How My Mental Health Benefits From Being Childfree

Having or not having children affects everyone’s mental health in individual ways

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Fortunately, I’ve never been pregnant.

I have tokophobia, which is the pathological fear of pregnancy and sometimes even babies.

If I wanted children, there are ways to overcome tokophobia. But since children have never even been an option for me, it’s just something I live with.

Trying to express the ways tokophobia affects me is one big gaslighting trip. Because my truth is that if I ever fell pregnant, I would be suicidal. I do not say this lightly or flippantly. And yet, the few times I’ve opened up the vortex of my feelings to a trusted soul, I’ve been brushed off with an “Oh no, I’m sure you would feel very differently.”

Very few people believe me.

I get it. Pregnancy brings most people such joy and warmth. It’s something so desperately longed for by many while cruelly denied to some. So, it can be difficult to fathom that this condition could bring some people like me such despair.

It’s a truth which may be uncomfortable for people around me to sit with, so maybe it's just easier for them to deny me my feelings.

My not having children has put me on the outside of society.

And yet, while I have struggled with the loneliness of exclusion, I recognise that for me, being a mum would have been worse and likely have cost me not only my mental health but possibly even my life.

The mental health and reproduction paradox

Some people struggle with their mental health because they don’t have children. Some people struggle because they have them.

And then there are folk like me who have their quirks already and know adding a kid into the mix would be like pouring petrol over a naked flame.

Just to be clear — to all you parents out there — I salute you. I could not do what you do.

You might be reading this and thinking, “Oh, but children would make your life better. Mine do.” If that’s the case, I’m happy for you, and I believe you — for you — but my truth is different from your truth. No part of the parenting experience appeals to me.

Pronatalists will say I’m selfish, immature, irresponsible and destined for misery.

But I say I know my limits.

If I could offer up hard facts and tell you I was clinically depressed or had bipolar disorder, then maybe more people would understand and accept my childfree stance. But I can’t.

What I can tell you is that I am a highly sensitive person, the traits of which bleed into that of autism in women.

I have never sought a diagnosis for any of my quirks. But as an extensive reader with a degree in psychology, a sound understanding of mental health, and having been in therapy for several years, I recognise I have patterns of cPTSD, anxiety, neurodivergence and seasonal affective disorder.

The outside world sees me as a confident, self-assured, capable, assertive, high-achieving individual. And I am, but that is just a snippet of me. Sometimes, life overwhelms me, and I retreat into my inner world, hardly able to speak. While other times I could be holding court in a public speaking engagement and seem like I’ve got my shit together.

I couldn’t meet my survival needs while raising healthy and happy children.

And while I didn’t opt out of parenting specifically to protect my mental health, recognising all the ways my mental health is protected by not having them certainly reinforces my position.

There will be no generational trauma here

I recently spent a few days with one of my favourite children of all time.

Despite my adoration of this tiny human, I still felt my patience dwindling and found his nonstop chaos stifling. Even worse, thoughts popped into my mind that mirrored the ways my father parented me: authoritarian and draconian, full of shoulds and expectations.

If a few days had that effect on me, I can’t even comprehend what the inescapable shackle of being a mother would do to me and how generational trauma would filter into any poor, unsuspecting child of mine.

Some parents simply can’t cope, and their children become one of the over one hundred thousand children in the UK who end up in foster care.

If my life had been different, perhaps my kids would have been part of that statistic.

I consider myself fortunate and privileged to live in an era and country where it is possible to live intentionally childfree.

I need time to myself—quiet time with no distractions.

This time is a non-negotiable. Sometimes, I find peace running on mountain trails, other times in the rocking of the waves while I sea swim or paddle in my kayak, or by sipping a coffee and sitting mindfully in my garden.

However, I find my peace; I need several hours of it every day to function and stay on an even keel.

The lengths I need to go to, to function optimally as a human being, are not conducive to having children.

Erratic energy, noise, and chaos leave me shut down and on edge; I can’t cope with it, it makes me retreat. And isn’t that energy the very beautiful essence of children? We must nurture, encourage and celebrate this essence for healthy child development.

I was a hyperactive and loud child myself, and I recognise that me as an adult could not cope with me as a child for long periods of time.

Self-knowing is self-growing

Many of my friends tell me they only like their children.

Yet, it feels like there’s an assumption that all parents like all children. Whereas those of us without kids are often assumed to be child haters, you know, Cruella-du-Ville types.

I do not like all children — there, I said it. In fact, I don’t trust anyone who says they love children. Because, as we all know, we vibe with some kids and not with others. Kids are people. We don’t like all people, and not all people like us.

No part of me ever looks at a baby and thinks it’s cute or wants to hold it.

And this is ok.

But just because I am not all gushy and gooey over every kid doesn’t mean I hate them. I am often the first to play with them at parties or make a funny face at the kid crying in the shop. I find it easy to empathise and connect with kids. Heck, some of my police career was spent working in child protection.

I want all children to be safe, loved and happy.

I will dance, sing, play and be silly. I will hold their hands, wipe their tears and help them build forts.

I enjoy spending time with the children in my life, but I also enjoy handing them back and walking away, likely already frazzled and needing to restore my inner equilibrium.

For a long time, my lack of desire for children caused me deep anxiety. I felt shamed for my authenticity and pressured by those who only saw me as a womb.

Over the years, while trying to articulate my lived experiences of the way women intentionally forgoing children are marginalised in society, several folk close to me have told me I’m too sensitive or that it’s all my imagination.

So, while the infamous words of J.D Vance referring to women without children as “childless cat ladies” who are “miserable at their own lives” are both hateful and hurtful, they also validate the messaging that I, and women like me, are so used to hearing. That those of us without children are less than.

But it was perhaps the words of his wife that I found most revealing.

While in damage limitation mode, Usha Vance jumped to her husband’s defence and, in an interview with Fox News, said, “My husband only meant to insult people who actively choose not to have kids, not people who are trying but are unsuccessful.”

The attitude that everyone wants children and everyone should have them is ignorant and dangerous.

What the Vances and their ilk fail to recognise is that we are all different. For some of us, it is having kids, not not having them, that would make us miserable at our own lives.

Imagine the shift in global happiness, including the happiness of children, if reproduction was recognised as an option — with no guarantees — and not a prerequisite to being respected and accepted in society.

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I choose my hard.

It’s hard to be ostracised from society for not having children, but it would have been harder for me to go against my authenticity and have them.

Kids may well add glitter and rainbows to some lives. But not me. And not everyone.

Some of us just know that not having children is instrumental to our mental health.

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Thanks for reading this piece, which was originally published on Medium. If you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear your thoughts; please leave a comment or share it with a friend.

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