It has been impossible to pick up a newspaper recently without being faced with the photograph of a smiling white woman in her thirties or forties telling us how happy she is to have decided not to have children. The articles had titles such as “Women without children aren’t selfish — we’re self-aware” and “I’m childless by choice — but please stop asking me about it” and were prompted by the publication of Ruby Warrington’s new book, Women without Children. I read the articles and my overwhelming emotion was envy — not of these women’s childlessness but of their certainty.
Why do I have children? It isn’t because I always yearned for them — I didn’t. It isn’t because I felt my life was impoverished without them — it wasn’t. It isn’t because I am temperamentally suited to have children — I’m not. I like my own space and I love peace and quiet. I am quite selfish and self-absorbed and not hugely into sharing. I like going on holidays that actually feel like holidays. My children give me a reason to live but they also sometimes make me long for death. They make me laugh and they have often made me cry. So why do I have children?
Looking back, I suspect it was a version of FOMO — a fear of missing out. I’d done the single thing, the couple thing and the married thing, so why not do the kid thing? It was a high- stakes version of being tired of one TV channel and wanting to see what was on the other side. I have kids not because I wanted them but because I did not want to miss out on having them.
I remember having a panic attack not long after my daughter was born when I was freshly hit by the realisation that there was no “14-day return if not completely satisfied” offer when it came to new babies. Parenthood is like the Hotel California — you can check out any time you like but you can never leave. A study in 2021 found that eight per cent of British parents admitted that they regretted having children while a 2013 survey found that seven per cent of American parents older than 45 said if they could live their lives again they would not have children.
Do I sometimes look and wonder what my life would be like without children? Of course: I wonder about how many more books I might have written, what it must be like to go on holidays that are relaxing and how much lower my blood pressure might be without the challenges young children bring.
It was FOMO that explains why I have children, but now that I have children I experience a different version of FOMO — missing out on opportunities and experiences because my life and time is not wholly my own. If you have children it is something of a taboo to admit to any regrets while if you have chosen to not have children it seems heretical to admit to any doubts.
“God have mercy on the man who doubts what he’s sure of,” sings Bruce Springsteen in Brilliant Disguise. I envy anyone who knows for certain that they do not want children — how liberating it must be to be so sure that you are not missing out.
Harry Belafonte was an inspiration
I have been lucky enough to meet some extraordinary people over the years but few I have interviewed have been as inspiring as Harry Belafonte, who died this week aged 96.
Belafonte could easily have sat back and enjoyed the trappings of his barrier-smashing success as a hugely popular singer and actor but instead he harnessed his fame in the name of activism. He campaigned with his friend Martin Luther King Jr during the civil rights movement in the Sixties, he was one of the driving forces behind USA for Africa’s hit song We are the World in the Eighties and he continued to fight for justice and equality throughout his life.
Belafonte came from a time when celebrity activism meant more than just retweets and hashtags and his life reminds us that you don’t need to be on social media to be an influencer.
