A Different Path

I never wanted to have biological children. I guess that makes me an anomaly, but the thought of growing another human inside of me for nine months and then going through childbirth never appealed to me.

That doesn’t mean I don’t love children. In graduate school, my concentration was child and adolescent mental health. I always imagined helping children—that just looked different than becoming a mother. God’s plans looked different too, and today I work in hospice, walking alongside people at the other end of life’s journey.

I do think there are things I missed out on because of my decision. My friends with children are incredible multitaskers. They seem to have a sixth sense—they always know when their kids need them, even from another room. Meanwhile, I’m keenly aware of almost every sound their children make, probably because I’m used to the quiet of my own home.

There are moments of sadness. I wonder who will look after me when I’m older, and sometimes I wish I could have given my parents grandchildren. They insist they don’t feel like they’re missing out, and most days, I choose to believe them.

If my life looked different—if I had a husband, a different career, and a home with more space—I think I might have become a foster parent. The desire to care for children has always been there. I just don’t believe I could give a child the time, energy, and stability they deserve in this season of my life.

Then there’s my diagnosis. What makes that especially difficult is that everyone seems to have an opinion. Some people are convinced I have bipolar disorder, while others insist I don’t. Living with that uncertainty only reinforced my decision. I’ve always been someone who would rather err on the side of caution. If I do have it, and I knowingly passed that burden on to a child, I think I would struggle to forgive myself.

My life is good, but it hasn’t always been easy. Everyone carries something; this was simply the decision that gave me the most peace.

Sometimes it feels like people judge me for choosing not to have biological children—as though womanhood is somehow incomplete without motherhood. I don’t see it that way. I don’t believe a person’s worth is measured by whether or not they raise children. Sometimes it’s measured by how they love the people already in front of them.