Am I Selfish Because I Don’t Have Children?

How one woman’s accusation that I wasn’t doing my part changed my perspective

Throughout my twenties and thirties, I felt that becoming a mother was inevitable, even though I seemed to be late to a party that had started without me. One day, I looked around and almost all of my friends and family members were married, most with children, most before the age of 25.

As I entered my late twenties, I noticed that I often felt guilty about my status as a single, childless woman — as if my lifestyle was a choice I had made. In actuality, I had diligently tried to find a partner and start a family. By 25, I had had a serious relationship, a pregnancy, a miscarriage, and four very disappointing, short-lived partnerships.

Nothing had worked out the way I had planned, and as I headed toward 30, I stopped trying so hard, hoping the right situation would come when the time was right.

Still, I could not shake this feeling of guilt — a sense that I’d found myself on a path that was selfish and lazy. I kept hearing a voice in my head telling me I wasn’t good enough and I wasn’t doing enough. After all, my friends and family members were operating on 2 hours of sleep a night as the mothers of one newborn after another. They were (and should have been) so proud of themselves for finding the energy to play with their toddlers, breastfeed, cook meals with an infant in one arm, surprise their husbands with fancy desserts or hand-knit sweaters, do the laundry, clean the litter box, vacuum, answer emails, run a business, and research all the latest studies on pesticides in our food.

Meanwhile, I was student teaching full time during the day (for no pay), going to grad school at night, testing the waters of a new relationship, and learning how to be a good auntie. I was exhausted, but…I wasn’t raising kids while doing all of this. On some days, I was almost crippled by the feeling that other people were looking at me and thinking that I had somehow “gotten away” with something. Like I’d cheated the system by failing to become a “productive human being” (and, in my mind, I had come to equate “productive human being” with “motherhood”).

I kept hearing a voice in my head telling me I wasn’t good enough and I wasn’t doing enough.

I genuinely tried not to think about it too much. After all, I was certain I would become a mother someday. By then, my boyfriend and I had moved in together and at the time, it seemed inevitable. Unfortunately, over the years, his inability to commit to anything — fatherhood or even marriage — became more and more apparent. In time, my dream seemed further away than ever, and my guilt and anxiety intensified.

At my next two jobs, I was constantly aware of how my family dynamics compared to those of my coworkers. I tried to be as agreeable as possible if tight deadlines were coming up. After all, I didn’t have children waiting for me at home. Maybe I should be the one to pick up the extra work?

I stayed late after my shift, regardless, not just because I wanted to be an exemplary employee, but also because I felt that my childlessness somehow marked me as “less than.” I didn’t want to be less valuable to my bosses than my coworkers who were mothers.

At home, my life had become a minefield of resentment and anger toward my partner and toward all my friends and acquaintances who were posting pictures of their perfect families on Facebook every day. I envied them so much. They always looked like they stepped out of a catalog and every picture was followed by dozens of comments about how good they looked, how cute their kids were, what a great mom they were… Scrolling through that feed with my partner sitting in the recliner playing video games just across the room made me feel like I was going to drown in guilt and sorrow.

One day, one of these perfect friends posted something that astounded me. With a photo of her in a white string bikini at the beach with her little boy and baby girl, she wrote:

Sisters, if you don’t have children, you need to get out in the world and volunteer. Do some work. We moms are giving everything we have to our children 24/7. We are birthing and shaping the next generation. You can’t leave all the hard work to us. You need to get up and do something. You don’t get a free pass on life just because you don’t have kids.

I cried for half an hour after I read that.

In the end, I realized I had been living my life according to that exact belief: That I had to atone for something. That I wasn’t enough. That I was selfish, somehow, and lazy.

Looking back, it doesn’t surprise me that I felt that way. We don’t seem to know what to make of women who don’t have children.

I’ve found myself single once again in my early forties. At this point in my life, I’ve come to realize that I might never become a mother.

The silver lining is that with age has come (finally) my ability to question this notion that childlessness makes me less than others. That I should atone for circumstances that came about despite my efforts to move in a different direction. That I should feel guilty for getting 6–8 hours of sleep at night.

At home, my life had become a minefield of resentment and anger toward my partner and toward all my friends and acquaintances who were posting pictures of their perfect families on Facebook every day.

In my 40’s, I’ve started practicing another kind of motherhood — self-motherhood. I’m starting to feel like it’s okay to give myself the love and nurturing I would give to an actual daughter. That means validating who I am and what my life is like. That means saying there’s no failure here, no lack. That means giving myself total permission to feel what I feel and better yet, express how I feel.

I don’t have to keep yielding to the mothers in my life. If some of them believe that I’m not doing my part, I do not have to share their beliefs.

I still struggle with this, to be sure. I think it’ll be a process to move past it, fully. But I’m working on it.

I remind myself that most mothers aren’t watching me, judging me. They’re dealing with all the judgment that is coming at them (and I know they get a lot, too).

I remind myself that many of them are even aware of the silent grief that some childless women are dealing with and that their silence is merely an indication that they aren’t sure what to say or do to help us through it.

I remind myself that underneath it all, we’re just a bunch of burnt-out females who are tired of being told how to live our lives.

It’s sad when we do this to one another, but I think one of the best ways to remedy that is to just live my life without apology or explanation. The women who want to judge me will eventually get bored that their criticisms fall on deaf ears. The women who feel judged alongside me will be reminded that they can do what they want, too, without regard to the critics.

After all, life is not a machine that tallies our worth in comparison to one another. Who among us should ever feel as though they have to justify their existence or even their current circumstances? What an awful lesson to teach the next generation.

Motherhood, like any role, doesn’t automatically award us with virtue and worth. Only our actions can do that. Now that’s a lesson to pass on.

And yes…if you’re wondering, after I stopped crying, I unfriended her and then got 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. And it was glorious.

© Yael Wolfe 2019

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