On Being Childfree – Kerry’s Story

Welcome everyone! It’s week twenty-three of the “On Being Childfree” blog series and today it’s a story that initially made me flinch a little I won’t pretend. And our guest poster Kerry knows this because she asked me if I would share a story from someone who doesn’t want children because she doesn’t like them. I’m committed to giving everyone an opportunity to share their story and when you hear from Kerry you’ll know why it’s so important to never take anything at face value. Please do read, leave a comment and share as much as you can, I’m really willing this to grow and grow so that we can help as many people as possible who may be going through something similar.

(If you would like to see where it all began, click here. Thank you so much for your support, if you would like to share your own story please email me on booandmaddie22@gmail.com)


We Are: Kerry, 42 and John, 60

Home Is: London

We Do: I work in the legal profession and John has his own business


“Why don’t you want children?”

Oh. That question. THAT question. The question that everyone thinks they have a right to ask when the reality is, it’s really no-one’s business. I’m 42 and feel like I’ve spent at least 20 years of my life having to defend my decision not just to not have, but to not even want children. Everyone invested in my reproductive system, my emotions, my mental health. Everyone thinking they know best. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?

The truth is I no longer feel like I have to apologise for being honest. The secret that I spent so long hiding, that I always felt embarrassed to talk about. You see the reason I don’t want children? I don’t actually like them. But before you recoil in horror, please listen to my story.

I’m definitely not someone who looks back on my childhood with rose-tinted glasses. My Dad was never around (as in, not because he worked hard, as in no-one has seen him since I was 2) and my Mum flitted from guy to guy. No-one ever stuck around for very long and for me and my older brother it felt like we were constantly vying for her attention. We were little and didn’t understand why she was alone when all our friends came from what seemed like the perfect families (of course as an adult you realise that nothing is ever really what it seems on the surface). She had to work hard and did try, I know that now. But at the time all we saw was someone who maybe shouldn’t have had children because even when she wasn’t working she was always out with whoever the latest flavour of the month was.

My brother and I responded very differently. At school he acted out but in a way that made him very popular, as though he could replace the attention he needed from our Mum with his school peers. He was the class joker, the life and soul of the party. I on the other hand just withdrew and withdrew. I went to school simply because I had to but I never formed any lasting friendships. I wasn’t interested and it felt like I would be contrary on purpose just to wind the other children up.

Because of my reluctance to mix with the other children, it meant I had even more time to work hard and I did really well – which added even more fuel to the fire. I was bullied at junior school and bullied at secondary school. I’m sure people would remember me as the ‘loner’ or the ‘weirdo’. I didn’t even form a little group with any like-minded outcasts like The Inbetweeners. It was just me and as time went on I grew very resilient. But it sowed a seed – I really didn’t like other children. I was so messed up that everything about them annoyed me so much so that I wouldn’t watch films with child actors in. I saw everyone else as immature and not worth my time.

Whilst my brother left school at 16, I did my A-levels, went to University and did really well. Even then, I didn’t really interact much with other students. I didn’t have a boyfriend, wasn’t interested in going to the pub and found that I just really enjoyed my own company. Does it sound boring? Probably. I never saw it like that though. I went to the cinema, went travelling, loved exhibitions and theatre. I cooked, I read, I loved sewing. I suppose it was the ultimate self-indulgent life but I’d had to fend for myself from such a young age it stuck.

Something that I also found is that I didn’t really have much interest in people my own age and naturally gravitated towards older men and women. Was I looking for the parents I’d never really had? Is it because I was bullied so badly I just ruled everyone else my age out as being too immature? Who knows, I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with me.

Time went by and I threw myself into work and the best part of my industry is that you’re expected to put in long hours and it doesn’t always lend itself to the most flexible working pattern. Again it suited me but now in my late 20s the speculation and “gentle banter” began – women saying things like “if you work so late you’ll never meet anyone to have children with”, I’m sure some of you know the type of thing. It frustrated me so much – why did I have to meet someone and even if I did, why couldn’t it be just to be with that person instead of having to have children? Why was that my only purpose?

In my own bloody-minded way I decided to respond openly that I didn’t want children. But I could never defend my position when people always said “oh you’ll change your mind” or “it’s only because you haven’t met the right person”. Never could I say “it’s nothing to do with that, I just don’t like children”. I felt like if I was ever honest enough, people would be horrified because saying you don’t like children feels like you’re aligning yourself with a dictator, you know? And I’ve never really understood it, billions of people on the planet we can’t ALL love children or have that overwhelming desire to have them.

A few years ago, I was involved in a big case and found myself inexplicably drawn to our client. He was older of course, confident without being arrogant, charismatic and thoughtful. I found myself wanting to work more and more on his case and sought out any opportunity for face to face meetings. This was all new to me, with virtually no meaningful relationships of any kind in my life I’d never gone through the teenage boyfriend angst or the first university boyfriend that you assume you’ll find your way back to at some future point and marry. I had no idea what I was doing but felt convinced there was some kind of spark, after all I’d seen enough films to know how things were meant to work.

After the case was over, he sent me flowers to say thank you for all my dedication and asked if I would like to go for dinner. I didn’t hesitate and we’ve been together ever since. He’s 18 years older than me, divorced, no children. We have no plans to get married and that’s just fine with me, we’ve been together for 7 years and it feels wonderful. I have someone to share my previously solitary adventures with, but also someone who equally enjoys his own time so we don’t trample on each other. It was a huge learning curve, letting myself open up to someone. And I’ve told him everything. He thinks it’s no surprise that I feel the way I do and agrees that it’s not fair men are never questioned about their lifestyle choices.

