Childfree and psychologically self-aware

It is common knowledge in childfree women's circles that those of us who opt out of reproduction come by our choice through lots of introspection. In this post I'm going to articulate why my insight into my mental health has been yet another reason to be childfree. 

I've been anxious for as long as I can remember. Perhaps it's inter-generational trauma. Perhaps it's the trauma of being brought up in a strict Communist state. It could be both of these. I always feel like I'm on edge, and this shows up physically in my feet, when I'm seated - I elevate the soles so that I'm on tippy toes. 

In high school I began seeing the school counsellor for depression, which I have been fighting on and off for most of my life. In 2007 I was prescribed a drug which had an anti-depressant component, and after years of displeasure at the social pressure to take it, I finally realised that it was doing more good than harm.

While I haven't sought information about how this medication would affect a foetus, I imagine that the best results for any hypothetical offspring would be to cease taking it for those 9 months. Such a decision would have serious repercussions for my mental health, to the extent that I can't see myself doing that. My commitment to my safety and stability is far more important than giving myself a mini-me. 

On a more personal level, I doubt my ability to meet *all* the emotional needs of a child. As an adult, long-term consumer of psychotherapy, I know that my ability to connect with other people on the deepest, most meaningful levels, is not always 100%. I am not as self-compassionate as I would like to be, and you can't pour from an empty cup. I don't doubt that I would be a good mother in some ways, but I wouldn't be able to provide my child with the emotional security that I would like to. Taking care of myself is hard enough... I can't imagine the pressure that would be placed on my back should I have a child. Those things are highly vulnerable and dependent - they need your full-time attention - attention which I would not be able to offer my own calloused soul. Attention which I want to reserve for the most special and worthwhile person I know: Me. 

I don't want to resent my kid for swallowing up my identity, either - something I've seen often enough in mothers who claim their brains have turned to mush, and are time-poor when it comes to pursuing meaningful pursuits and hobbies. Kids have a way of picking up on their parents' emotions, even when the parents don't intentionally emote resentment. And those kids are likely to have psychological problems of their own down the track. 

I'm a big proponent of a carefully considered decision over reproductive choices. There may be another version of me in a parallel universe who decides to reproduce, and makes the most of the gifts she has to bring a child. But in this reality, I know my limits. I know that I'm a traveller at heart, and when the world becomes safer to travel in, I'll be flying off into the sunset for far-flung destinations. I love travelling solo, or perhaps with an equally kind and caring partner - a personality I choose. A kid doesn't fit the equation. 

Which brings me to: I wouldn't have a say in my kid's personality or character. I once met online someone who was a free spirit like me, full of unconventional wisdom and artsy inclinations, whose kid had rebelled against those very qualities. She had come to describe him as a "rule-follower." I don't know if I could respect such a quality in a tiny human I was responsible for. I feel sorry for her. She's stuck providing for this conformist child until he turns eighteen - at least. Something in me would break if someone I poured all my love and resources into embodied right-wing values, for example. 

Those with the intention to reproduce often turn to the idea that they want someone to care for them when they reach old age. First of all, there's no guarantee your kid will be there. They might move cities, countries, continents, and not be physically available. Some people also decide that they don't like their parents all that much, and might turn them into nursing homes at the first opportunity. It's not that uncommon. In other words, having a child is no guarantee of safety and security down the line. 

Along the course of psychotherapy I was asked to visualise an earlier version of me - the child version. I was instructed to embrace her, talk to her, and honour her unmet needs. To offer her the love she was missing. It's a healing exercise - it's also the closest I want to get to having a child of my own. Children have a way of conjuring messy emotions in me. 

I write all this in full knowledge of a simple fact: I shouldn't have to convince anyone that I am in the right. I know deep inside that being childfree is the best choice I could make. I want to be the best version of myself, and this is one of my strategies for doing exactly that. I do, however, feel there is a dearth of literature on the topic of women choosing to be childfree, and I hope that in sharing my thoughts I might be able to help people make their own choices. 

Childfree and conscious of my privilege

It occurs to me that my ongoing practice of living a childfree life is the product of many intersecting forms of privilege. If I had been an immigrant from an African country such as Nigeria, where it is virtually unheard of to choose to forego reproduction, I would have faced immense pressure from my family and the Nigerian community in Australia to adhere to the social norm. Similarly, if I were originally from China, not only would it have been culturally ingrained to pass on your genes, but I would have had to get heterosexually married at a set time (before 27 years old) to avoid being seen as a "left-over woman." My white European background shelters me from the harshest of the stigma.  

Another thing which has dramatically reduced my tendency to be swayed by heterosexual social norms, is that I identified as gay, and then bisexual, from the teenage years, and assumed that this automatically excluded me from baby-making. I was aware that Rainbow Families existed, but I never felt the urge to gravitate towards them, and so I have largely escaped pressure from either straight or GLBTIQ communities. The straights assumed that I was on a different life trajectory and would do my own thing, and the non-straights didn't have much incentive to pressure me into mirroring their life decisions - even when I did come across people desperate for parenthood. 

Back to race, white people like Lionel Shriver insist that white people adding more of their number to the global population is a good thing. I, thankfully, do not. It's totally fine with me if people of colour increase in proportion in the future. It may just make society more antiracist, and therefore kinder, more charitable and compassionate. This argument has no bearing on my uterus whatsoever.  

I am also privileged by my educational reality. Although I dropped out of university, I have been and remain a life-long learner, devouring books and newspapers like The Guardian. I have read various books on being childfree, and I'm familiar with the discourse about it on the web. I know that while stigma very much exists, society is slowly becoming more accepting. I know there is a place for me in Australian and international society as someone who advocates for women to have as many choices as possible in how they live their lives. I make my opinions known in blog posts like these. 

In short, I am lucky. I am also alive at the right time and the right place. If I had been born before the time of contraception and the Civil Rights Movement, it might had felt socially impossible to be who I am today, even in Western society. I am thankful to all the feminist, lesbian, bisexual and childfree women who came before me and made my current liberation possible. I hope I, too, am paving the way for younger generations' greater freedom by my contributions to the public discourse. Let's liberate ourselves even further!