Childless Cat Lady or Football Playing King in Space?
First of all, let’s get one thing straight—I am a dog person. I have two of my own, Darla and Juniper, and now, thanks to Adam, I’ve unofficially inherited a third: Lulu. So yeah, I’m basically running a small, chaotic wolf pack at this point. Being a working mom is exhausting.
And before you say it—yes, I know. I spent years believing I radiated “golden retriever energy,” only to be lovingly corrected by my best friend, who informed me that I actually exude “orange tabby cat energy,” aka chaotic good, a little unpredictable, and selectively but overwhelmingly affectionate. Thanks, Sar. This revelation was jarring but, upon reflection, painfully accurate. Anyway, none of this is relevant to what I actually want to talk about today, which is the looming specter of becoming a childless cat lady.
Actually, scratch that. I prefer child-free because “childless” implies something is missing, and that’s not always the case for women who choose a life without kids. So let’s talk about it—how my thoughts on this have evolved in my late twenties, why it’s more complicated than people think, and why, no matter which path you choose, you’re both winning and losing something.
When I was younger, I wasn’t daydreaming about being a mom—I was dreaming about love. Not the motherly kind—the romantic kind. The slow-dancing-in-the-kitchen, traveling-the-world, watching-their-hair-turn-gray kind of love. But love alone wasn’t enough. I imagined a future where I was completely myself, in the fullest, most unapologetic way possible. I wanted self-actualization. I wanted to be the kind of person who lived fully, who became fully. A football-playing king in space, with a moustache (IYKYK).
But then, of course, life throws its expectations at you. And one of the biggest ones for women? Motherhood. Whether we wanted to or not, most little girls grew up with the idea that motherhood was the dream. It’s baked into our childhoods. Playing house, cradling baby dolls, making Barbie a mom—it’s all social conditioning wrapped up in a plastic pink bow. By second grade, my friends and I were already discussing how many kids we wanted, mapping out our timelines like tiny CEOs of our hypothetical future families.
You guys remember M.A.S.H., right? Well, according to my childhood projections, I should have been engaged by 22, married by 24, and popping out babies by 26. I am about to turn 30, and let me tell you—I could not be more relieved that none of that happened.
Truth is, I never really daydreamed about having kids. The idea of pregnancy? Terrifying. I’m 5 feet tall, and my body already gives me plenty of trouble—I had no interest in adding childbirth to the list.
But beyond that, I’d already experienced a version of motherhood. My mom left when I was young, and my dad raised my sisters and me as a single parent. I took on a parentified role early on, mothering before I even knew what that meant. While my friends played dress-up, I was already shouldering responsibility that didn’t belong to me.
As I navigated my dating life, which has ~mostly~ been with men (screams in bi-panic), kids were part of their plans, so I just assumed they were part of mine too. It wasn’t until my late twenties when my biological clock started ticking louder, that I finally stopped and asked myself: Wait. Do I actually want this?
When I let myself imagine two different versions of my future—one where I have kids and one where I don’t—the answer became painfully clear.
In the having kids scenario, I see struggle. I see body image issues I am not emotionally prepared to face. I see new mental health battles stacked on top of my already existing depression and CPTSD. I see exhaustion, an overwhelming fear of failure, and a life that doesn’t feel like mine anymore. I see PTA meetings, school pickup lines, and a relentless identity shift that I’m not sure I want.
In the not having kids scenario, I see possibility. I see deep connections with my partner, my friends, and—most importantly—myself. I see adventure, autonomy, and self-actualization. That version of me feels whole.
And listen, that’s just my truth. I know plenty of women who were born to be moms—women who can’t wait to cheer from the sidelines of a soccer game, who thrive on organizing school events, who find the very essence of fulfillment in raising tiny humans. And I believe them when they say there’s no greater love.
But I also believe that I would not feel the same.
And that’s okay.
For a long time, I feared that if I didn’t have children, I would never feel fully fulfilled. And in some ways, I still think that’s true. But I also think I’d have regrets if I did have children.
Both paths come with wins. And both paths come with losses.
It’s the fig tree dilemma, as is life.
If you’re not familiar, I strongly urge you to read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, specifically this passage:
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
The analysis paralysis is real. The thing is, no matter what you choose, you win something beautiful. But you also lose something beautiful.
So—what do you do?
Not to be cliché, but the best thing you can do is follow your heart. Not society’s “shoulds” or what you feel pressured to want. Take a moment. Journal it out. Sit with the idea that both paths are valid, and both paths are fulfilling in their own way. Which one makes your future self feel the most alive? That’s the one to follow.
And if you change your mind later? That’s okay, too. We are complex and ever evolving beings with free will. It’s honestly pretty sick.
If you’ve ever wrestled with this dilemma, I hope this little ramble offers a fresh perspective. You can find happiness with kids, but you can also find it without them. Either way, I’ll be over here, seeking my great love—with my partner, my people, and most importantly, with myself. For me, that will always be enough.
With my whole heart,
Your Maddy
