Why do I have to justify my decision not to have children?

Jane Hawkes, 48, a travel blogger, lives in Gloucestershire with her husband Andy, 49, an IT worker and their two dogs. By the age of 21, she realised she didn't want children, but still finds herself having to answer intrusive questions from others.

Every now and then, when I’m sitting in a restaurant with my husband Andy or walking our dogs in the woods near our home, I’ll catch myself feeling completely content.

Married to the same lovely man for over 15 years, I feel blessed that we can still make each other laugh every day. Over two decades we’ve been fortunate enough to take advantage of some wonderful opportunities and we both have jobs we enjoy.

We have travelled the world, taking trips to faraway destinations like the Caribbean, South Africa or the USA. We’ve built our four-bedroom home from scratch, the stress of which put our relationship to the test more than once, but we love it.

And while we have had ups and downs like any normal couple, I can genuinely say that we are – for the most part – very happy.

Yet when some people look at us, they can only see what’s missing: children. Without them, are Andy and I somehow 'incomplete' as a family? Surely, we can’t be truly happy with only our dogs and each other for company, can we?

Coming to a decision

Being child-free at 48 was certainly never part of my plan when I was younger. I grew up in Lancashire in the 70s and 80s and my parents had a very loving marriage. My sister, who is a couple of years younger, and I had a happy childhood. I once thought I might go into a career involving children.

I babysat regularly for neighbours and even took Child Development as a GCSE. So, my experiences of babies and children were all positive. Nothing ‘put me off’.

The pocket of friends I had at school all had similar dreams. They would grow up, get married, have children and they would all meet up regularly and even go on holiday together. Several friends had babies in their teenage years and simply doted on them. I watched them cooing over and cuddling their newborns and I was genuinely thrilled for them. But even then, I never really felt the urge to do the same.

As I grew up, my outlook began to change. After my A-levels, I went to university to study languages and the world began opening up with opportunities. I spent time in Austria and Italy – at one point teaching children – and while I loved it, I was beginning to realise that perhaps settling down and having a family was not for me.

Wanting different things

My boyfriend at the time felt differently. We were engaged when I was only 21 and as a traditionalist, he was very much of the view that we’d marry and have children one day. I grew steadily uneasy with the idea and realised that even though he wanted kids, the majority of the childcare would land on me. I felt instinctively that I would resent it. There was a whole world for me to explore, a whole variety of people to meet and things to see. In the end, it was one of the reasons we broke up.

After graduating, I came to London and joined an airline as a flight attendant and absolutely loved it. Being away on trips is not conducive to having small children (unless you’ve got a partner at home willing to bring them up almost single-handedly for days and weeks at a time) so babies were definitely not on my mind.

Ghosted by friends

I stayed in touch with my friends in Lancashire but it soon became clear that we had very differing views when it came to having children. On one trip home I distinctly remember that during one visit, I said something like, "I don’t think I’ll ever have one." My oldest friend looked at me askance and said, "I don’t think I could speak to you again if you didn’t." I laughed it off and said something like: "Don’t be silly" but it soon became clear that she meant it.

Over the following months and years, she grew increasingly distant. I tried to stay in touch and engage with her via messages on Facebook and texts but she simply stopped responding. I was ghosted for not having children.

Of course, I was sad. I had known her since we were children and I loved her children too. But I respected her decision and there are no hard feelings. I just wish she could have respected my decision too.

Finding my soulmate

I met Andy when I was around 23 and there was no mention of having children in those first heady days of romance. I got the distinct impression that he wasn’t bothered about starting a family either.

At 25, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and if anything that gave us subconscious permission not to have children. Although there is no physical reason why I can’t have babies, it’s the physical challenges of having and caring for small children that could cause a relapse.

Andy asked me to marry him after I’d been diagnosed so he was aware that it would be ‘in sickness and in health’. I can honestly say we never had the conversation about never having children. Naturally, we talked about it occasionally but there was never really a momentous decision made.

Intrusive questions

I’ve lost count of the number of times someone has leaned in conspiratorially at a party or wedding and asked: "So, why don’t you have children?" I find it astonishing that people can be so intrusive. A question like that could be so upsetting to some women. They have no idea if I’ve been trying for 10 years of unsuccessful IVF or had a dozen miscarriages. I tend to answer with a straight, "No".

But people really need to think about why they feel the need to ask this question to so many childless women. They rarely ask men the same thing.

Thankfully, I’ve never had the merest inkling from my parents that they are ‘disappointed’ they don’t have grandchildren. My sister never had children either but mum and dad have been nothing but supportive to both of us. They brought us up to make considered, responsible choices and my mother has always said that she never expects us to ‘look after’ them as they age. We’ve never felt pressure from Andy’s side of the family either.

In fact, the only family member who hinted at being sad that I’d never be a mother was my nana, who came from a big Irish family. She only had two children – my father and uncle – and always wanted more but it never happened. Although she never said it bluntly, I could tell that she was disappointed not to have lots of grandchildren running around her and my two dogs didn’t really make up for it.

Finding contentment

Getting our dogs about eight years ago only reinforced to Andy and I that we had made the right decision about not having children. Being a 'puppy parent' brings with it so much responsibility and expense. Suddenly it was not just the two of us. We had to take care of something completely reliant on us and spontaneity went out of the window. I discovered a whole new admiration for mothers and fathers.

Today, I’m content with the decision I’ve made never to be a mother and have absolutely no regrets. I enjoy my freedom and although some people say I’d have been a marvellous mum, I have never felt any yearning for it. My mum used to say in a very knowing fashion: "You don’t miss what you never had." And I understand what she means.

When I see babies or children, I don’t feel any pangs of "I wish…" I’ve got two Godsons, both in their teens now, and I love them to bits. As youngsters, I was always happy to spend time and play with them but it was always nice to give them back and return home to my husband, just the two of us, peace and quiet.

See Jane's blog at LadyJaney.co.uk

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