Society tells me having kids is a natural step in my life journey, but what if I just don’t want any?

Exclusive | 2 min read | Bangalore

Am I selfish? Am I incomplete? As a 42-year-old childless married woman, I am confronted by these doubts every day. 

But I find the commitment to raise and nurture another life - either a biological child or an adopted one - lacking in me. I don’t want to have a child at all, a realisation I had at 39.

In Indian society, raising a child is seen as a mother’s responsibility and I resent the imbalance. I don’t want to be a super-mom. I revel in my love of arts, travel, books and spirituality. For me, that space can’t be compromised, especially not when so much of my life is clouded my by ill health. Having the space to do things I enjoy is pivotal to my emotional well-being.

But don’t mistake me for an anti-natalist. I grew up picturing having a child who loved the arts and knowledge of the holy scriptures of the Sanatan Dharma or Hinduism. I imagined having a child and raising her with immense love and care. 

But the stress I underwent living with family after marriage impacted my health, and the first three years of my marriage were turbulent. When I wasn't even sure of my relationship, how could have I even thought about having a child? Things eventually settled but the desire to have a child wasn't there any more. 

Health considerations

Having a child would be a lifetime of work and I’ve realised with my health condition, I can’t be the primary care giver. My extreme mood swings, sensitivity to stress and propensity to panic don't make me a good fit for the role.

That doesn’t stop doubt about forgoing motherhood creeping in. I live with a fear of growing old and not having offspring to care for me. My husband Ravish says he is certain of dying first and I believe him, with a family history of health issues making him vulnerable,

Even with this doubt, I believe my rationale for not having children is sound. As I write this piece, I am recovering from a bout of acute pain owing to rheumatoid arthritis. The pain radiates from my hip joints to my legs and impairs my mobility. Last week, I limped, struggled to sit and sleep. I felt lethargic and fatigued. Medication further still takes a toll on my digestive system. 

With a condition that oscillates between tolerable and intolerable pain, I feel inept to raise a child. There are times when I need assistance to even use the washroom so how on this earth would I meet the demands of a child, most of which are very physical in the initial years?

A pain-free life would have perhaps made me more receptive to the idea of having children because the thought of growing old alone, particularly in a country like India, gnaws at my soul. Without children, who will perform my last rites? How will my soul find peace?

According to the Longitudinal Ageing Study of India, commissioned by the Health Ministry, the country is projected to have approximately 320 million elderly people by 2050 - but the country lacks the massive infrastructure needed to support their elderly, with 66% of the elderly here dependent on their children’s healthcare cover.

I don’t want to risk living alone in my old age because what will my choices be when I reach an age I can no longer look after myself? When friends and family gather with their children and grandchildren to mark special occasions, what will I look forward to?

Fuelled by societal pressure, the exalted status of motherhood and my own conditioning, I sometimes still feel compelled to have a child.

Early in my marriage, relatives believed I was a ‘free bird’ who didn’t want to be tied down. Now, they’ve moved on to assume that I can’t possibly conceive.

We married when Ravish was 39 and I was 36. To start with, I wanted children but my deteriorating health made me think otherwise. Living with in-laws soon after marriage also put unimaginable pressure on me and I felt suffocated. Ravish wanted kids and we argued about my reluctance initially. But with passing age, we have realised we won't be able to do justice to any child.

Family expectations

Whenever my mother fields queries from her relatives about my childlessness, she turns her attention to me, telling me about the positivity motherhood will usher into my life. I tell her its downside.

I am not alone in choosing to be child free, with figures showing the highest ever childlessness rates in India in women over 40 who have chosen to be childfree.

In Britain, the rate of childlessness are higher than in many European countries, with one in five women over 45 having no children.

Though it pains me sometimes to be without a child, my identity and sense of self doesn’t come from motherhood. I derive it from my autonomy. This agency however, sometimes weakens when bombarded with the ‘norms’ of this patriarchal world.

My constant battle is with inner demons of fear and self-doubt. Living childfree doesn’t translate into being self-centred or emotionless. My decision of not raising a child arises from my lived experiences alone. A decision I believe is in the best interest of that unborn child and mine. 

Giving birth is not viewed as a sacrifice by every woman but I see it as one and I can't commit my life to raising a child.

My decision makes sense to me, but when I evaluate it through the prism of social condition, it seems an aberration. Even that withstanding, I would rather choose to live with this dilemma than be unfair to a human being I bring into this world out of obligation.

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