What if I Just Don't Know if I Want to Have Kids?

September 19, 2022
Justyna Green

At 30, I was diagnosed with endometriosis — a chronic condition without a cure. Not quite what I expected entering my thirties, gloriously hailed by my older friends as the brilliant decade of giving less fucks about everything.

After two years of medical appointments and various scans to ease the overwhelming pain I suffered during every period, it was finally the day of my surgery — the only way of truly diagnosing endometriosis.

When I came out of the morphine high of my endometriosis surgery, I was faced with two things: the unbearable pain of having my endo deposits cut and burned through incisions in my abdomen, juxtaposed with a joyous choir of doctors exclaiming “You’re now ready to have a baby!

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But let’s get things straight — I was not. Technically, sure, my uterus just had the makeover of its life, but mentally, I couldn’t have been further from wanting to have anything — let alone a baby — inside me any time soon.

Unfortunately, once I hit thirty and got married, I found I was put at the starting line of a race I didn’t want to participate in. Hurdles to jump through included: getting pregnant, having a baby, having a permanent job with a great maternity cover, and going to lots of weddings wearing floral midi dresses. 

Who had put the hurdles up? Our society, the media, idyllic Instagram pictures, and friends — reluctantly jumping through the same hurdles we were conditioned to strive for. 

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What really beckoned me, however, was getting to know myself better; shedding old narratives layer after layer. Throughout my twenties, I went through various phases, trying to find out who I was. 

In my early twenties, I was an artist and hippie, wearing Winsor sunglasses and dried orange slices for earrings. Quite dashing, I’ve got to say. At 24 I founded my own communications agency and chased the persona of a business owner. I grew my hair long and curled it every day, painted my nails red, and got a Kate Spade handbag.

I thought I was on top of the world. Only to start realising, in my thirties, that none of these identities mattered and that our real nature is a magical multitude of ideas. 

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But following my surgery, a day wouldn’t go by without me thinking about babies. They became an intrusive thought — like a pesky fly — triggered by doctors, friends with kids, and strangers asking if I wanted to have children. 

I was so desperate to have the answer, to make a decision and move on, that I would sway from convincing myself that I never wanted children, to thinking, surely, it was the one thing to do in my short time on earth.

In truth, neither option felt right. The pressures of having to know — and of not having an answer — made me increasingly anxious each day. Every day, I’d talk to my husband about starting a family, ask friends with children what it’s like (never do that, they’re a completely unreliable source), and try to logically list the pros and cons of either decision. 

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I became exhausted and miserable. I felt like a failure for not being able to take control of my life. In one of those moments of sadness, when I was sitting still and feeling resigned, a quiet voice in my head said "I don’t know."

It was the most empowering thing my intuition could have imparted. I just didn’t know. And I still don’t know. Admitting that to myself felt freeing — I was aware of how I felt, and not knowing was a valid answer. 

It’s not a lazy option and it’s not reckless. For me, it’s a sign of standing up for myself. In a society that favours answers and sees many aspects of life as binary, it takes guts to say "I don’t know" and feel strong.

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And like magic, the moment I admitted to myself that I didn't know what I wanted to do next, the weight of the dilemma dropped. I felt free again. Free to just be, thrive in my everyday life — learn, make mistakes, change my mind — and have the full human experience. 

By living fully in the present moment, I know I’ll make the right decisions. And for those who keep asking: I just smile and say "I don’t know."