I was in for my annual exam, and my OB/GYN asked me all the usual questions: When was your last period? Any irregular symptoms? How's the birth control working for you? When I mentioned that I had an IUD that was about to hit its five-year expiration date, she asked, "Well, what do you want to do?"
Indeed, what did I want to do? That simple question set off a chain reaction of doubt and confusion that would plague me for the next three years. My options—get a new IUD, switch to a different method of birth control, or go off birth control entirely—felt deeply tied to what my future could look like and whether there was a baby in it.
I was turning 30, newly married, and had recently overcome chronic work burnout by making a career pivot. My husband and I were buying our first house, and an obvious next step, as dictated by the American dream, was having children. And yet, here I was deeply confused and full of existential dread.
At that point, the assumption that I would eventually become a parent was already punctuating my life in a way it hadn't before getting married. Family members recommended adding baby gates and childproofing measures to our home "just in case" any kids came along. But most of the time, the nudges were subtle: scrolling through Instagram and being inundated with pregnancy announcements and newborn photoshoots. Even getting my period every month felt like a reminder of what my body could do.
So, after that gyno appointment, I thought about motherhood constantly. I imagined Christmas mornings and family Halloween costumes, birthday parties, and bedtime stories. I held my newborn nephew in my arms and wondered what it would feel like to cradle a child of my own. At the same time, I picked at my doubts about having kids like a scab. I learned way too much about all the things that can go wrong in pregnancy. I made mental lists of everything that I wanted to accomplish before the life-changing event of parenting—and then, all of the things I would have to accomplish to justify not having a kid.
I didn't fit into the narratives common among aspiring parents or the blissfully childfree. I have zero drive or longing to have a baby (and the girl with the list wasn't exactly helping me see things differently, IYKYK). But I don't dislike children either. I fell into some secret third category no one talks about: the ambivalent undecided.
The agony of ambivalence
I could be washing the dishes, going on a walk, taking a shower, or trying to fall asleep, and BAM! My brain asked, Will my husband resent me if we don't have kids? Would having kids mess up our relationship? Would I be a terrible mother? Rebuttals from my logical brain—He has said multiple times this is not a dealbreaker. You'd probably be a fine mom—didn't help. The endless worries and questions snowballed totally out of my control.
Keep reading to learn how visualization exercises and a special book helped the writer come to a decision.
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