind”. Reading this allows me to apply meaning to my own life—thinking about the care I show to my friends and their children, how I foster ideas, nurturing the seedlings until the buds crack open to reveal the beauty that lies within. I think about the spaces I create in my work to allow people to feel safe, able to be their true selves, encouraged to be brave, and take a leap whilst knowing a canopy would envelop them should they fall. To simply view mothering through one lens feels so narrow when it can be so much more to us all, allowing us to expand rather than retract, to contribute outside of the restraints that have been set for us. It moves pressure away from one way of being and instead invites us all in.

My capacity to love and to mother is endless and whilst I’ll not have my own children to apply this to, I know it will not mean any less. Knowing who I am and where I want to sit in the world gives me more freedom than I knew possible, and more time to invest in that brilliant boy parachuted into my life by my best friend. And what a gift that is.

Megan Jones - No Thanks.

For me, it’s not so much about why I don’t want children. It’s more about why I need a reason at all, beyond simply not wanting them.

I didn’t have a terrible childhood. It’s not because of concern over finances, or bringing a child into a world that could well have ended by the time they reach adolescence–although these are all legitimate reasons. It’s just that no part of motherhood appeals to me, and never has.

I wonder how often people who do want children are asked why they do? And I wonder why I’m often told that I will change my mind, that one day I will want children. I wouldn’t dream of telling someone who does want children that they will one day change their mind. So why is it socially acceptable to say that to someone who is equally convinced of the opposite? It’s a disrespectful implication that my opinion can’t be trusted; that I don’t know myself, or what I want out of life, or that I’m not old enough or mature enough or worldly enough to be sure of this decision.

My last relationship ended, painfully, because my ex-boyfriend was genuinely surprised and devastated when I reiterated my stance on not wanting to have children, which I had made clear from the start and had never wavered on. I did nothing to support his feeling that I would change my mind – that belief, that women will change their mind over time, came from society itself. I also challenge the false narrative around meeting the right person. I have loved every man I’ve been in a relationship with and think that they will make excellent fathers. It’s not about them; it’s about me, and what I do want, or don’t want, for my life.

Women’s rights have transformed in the last hundred years, and are still transforming, but despite constant headlines about swelling populations and overconsumption I am still considered an anomaly. The woman who does not want children is considered an aberration against nature. A woman who does not want children, or who wants children at an age beyond that which is considered acceptable makes the headlines of newspapers, evidenced by RO Kwon’s 2020 article in The Guardian article entitled “More women like me are choosing to be childfree. Is this the age of opting out?”, and the New York Times article of 2021 explaining “Why American Women Everywhere Are Delaying Motherhood”. A woman who sees children in her future is left alone, because she is obeying the tenets of society laid out before her. It often feels as though some people with children see my choice to remain childless as a criticism of their decision to procreate but that’s not true. Other people’s choice to have children has absolutely nothing to do with me. Just like my decision has absolutely nothing to do with anyone else.

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Read the other stories in our MOTHERHOOD edition.

Hannah Ward - Why Would You?

Preparing to write this piece I had so many excuses in my arsenal to throw at it. The thing is, writing it down seemed defensive. It limited my choice to things I can't really control: mental health, chronic illness, finances, career, politics and climate change. The result of spending 15 years defending my choice to family, friends, colleagues and strangers. A muscle memory of sorts. A sharp way to end the scrutiny and make the questioner as uncomfortable as the questioned. But, it’s very simple, I don’t want to have children because I don’t. 

Jennifer Aniston once said “I’ve birthed a lot of things, and I feel like I’ve mothered many things”. I have birthed and mothered things. I have a dog and three cats that I mother. It’s not that I don’t have the capacity to love and care for a human being, it’s that I don’t want to. It’s that basic and yet, I’m labelled as selfish, as cold and biologically inept. I’ve been told life will be empty and lonely. A life with no meaning. Is the meaning of life to have children? If so, says who? Think about the messaging that sends to all those without children, through choice or otherwise. 

