mynamesearn

I know for a fact that I don’t want to be a mom. It’s not something I’m unsure about, and it’s not something I’m saying just for now. It’s something I’ve felt deeply and repeatedly. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love kids.

In fact, I think I’ll always love kids, maybe even more than most people do. There’s something about their energy that’s so pure, so raw and unfiltered, it makes you feel like you don’t have to perform or pretend. You don’t have to think too much around them. You just feed them, talk to them, sit with them, and give them your time. 

I know I’m not going to be a good mom. That might sound harsh, but I say it with honesty, not shame. I know myself. But I would be a good nanny. I’d be the kind of nanny who remembers their favorite snacks, who notices when they’re feeling off, who lets them be silly and wild and curious. Because I do care for them, truly. I have love to give, just not in the form of motherhood. 

And sometimes I think, can you imagine how different the world would be if we all simply gave kids the time and the love they need? Not just the biological parents, but everyone, teachers, aunties, neighbors, nannies. The world would probably be softer, more empathetic, more safe.

I think being a mother is one of the most intense full-time jobs out there. You have to give all your time to them, especially in the beginning when they don’t even know how to speak. In those early stages, they need everything from you. You should give your all, because that’s what they deserve.

And that’s the reason I don’t want to have my own. Because being a mother and being a nanny are totally different. You can’t just feed them and expect them to grow on their own. You can’t just show up halfway.

When you’re a mother, you have to raise them mentally and emotionally too. You have to become a safe space, a place they can return to without fear. You have to create an environment where your kids feel like they can speak their minds out loud without the fear of judgment, where they don’t have to shrink or second guess themselves. You have to give them confidence, not shame.

You have to be the voice that tells them they can do anything if they put their minds to it. And maybe I didn’t grow up with that kind of parenting. Maybe I grew up in a family that couldn’t give me all of that, even if they tried in their own way. Maybe that’s why I feel this way. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to have kids.

And then there’s the fear. The fear of ending up with the kind of husband who thinks raising a child is only a woman’s job. What if I marry someone who doesn’t clean his own dishes, like my dad? What if, when we go out to eat, he just enjoys his food while I’m trying to hold our baby and eat at the same time? That thought scares me more than I want to admit. What if I choose the wrong one? 

What if I turn out to be the worst mom ever? What if I can’t handle the pressure, the sleep deprivation, the mental load, the responsibility? What if I lose myself completely in trying to raise another person when I’m still trying to survive and understand my own life?

Maybe I’ll change my mind one day. Maybe something in me will shift. But I still can’t see when. It’s not in the cards right now, and I’m okay with that. Honestly, I think I was born to be a cool aunt. That kind of role fits me. I want to be the one who picks the kid up from school and gets them ice cream, who lets them stay up past bedtime when they sleep over, who gives them advice they actually listen to.

When you have your own kids, it’s a whole different responsibility. You don’t get to clock out. And maybe it would be better, healthier even, if I stay the aunt and not the mother.

I know that becoming a mom is a precious, sacred time in someone’s life. I respect that deeply. I’ve heard so many people say how important and life-changing that experience is. I believe them. I’ve just never seen that path for myself. Not now anyway. Who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind. But I don’t see that happening in the next five years. Maybe not ever.

Lately, I’ve almost given up on the idea of being in a relationship again. Maybe in a few years I’ll feel differently, maybe I’ll open up again, but right now I don’t know. These days, I’ve been going out with someone. Not that we talk a lot…or maybe we do. It is kind of a third-date situation. There’s something there, something interesting, but somehow I don’t see myself in a relationship with him either.

I like him a lot. He’s kind, and I enjoy his company. But he’s not quite the guy for me. And I don’t think it’s even about him. I think he probably doesn’t want anything serious with me either.

But still, I keep comparing everyone to my last relationship. That feeling I had like it was meant to be, like it clicked in a way nothing else has since. Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, holding onto something idealistic. But that kind of love is my realistic. That’s the kind of love I want.

And sometimes I wonder, should I give up on that kind of love and just settle for something practical? Something that makes sense on paper but doesn’t set my heart on fire?

I know I sound like a contradiction. I know I’m dramatic. I know I’ll be fine. It’s like I have two people living inside me. When I start thinking negatively about something, the other part of me immediately comes up with some positive to prove that the negative isn’t true. I know I believe in the good stuff, but those bad thoughts still sneak in from time to time. 

Maybe they show up just to remind me that everything I’m going through actually happens for a reason, to remind me how strong and good I really am. It’s a very funny and confusing way of living sometimes. But hey, like I said, we’re all figuring this life out. So bear with me. This is me just venting, being honest with myself and whoever is reading this. 

And have a great Tuesday, whoever you are xx