Growing up in the South meant having a grandfather who literally called me an Old Maid when I was in my 20s and unmarried. We were sitting in a Ryan's, each with about four plates from the buffet, and my Pa-Paw spotted a baby at the neighboring table. Very loudly (bless it, his hearing had all but failed him), he exclaimed, "WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GIVE ME ONE OF THOSE?," referring to the squishy and obviously cute tiny person tossing lord knows what all over the highchair and floor. At the time I laughed it off, still hopeful, conditioned, and convinced that soon I'd be married and have a house full of momma-lovin' boys to complete the Southern dream. Little did I know I'd be 43 and sitting on the couch one random Saturday night in 2026 exposing my feelings about the life I never got to live.
Yep. Once-upon-a-time, in a land far away I claimed I'd never get married. Twenty-four year old me boldly told my coworkers such, to which one responded by forcing me to write that very statement on paper and sign it because she said I'd eat those words one day. Fast forward 9 years, and I ate them (big time) when I not only married but divorced in record time (we all know how that one turned out). What's funny is although I wasn't sure I'd marry, I had aspirations of a house full of kids, and it took me until my mid-30s to realize those aspirations were fueled by expectation, not desire.
Don't hear what I'm not saying: I LOVE CHILDREN. But after 16 years of being a teacher, I decided I didn't want or need crotch gremlins sleeping in my house. Let me be clear, though. Not having children is a decision for me, and I understand it's a decision a lot of people don't understand. There's a stigma attached to those of us who choose to live life against the status quo. To name a few things I've heard over the years --
"You must be selfish."
"Aww, who will take care of you when you're old."
"Life must not be as fulfilling."
"Aren't you lonely?"
"You must have a ton of free time."
Sadly, the list goes on, and I think the ones that hurt the most are the ones assuming my life has no meaning and/or that I just "don't get it," because I'm not a parent. Even my own mother felt sorry for me and tried to somewhat bully me into changing my mind on having children. We were her whole life, so I'm pretty sure, based on her own experience, she thought I had no chance at clear identity if I didn't reproduce.
Why am I sitting on my couch, random Saturday, sharing this? Because as much as I enjoy the quiet, my time, and the choice I've made not to birth any children, none of that erases the fact that I'm single, 43 and secretly (or maybe for people who know me well, not so secretly) grieving a life I thought I'd have. I am not sad. Please do not for a second think I'm currently wiping droplets from tear-stained cheeks while I drone on about the children I never had -- again, I made that choice -- but know that I sometimes look at the status quo, at how things should have been and wonder if I'm actually the proverbial bearded lady everyone likes looking at but simultaneously feels sorry for.
Don't. No pity is needed or sought after.
I live my life, and honestly, after making some pretty bold career choices in the last five years, I'm living it much more freely than I ever have. Since November 2020, I've been crowned Sassy EIGHT times, a pretty high achievement that I feel deserves an actual crown... Timmy? Meagan? I love sparkle; just sayin'. I get to watch the two people I adore the most live their dreams of raising unhinged but very well-behaved littles who think I'm the coolest person alive.
I take trips, eat what I want, go where I want, and sometimes just stare at a wall in the silence just because I can. I jokingly tell my siblings, "there's a reason this is your life and not mine," because as much as I love tiny humans, I still stand on business that I don't want to birth any. Even in dating, I will make hard passes on kind people if they have super small children. I'm sure some folks will say that's selfish and rude, but for me, it's a choice like any other. I absolutely have no problem potentially loving some man's child as my own, but for self preservation, I don't want to start from scratch, and I cannot and will not introduce myself into parental drama if you and baby momma can't act like adults.
None of these choices void the "what if" that plagues a 43-year old single person who sits here bearing her soul fully knowing people will have plenty of opinions on the matter. Sometimes people like me don't actually allow ourselves the space to grieve and bury the life we never got to live because, honestly, it unintentionally gets thrown in our faces that "there's still time," and "you might change your mind," both clear indications that some people around us don't actually accept or respect how we've chosen to live but instead think something is fundamentally wrong with us causing us to make the choice in the first place.
I still date. I still love kids. I still could one day be someone's bonus mom. I do not harbor regret for choosing myself and doing what makes me happy. Yes, loneliness sometimes creeps in, and I wonder what life would feel like if I had a messy house full of loud people, but then I laugh and remind myself that "it's a good thing it's their life and not mine," because I'm the best version of myself just how I am.
I do hope that one day I'll find a mate, kids or not, who enjoys spending time with me while also encouraging me to maintain my independence and live life boldly. On the flip side, if I stay single forever, I'm capable of continuing to build a life that takes me to new places, introduces me to cool people, and fills the parts of the my spirit that yearn for adventure and respectable company.
Next time you find out someone is older, single, and has no children, don't immediately respond with, "Oh, I"m sorry." My response is, "I'm not." I have made poor choices in mates and now that I know what I want my life to look and feel like, I will stay unattached until a man comes along with the ability to enhance what I've already built for myself. I'll never forget one graduate school professor asking the class circa 2008, "What are you looking for in a mate." She went around the room polling for answers, and no joke, every single one of my classmates said, "someone who completes me." As she continued around the room, I started to sweat a little, knowing my answer was wildly different than everyone else's. When it was my turn to answer the question, I sat up straight, looked her in the eye, and said, "Someone who challenges me."
So now, we continue living life -- you, yours and me, mine. There is no right or wrong, just a series of choices leading us in myriad directions. I'm not sure what will happen next, who I'll meet, or what the next 43 years will look like, but I will say this for now:
CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
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