I could write this many times and each time come at it from a different angle. I’d tell you how my generalised anxiety disorder makes life so difficult most days that it would be impossible to add a baby to the mix. I could tell you that my experience of being an aunt is enough. I could make the argument that I’ve worked too hard for my career. Exclaim that I didn’t spend seven years educating and training myself to let it all go to waste. Despair at the limited access to fair maternity leave policies and pay. Point to the fight many women have for true flexible working whilst navigating eye-watering childcare costs. It’s exhaustingly unfair, I’d argue, how few hurdles fatherhood has in comparison. It all depends on how I’m feeling that day and what level of rage I’m feeling towards societal expectations of women. 

“Do you want to have children?” put to me in the same way someone might ask what I want for dinner. It’s not treated for what it is—a huge life altering decision. I wish we brought little girls up to believe their destiny is to feel happiness, safety and success (whatever that means to them). Instead, we’re brought up believing our destiny is to be mothers. Given baby dolls to play with whilst boys are given lego. Encouraged to have our lives mapped out based on our biological clock. We watch famous women called out in headlines for taking a different road, steering away from motherhood. It’s sometimes subliminal, other times explicit - you are a vessel to carry children. How do you reconcile that with a gut that tells you this isn’t the path for you? 

The thing is, I might have children—who knows what the future holds. What I do know is that I’ve done everything in my life that felt “right”. It felt right to go to university, to qualify as a lawyer, to get married, and it felt right to fill our home with four-legged friends. It hasn’t yet felt right to have kids and this isn’t something you can just dip your toe in on. You’re either doing it or you're not. Well, the water looks freezing from over here. I’m happy where I am.

Charlotte Dallison - Eggs Alone Do Not A Child Make.

I am almost 30 years old and newly single after recently experiencing the abrupt end of a long-term relationship. When I was with my ex-boyfriend I thought that I would have children. I thought that I was on a certain, conservative life path and that my then-boyfriend was father material. Yet now that I don’t have a partner, I’ve started to reconsider whether I want to become a mother. 

The conversation around motherhood has opened up so much over the last few years and there is now room to be childless or a mum-by-choice. Yet, in my view, it has created a black & white narrative in which women have to pick a team: be stridently child-free or be a perfect, Instagrammable, yummy mummy. What about the grey area in between? What about the fact that for some of us, it depends on meeting the right person with whom we want to co-parent? What about the fact that some of us can’t have babies and often don’t find out until it’s too late? What about the fact that some of us get pregnant accidentally? What about the reality that some of us simply don’t know whether we want to have children or not?

My other main hurdle around my own potential motherhood, is that I have stage four endometriosis. So perhaps the choice isn’t mine after all. During my last laparoscopic procedure my doctor gave me the feedback that he had sighted, “Lots of eggs left!” in my ovaries whilst he poked around my pelvis. Great! But eggs alone do not a child make. Maybe my pelvis is so ridden with endometrial tissue that becoming pregnant is not something my body can do. And frankly I’m yet to really examine this. I tend to just swat those thoughts away, as so many of my fellow endo-sufferers must do in order to get on with “normal life”.

More senior relatives of mine regularly probe as to whether I want children (despite the fact that the life trajectory I was on was so recently derailed). I have never been one to look longingly at babies. I adore children and admire mothers, but whether motherhood is for me is not something I am sure of. When I was a child I never fantasized about having my own family, but rather about other grown up things—such as wearing heels, going on airplanes by myself and moving to a big city. 

My main fear now is that I am leaving it too late to decide. It is a biological injustice that women's fertility has a timeline, but beyond the timeline how does one even know whether she wants to become a mother? Tick tock goes the body clock, yet my current reality is all about enjoying this new singledom of mine, and reforming a healthier relationship with myself after heartbreak. I don’t know if I want children, and perhaps for now accepting that is all I need to feel whole.

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