No. Being Childless Isn’t a Tragedy.
When people hear I don’t have children, you can sense an awkward pause. Then come the looks of pity and confusion. The same one you would give someone who just told you their house burned down.
Some well-meaning friends assume I must have tried and failed, that there is a secret sadness behind my choice — or rather, what they think is a lack of choice.
But not having children isn’t a tragedy I quietly endure.
It is a choice. One that lines up with who I am, not some cosmic error I have yet to correct.
My life without children isn’t incomplete.
It is just a different path.
Let’s talk about words.
Specifically, let’s talk about how language loves to betray its bias.
Words like “childless”, carry a burden I never asked for, as though something is missing. It is a term that paints me as incomplete. As if I am waiting for something to happen, for some missing piece of my life puzzle to arrive.
But I am not waiting. I have never been. The word suggests absence, like a void that needs to be filled, when in reality, I don’t feel lacking.
There is this weird, skewed view that if you don’t have kids, your life must be less joyful, less full. People…