Even when we first got together, people told me not to worry about the age gap and men could have children much later in life. Oh how it infuriated me and from having read so many of the previous stories it doesn’t matter whether you don’t want children, or can’t have children, everyone and their dog thinks you’re fair game to offer unhelpful advice.

I do appreciate how lucky I am to live in a time where I haven’t been completely ostracised for being a woman without children but it IS ridiculous that we still seem to be judged on our success as a gender based solely on whether life comes out of us. Do I ever wonder about how life might have been if I’d had a different upbringing? Not really, because where does that get me? I’m also aware that I’ve probably done alright out of life considering my less than happy childhood. My Mum and I don’t have any kind of relationship any more and I see my brother occasionally but not regularly. I’m certainly not orthodox but as so many of the other writers have shared, you have to find a peace and happiness in life, no matter how different that may look for you.

Thank you so so much to Kerry for sharing her honest story as a guest poster and sharing her thoughts and views in this piece. As I’ve stressed from the very beginning, this is a warm, empathic platform for people to share their stories, hopes, dreams, fears. Please do read Kerry’s story and leave a comment if you’d like to and share this series if you know anyone it could help. Together we are making changes.

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  1. Anon
    August 30, 2019 / 8:16 am

    It’s amazing how many people feel the need to ask/comment/impose their views. I’m 42 & married my partner of 8 years last month. Before the ink was even dry on our marriage certificate people started asking me when we were having children & felt the need to tell me I should get a move on because I’m not getting any younger!

    • Lins
      August 30, 2019 / 10:47 am

      Ugh yes! And they ask so flippantly as though it’s a bit of a laugh and a joke without ever thinking of the consequences of these actions. I was very happy once Pete and I got past the phase of people asking, life is a lot more peaceful now. Lins X

  2. Roz
    August 30, 2019 / 8:26 am

    Thank you for your blog Kerry. I could have written this paragraph about your childhood. I completely respect your decision and I found the blog very honest and thought provoking read.
    I think there is a genetic element to the mothering instinct and I completely agree with you not everyone has it. It is completely ok, just like people have different eye colours and different personalities, ‘what boring world it would be if everyone were all the same’ (quoting my Nan). It really upsets me the way people are judged and questioned with motherhood. Although my mum wasn’t the best, I was able to form other good relationships. Fortunately I had an auntie who I spent a lot of time with, who I love dearly. I wanted children as long as I could remember, I really pined for a baby from a young age- and that is also fine. It’s about listening to yourself and ability to make your own decisions without criticism and being ostracised.
    I hope comments are welcomed as much as your story has been.
    My Best wishes
    Roz x

    • Lins
      August 30, 2019 / 10:51 am

      Thank you so much Roz for taking the time to read and leave such a thoughtful comment. I’ve often thought to that with however many billions of us on the planet we can’t ALL be pre-programmed to feel exactly the same way about reproducing even though we’re told that “it will happen eventually”. I’m so glad you had a wonderful positive older role model in your life, she sounds wonderful. There is no black and white about these experiences and how we’re meant to feel about them, and I totally agree it’s about following your own heart and hopefully being allowed the space to do just that. Lins X

  3. Sally
    August 30, 2019 / 9:37 am

    I think it’s perfectly fine for people to say they don’t want children because they don’t like them and there doesn’t need to be any particular reason. Plenty of parents I know are fairly candid about only liking their own children (and even then not all the time!). However, it’s a whole other ball game if someone tells me they don’t like dogs 🙂

    • Lins
      August 30, 2019 / 10:55 am

      Haha Sally yep I hear you on the dogs front 😉 I’m like WHAT? That’s not possible! Interestingly I’ve recently come across a few older friends who said they had children and were happy they did but actively dislike any other children, including their own nieces and nephews. and of course it makes perfect sense because we can’t all like the same things equally. Even before I knew I couldn’t have children, and whilst I did want them, i ALWAYS found baby animals a million times more cuter than baby people and I’ve realised now that’s totally ok 🙂 Lins X

  4. Molly
    August 30, 2019 / 10:33 am

    This story is great for those of us on this earth who feel ostracized because children aren’t something we enjoy. Thank you for posting. It feels like the whole world revolves around children. I’d love it if I could have normal relationships with my family and coworkers again without children commanding the narrative.

    • Lins
      August 30, 2019 / 10:46 am

      Thank you so much Molly for reading and leaving your comment – whilst my own reasons for not having children are different, I do also know this inability for some people to talk about anything else. I’m now very open about the fact I can’t and have to spend endless amounts of time reassuring people that they don’t need to pity me. Whilst in many ways as a society we have moved on, there is still such a focus that people struggle to know what else to talk about. Lins X

  5. Michelle
    August 31, 2019 / 10:39 pm

    I’ve just caught up on a few fellow childfree peeps’s stories (having contributed my own quite a while back!) and have really enjoyed – if that’s the right word – hearing about other women’s experiences. It really can be a funny old thing; I have friends who I used to see and speak to all the time, about everything, whom I now hardly ever see. We had the best times and I love them to bits. When did the line get drawn under that….? The minute they were expecting a baby. As thrilled as I was for them, I was also really sad knowing things would never be the same between us. Have I ever felt comfortable saying that to them? Hell no! That would make me sound like an awful person and bad friend. It does very much feel like there’s an invisible line separating me and pretty much every one of my friends who has a child/children.
    I get the feeling after reading several other stories that I’m not alone. Anyhoo, there are some amazing women on here. You all rock and thanks so much Lins for running this ‘feature’ which I’m certain has brought comfort, reassurance and warmth to a lotta ladies and gents out there.

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