Are Children the Most Important Thing I Can Contribute to Society?
I never understood whether I wanted children or not until I couldn’t have them anymore
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I don’t have children. I’m never quite sure whether it’s by chance or by choice. Both have contributed equally, but I’m completely happy with the situation.
Not having children wasn’t a conscious decision.
My life could have turned out differently. I could be sitting here surrounded by children. And I’m pretty sure I’d be just as happy.
Growing up, I was sure I’d have children. After all, that’s the normal progression of things, right?
You grow up, get an education, become an adult, find a job, and start a family.
That is what I saw. In real life, on TV and in books.
My parents did little to dissuade me from this path, although looking back, my mother — despite having four children — wasn’t the most enthusiastic mother you can imagine.
I recall her little comments, insinuations, and dire warnings about what having children can do to a woman’s life.
This made sense since having my older brother ended her dream of becoming a nurse.
My parents, especially my father, had high expectations. He believed we would make groundbreaking scientific discoveries, become politicians or bestselling authors, or even win the Nobel Prize.
He expected me to go to university and get a good education.
At the same time, like all good African fathers, he expected grandchildren. For him, that was a given. So once I was done and found a job, I’d surely start a family. Why wouldn’t I?
None of the subliminal messages about life were ever explicitly spelled out. But I knew what was expected.
Nevertheless, I never felt that the only thing of value I could contribute to the world would be children.
Sure, my father loved children and expected the family line to thrive and expand. But with all the things he wanted me to achieve, having children was a side hustle, not the main show.
I was so sure I’d have children at some point that their potential existence was one of the reasons my first long-term relationships failed. That and the fact that my partner was a misogynist.
Sure, there were many problems, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was that he went back on his promise that we would have children if I wanted them.
When I left him, we’d been together for 13 years, and I was in my early thirties. Even though a large part of why I left him was the children issue, at the time, I wasn’t ready to have children myself.
I felt no urge to be a mother, but I wanted the option to be open to me when I was finally ready.
Going to university played an important role in my not having children.
Most women I knew didn’t have children either. The few who did had them by accident. And they’d had a tough time. They struggled to make ends meet, complete their studies, and at the same time look after their accidental offspring.
Although this may not be the case in other countries — in Austria, women with a PhD degree are 10% less likely to have children than women who don’t.
At 40, more than 25% of Austrian women with a university-level degree in education or health don’t have children.
And if they do, they often have children much later in life.
Not having children was so normal in my circles that nobody cared or asked why I didn’t have them.
Even today, most of my friends don’t have children and never will. Some always knew they didn’t want them, and for some, it just happened. It was never the right time or the right man.
And it was never that important to us either.
All the women I know, with or without children, are highly educated, intelligent women who have careers, are independent, and make their own money.
If you’re wondering, yes, most of them are in relationships.
I don’t remember ever discussing when we would have children. Instead, our conversations were about politics, society, science, books, and sometimes men.
Like me, none of them have ever felt they need children to be better or more valuable people. And neither have their partners.
Those of my friends who wanted children have them.
I have a friend who went through multiple rounds of IVF to end up with twins. Another friend had a child in her late forties.
I have a younger friend who is currently pregnant. Her dream was always to have a child, and I’m so glad it is happening for her.
Does it change my perception of her as a woman? Absolutely not.
Not having children never bothered me. I was busy doing other things. I enjoyed building my career, learning, traveling, moving to a new country, and making my own money.
I never felt that having children was something I needed.
The only time that changed was when I called my father in Nigeria or when he came to visit.
As I grew older, his pestering became relentless. He was adamant that it was time for me to have children. And it got harder and harder for me to find reasons why it wasn’t the right time.
At some point, he even stopped caring that I was single. He offered to send me a distant relative from Nigeria to act as a nanny if I would finally give him a grandchild.
And as much as I still wasn’t interested in starting a family, a part of me would have loved to make him happy. It broke my heart to see how eager he was to have grandchildren.
The pressure wasn’t enough to make me let some random stranger impregnate me. But I started to dread talking to him.
Then, coincidence put an end to the discussion. At 40, I had to have a hysterectomy. Losing the ability to have children made me realize that I never wanted them.
When I got the news, I wasn’t sad that I would never have kids; I only worried about how to tell my father.
Sitting on a bench by the Danube Canal after the doctor’s appointment, I remember being devastated that I had to destroy his dream of grandchildren.
When I called my mother, I wasn’t worried she would be disappointed. I only asked her how we would tell my father.
What I didn’t know was that my father wasn’t easily deterred from his visions. He immediately pivoted into trying to make me get a surrogate. But that is another story.
What he didn’t do, however, was make me feel bad or less of a woman for not being able to have children.
Hearing other women’s stories now, I know I’m lucky. I never questioned whether my existence in society as a childless woman was less valuable.
What surprised me was that I never thought to ask myself if I wanted children. I only realized I didn’t need or want them when I could no longer have them.
Most women never have the luxury of finding this out for themselves.
I strongly believe that few people consciously evaluate if they want children or if — like me — they’re conditioned to think that this is just something they’re supposed to do.
It takes time and opportunity to unlearn societal conditioning and start to ask what you as a person desire in life.
Children may not be the answer to that question. Maybe they are.
Being a scientist, nurse, doctor, teacher, author, or artist is just as important a contribution to society as being a mother.
You may want to do both. Or not, but it should be entirely up to you.
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