Why I don't have a child: solitude doesn't scare me

When I was a little girl, I fully intended to be a mother. But later on, when a husband didn’t materialize, I simply shrugged. Motherhood was not something I ever felt compelled to do as an adult. The key, I think, is that I am not scared to be alone.

I spend considerable time by myself, and yet I am never lonely. I really enjoy my life. There is nothing special about it, but it is full of leisure. Not in the fancy sense of spas, shopping and cruises, but rather mental and physical leisure. I have friends who are mothers and still manage to do it all – pursue professional and personal ambitions, cultivate friendships, make money, take care of themselves. I’ve never been able to picture myself doing this, nor have I ever wanted to work that hard. With me, something was always going to give, but it would never have been my kids.

There have been times in my life where my future felt unclear, or my career hopes dashed, and I remember the empty troubling feeling that accompanies this. How would I find meaning in my life? What values did I want to uphold? In such times, I can imagine it would be reassuring to have a vessel in which to pour my hopes and dreams.

Even if this is only spoken of in hushed corners, there is still this idea that kids are the best hedge against a sad, lonely old age. My last boyfriend, who was also childless, was nearly obsessed with trying to secure offspring-surrogates to buffer his physical decline. He’d watched his parents’ health fade, helping them along the way, and thought how impossible the situation would’ve been had they not had children. He is banking on the largesse he extends to his real and play nephews to be returned to him in old age.

I, on the other hand, think my friends are a surer bet. My mom never understood my deep friendships until I was diagnosed with early stage colon cancer last year. When I had my surgery, it wasn’t a family member who came up to be with me – it was my best friend who flew into town on two days’ notice.

My mother still expects me to care for her in old age, and she has reason to believe I will; I cared for my grandmother when she had outpatient surgery a few years ago. It is precisely because I don’t have kids that I was in a position to help. But while my mother is lucky enough to have children she can rely on, the demands on this generation make this more difficult. Some are simply too burdened by distance, careers and family of their own to look after their relatives. Others are just more selfish, and won’t make caring for ageing parents a priority.

In 2013, a woman in my family dropped her daughter off at her dad’s place and boarded a bus to who knows where. The father wasn’t in a position to take care of his daughter. I agreed to take custody of her and started looking for a house with a yard in a good school district, but at the last minute, the father decided he could manage it.

The mother in question is one of the few “bad” moms I’ve known. She birthed four children but raised none. This fact keeps her in turmoil because though she can’t manage to take care of them, without question, she adores her kids.

Now her daughter spends summers with me, the latest in a number of relatives for whom I’ve taken temporary custody. I prepared their meals, arranged activities and classes, nurtured and encouraged them, and like all mothers sometimes lost my cool. Unlike my former boyfriend, I suffer no illusions that my seeds will reap motherly rewards – deep, unconditional love and the assurance they’ll care for me in old age.

As fond as that young woman might be of me, it is no match for the deep connection she feels for her mother. She loves her and is very protective of her, and I understand that the education, opportunity and encouragement I give her are not an investment in what she will do for me in the future. Her loyalty lies with her biological mother with whom she never ends a call without saying “I love you”.

Once, I asked her why it was that if she was in a mood she had no problem replying to my “I love you” with silence, but always made sure to tell her mom she loved her. She explained she didn’t want her mom to get mad and disappear again. Implicit in this was the girl’s confidence that no matter what, I wasn’t going to abandon her. That’s mother enough for me.