Do you have kids?

 "Do you have kids?"

"No."

For the first time in my life, I recently answered that question without qualifying my response. 

Typically, when I'm asked if I have children, I will reply, "No, but..."

"No, but we have a rescue dog and a blind cat."

"No, but I work with children all day."

"No, but I've recently started writing children's books."

I suppose that I've always felt lingering guilt about admitting the truth. This question usually arises within minutes of meeting someone new, and I've always worried whether my first impression makes me seem selfish, uncaring, and uncompassionate. 

As the perimenopausal symptoms creep in (what in the itchy ears is going on?), I'm accepting that Evan and I will not have biological children. I've always left some space there, just in case we changed our minds. But let's be real. We are 47 years old. I can't imagine waking up one day at this age, after a blissful 8-hour sleep, and suddenly deciding that this is a path we should pursue. 

I have incredible people in my life who know that I am a selfless, compassionate, and caring person, so if I meet someone who is turned off immediately by the fact that I don't have children, then so be it. 

I posted about this topic about 5 years ago. Although I was a bit nervous to share such an oddly controversial subject, the response was overwhelmingly positive and sparked a lot of conversation. As I close the door on this phase of life, I have some new thoughts to share. People are genuinely curious. After all, this is how we learn: by listening to and considering others' perspectives. 

Here's the deal. 

My thirties, the time when many women were choosing to become mothers, was not smooth sailing for me, or for us as a married team.    

If you follow my blog, you already know about my rare cartilage disease. Diagnosed at age 32, I endured 17 surgeries over the course of 13 years. Ev and I clumsily navigated that unexpected life surprise, emerging as a much stronger team because of it. Looking back, it was a really challenging chapter. There were stretches of months, and even years, where we were struggling to just keep our heads above water in a relentless cycle of bad news, surgery, and recovery, while trying to recalibrate during brief moments of calm. 

I'm not using this as an excuse, because if we really wanted to have children, we would have tried to make it happen. Or even discussed it! We did not. I remember a doctor telling me, "There is nothing stopping you from having a family." I scoffed at him and immediately dismissed his comment. I was already heavily reliant on Ev for help with bathing and dressing. How could we do this with a baby? The main priority of our lives became my health. Maybe it was an excuse? Perhaps we were overthinking it. Maybe we didn't have the time to think at all. 

In retrospect, I wonder if we would have chosen to have children in the absence of this disease; I'm just not sure. We planned to have children, but we kept putting it off. Even before I was diagnosed, we hummed and hawed over the decision. We spent most of our time dreaming about living abroad and longing to create our own unique path. While most of our friends were talking about starting a family, Ev and I were hashing out an escape plan. Adding to our family was most definitely placed on the back burner when we made the big decision to move to Cayman. 

I do wonder what our lives would have been like if we had chosen to have children. Sometimes I imagine highlight moments like watching my daughter open her first Barbie on Christmas morning and I feel sad. I mourn the life that I will never have. But mostly I enjoy the calm, peaceful and meaningful life that we've created for ourselves. I am especially grateful for the gift of time, which always seems to be in short supply for my parent friends. I have time to create, time with Evan, time with family and friends, time to truly connect with my clients, and time to enjoy this beautiful place where we live. It's not lost on me that perhaps we would have chosen to have children if we would have had more time. We all make choices and then question what could have been. That's human nature. I can still wonder what my life would have been like with children, but it's not a feeling of regret at this point, but simply curiosity. 

While it is human nature to compare ourselves to others and judge how others live, it's also important to remember that we often only see the highlights. Social media makes other paths appear picture-perfect, which can easily cause us to question or regret our own path, even when our choices were right for us. 

I'm not sure if the algorithm simply found me, or if this topic has just become more heated as the world becomes increasingly polarized, but I've recently been exposed to some intense debates between the pro child-free and pro-children camps on social media.

Some proponents of the child-free lifestyle are calling out parents for adding to an already overpopulated world, claiming that a life without children is a superior one. On the flip side, some parents are accusing child-free people of acting selfishly and failing to fulfill their life purpose. I've seen the debate get nasty. Comments from both sides can be hurtful, and frankly childish. 

We've essentially pitted ourselves against each other because we choose to live our lives in different ways. Both are equally valid ways to live.

While we naturally seek connections with those who share our core values, social media has shown me that "your people" don't always look exactly like you. Remarkably, you can share deep value systems with those who have made vastly different life choices. I find myself following many humorous parenting content creators who share funny anecdotes about real-life parenting challenges. Although I can't necessarily relate to chaotic school mornings and spirit week stress, I enjoy people who are witty, insightful, authentic, and compassionate (Shout out to bigtimeadulting). 

Because most of my friends have children, I have witnessed the immense joy, satisfaction, and resilience that comes with raising a family. I hope they, in turn, have learned something about the intentional way I live my own life. This is how we grow. Our brains form entirely new connections when we imagine how someone else might feel, think, and reason.

(C'mon, you knew that I would link it back to the brain! 😉)

When we step into someone else's shoes, our brain actually becomes more flexible. Trying to truly understand what others are feeling is a great tool that naturally improves our ability to manage our own emotions. Plus, seeing things from different angles boosts our metacognition - thinking about our own thinking. When we practice that level of self-awareness, it becomes easier to spot our own unhealthy habits and build better ones. 

 Isn't it cool that we can make different choices and carve out different paths for ourselves, while still respecting and learning from each other? When we open our minds to different perspectives, our brains literally build new neural connections. But if we only seek out people who are carbon copies of ourselves, our brain growth stalls, and we risk losing our mental flexibility over time. 

 Shifting my mindset hasn't been easy but I'm finally in a place where I can wonder what my life would have been like with children, while also letting go of the guilt and truly enjoying the life that we've created. 

No, I do not have kids. Period. Full stop. 

Cheers to my friends and family who have never made me feel the need to qualify that statement.