This piece was written by one of our dear readers—a woman with something real to say. Each month, we handpick the best submissions for Dear Reader because we’re after that PROVOKED bite: truth, intelligence, and heart. These stories come from women our age—women who’ve lived enough to know better and still care enough to tell it anyway. Because being seen and heard matters. Because storytelling is how we stitch ourselves to one another. And because when one woman speaks her truth, another finally recognizes her own. — Susan Dabbar, Editor-in-Chief
I did everything a good mom does. It was a role I performed well, not a calling I was born with.
Last year, my oldest son shared his experience hanging out with his girlfriend’s parents. He said to my husband and me, “It’s so nice being around people who actually wanted to have kids.” I couldn’t get his words out of my head because while I’m a mother of four kids—two biological girls and two boys through marriage—the irony is I never wanted to be a mom.
Ever since childhood, I’ve been inherently egocentric. I like having my own time, plans, and focus. I don’t like when my schedule gets altered. I’m also someone who, when I decide to do something, gives it my all. This was the problem. I realized that having children would require me to give up parts of myself, or at least postpone them, and I didn’t want that. I watched and listened to other young women talk and dream about becoming mothers, and never felt like I was going to miss out on something.
Then I got married to my second husband. We were incredibly happy. We did all the fun things that my younger self didn’t make time for in my chase for good grades, a Ph.D., a career, and externalized “gold stars.” What we didn’t do was have deep conversations about our future, including having children. When my husband started talking about it, it was easy for me to be swayed by the Hallmark version he presented. He didn’t talk me into it, but his version of us as parents sounded lovely and all the emotional reasons to have kids infiltrated my brain.
So we did. And I dove in.
Becoming the Mother I Thought I Should Be
I became the version of what I thought a good mom should be. I was loving. I was involved. I was available. Every birthday had unique themes, from a full-out Harry Potter Quidditch arena in our garage to a constructed ice skating rink in our backyard. I was a room parent. I was at every sporting, theater, and academic event. I made one-to-one time for each child, read bedtime stories, and exposed them to a range of cultural experiences. I also made choices in my career that were good for my kids rather than me, giving up roles that I loved to be an online professor so I was always available to them.
I was all the things—not perfect, mind you, because in truth, motherhood is simply the biggest trial-and-error experiment ever invented. But I did everything I could to make sure my daughters knew they were loved. Because they were. I chose to be a mom and there was no way I wasn’t going to achieve my best in that role.
When that marriage ended, my girls and I blended with my current husband and his two boys. And I dove into being the best stepmom I could be (a whole different adventure), extending the same efforts to my sons that I’d been doing for the girls.
But I often felt like I was playing a part. I was checking off all the boxes and doing everything a “good mom” does. It was a responsibility rather than an ingrained passion. The love I had for my kids was real, but my actions were aligned with what I knew was the job rather than some innate drive.
My husband has a similar story about becoming a parent, and we’ve been open with our kids about this, particularly in relation to them deciding about having children. We’ve pointed out the realities of kids being a drain on finances, time, career paths, marriages, and that we’re not parents whose purpose in our golden years is to be grandparents. It’s a delicate balance being this open with your children while not negating their existence.
Our kids had varying responses to our candidness. Our oldest (32) has folded our perspective into his broader view that the world isn’t an ideal place to bring more children into, although his comment about his girlfriend’s parents belies something more going on for him. Our youngest (21), who has never wanted children, sees our perspective as evidence supporting her desire not to be a parent. And our older daughter (23) is still struggling with how we could love her but not have been drawn to become parents. Sometimes she seems to get it, but sometimes she’s also hurt and angry. Instead of guilt, her reaction and my son’s comment generated reflection that went beyond just my personal experience.
The Question That Counts
I started wondering if “innate parents”—those who have always wanted to be parents—are any better than “parents by intention,” those who made a conscious choice to go against their instincts. I thought about family members who step in and take in children they never planned for. Stepparents who take on full parental roles after marriage. Older siblings who become the parents by default. Am I, or any of them, lesser because it wasn’t something they dreamed about?
For just over two decades, I’ve been a mom, and I enjoy it now more than ever because I no longer feel like I’m playing a role. I’m able to be more authentic with my adult kids. I don’t have to sacrifice myself anymore and no longer feel the pressure of being their “everything.”
But being a mom wasn’t—and isn’t—my ultimate goal in life. I also don’t love my kids less just because I was persuaded to become a mom versus women who had children as part of their plan. Ultimately, I simply came to the same point via a different path and perspective than most.
Would I do it again? Probably not. I would’ve listened more to myself and my wants rather than giving in to societal pressure and spousal encouragement. I would’ve been happy in a different way. Because loving my children has never been the question. Choosing this life again is.
