As a journalist, I’m often hunting for case studies to interview for stories, so a few years ago, when a fellow journo needed interview subjects for a newspaper feature about women who’ve elected not to have children, I decided to put my hand up. ‘About time I found out what it was like to be on the other side of the interview,’ I thought. I was one of three women interviewed, and although I don’t regret it, I would not do it again. Not because of jerks online – I remain incredibly proud of the fact that I did not read the comments when the story was posted on the newspaper’s Facebook page (I took one look at the laughing emojis and nope-nope-noped it right out of there). And not because my position has changed (it hasn’t). Because of this core truth:
I am no longer interested in defending my life choices.
In the past, when I’ve been asked whether or not I have children, I’ve been really cautious about how I reply, sensitive to people around me who might be navigating the heartbreak of infertility, and to those who are in the trenches of parenthood and finding it tough. I’ve felt compelled to explain myself in a way that honours my position – that motherhood simply never felt like my path – but didn’t denigrate anyone else’s experience. This has been tricky, and on some occasions, I suspect I’ve missed the mark. It requires me to assess people’s intentions – are they asking me out of genuine curiosity, or so that they can gather ammunition to judge me and defend their own lifestyle (which, by the way, was never under attack)? I have to make a snap decision, based on language, tone, body language and intuition, while stepping over the social conditioning that implores me to be polite. Tricky.
(Incidentally, I asked my husband how he responds to this question and he said no one really asks him. Make of that what you will.)
These days, I’ve got a different approach.
Now, I navigate the question about whether I have children with a simple one-word answer: “No.” As social media loves to remind us, no is a complete sentence. I do not feel compelled to offer explanations. I simply say “no” and move the conversation on. Because the minute I start tendering reasons for the path I’ve chosen, I’m doing myself a disservice. I’m telling people that I believe my life choices need to defended. They don’t. No one, of any gender, should be forced to defend their life choices in the year 2026 and beyond. And if people ask me why I don’t have children, I usually just change the subject. Unless, of course, they are people I’m close to, whom I know are asking with sensitivity and respect – then, and only then, I might describe how I arrived on this path.
There are so many questions that get lobbed at people, sometimes genuinely in the form of small talk or interest, but sometimes as an opportunity to judge or throw shade:
Why are you single?
Why aren’t you and your partner married?
Why didn’t you stay home with your kids?
Why did you go back to work after having kids?
Why didn’t you have more kids?
Why didn’t you change your surname when you got married?
Why aren’t you in touch with your mother/father?
It goes on and on.
I am no longer interested in investing time and energy convincing people why I feel the way I do, or why I’ve chosen the path I’ve chosen. I’m happy to explain my thoughts, ideas and feelings to people who approach from a stance of genuine curiosity and interest, but those who are coming at me with an agenda of judgement? I’m not going to entertain that.
If we try to defend something that doesn’t need to be defended, we’ve already lost.
What’s more, if people have already determined I’m living in a way that is unacceptable (to them), no amount of reasoning will convince them otherwise, and I’ll lose time and energy trying. Our time and energy are so precious, and the older I get, the more important it feels to protect this.
Everyone is entitled to make the life choices that feel best to them. No one is entitled to an explanation.
How do you approach comments or questions – or worse: criticisms disguised as jokes – about your life choices? I’m interested in hearing ways other people have ringfenced the sanctity of their own inner world from external critique.
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