My entire adult life, I’ve gone back and forth about whether I wanted children. For most of that time, the answer was no. When I did entertain the idea, it was more of a vague, “Of course I’ll want kids someday” thought—never the burning, all-consuming desire to be a mom that so many women describe. After years of therapy, I think I finally understand why:
I already carried so much responsibility. When I was 28, my dad abandoned our family, leaving my husband Chandler and me to care for my physically disabled mom and my brother, who has cerebral palsy. The thought of adding another life to care for was overwhelming. On top of that, I’m a carrier of a maternally inherited genetic disease. If our child were affected, the outcome would be devastating—likely passing before age two. And honestly… sometimes the simplest reason was just that I didn’t want to. (That third reason, by the way, is every bit as valid as the first two.)
I married at barely 23, and kids weren’t on our radar—at least not yet. We agreed we would have children someday, but that conversation ended there, neatly tucked away until the future.
I loved our early years of marriage. Every detail. The parties, the travel, endless weekends with friends, uninterrupted time together, and the freedom to grow in our careers. We truly grew up together—and, thankfully, we grew together, too.
But there was a catch. My husband wanted kids—more than any man I had ever met. He dreamed of fatherhood the way so many women dream of motherhood. I knew, without a doubt, he would be an incredible dad. Yet, I wasn’t sure if I could do it myself.
For years, we set deadlines to start trying—and for years, I found reasons to push them back. We wanted to buy a house first. One last trip as a couple. Anything that would give me a pass to delay the inevitable.
Then, as my 29th birthday approached, I woke up with an overwhelming certainty: it was time to make a choice. Maybe it was my biological clock, or maybe just clarity from years of self-reflection. I realized we couldn’t keep postponing—it wasn’t fair to Chandler. I had to decide: did I want children, or was it time to let him go so he could fulfill his dream of being a father with someone else? Those were my only options. Staying married but denying him fatherhood wasn’t a world I could live in. I was madly in love with him, and I wanted to spend my life with him—but the decision was crushing.
The truth is, my hesitation went beyond my earlier reasons. I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression for most of my adult life, and fears of postpartum depression loomed large. I worried about losing my independence, missing travel, distancing from friends, and whether I could ever be a good mom—or even want to be one.
One evening, after a long day at work, I drove home lost in thought. I knew I needed to face the conversation I had avoided for years. I finally asked Chandler, bluntly: “What if I don’t want to be a mom? What happens next? You deserve to be with someone who wants to make you a dad.” My heart pounded as I spoke. He didn’t know how much turmoil had been raging inside me, and I braced myself for whatever his answer might be.
Then he said it. Calmly, firmly, without hesitation: “Then we won’t have kids. I don’t want a life without you in it.”
Let that sink in. “I don’t want a life without you in it.” Those words still give me chills. In that moment, everything shifted. Suddenly, I knew there was nothing I wanted more in this world than to have a child with him.
His willingness to sacrifice something he wanted so deeply, just to be with me, gave me the courage I didn’t know I had. It was the love, the commitment, and the understanding he showed that made me finally ready to step into motherhood—and it has made all the difference.
