Jen BaumgardnerI just finished reading Selfish, Shallow and Self-Absorbed, a new anthology of essays, out today, about the decision not to have kids edited by Meghan Daum. I connected deeply with a number of the writers and the reasons they gave for foregoing parenthood. Their instincts and emotions were familiar, their stories, often mine, too.
But I have a son.
There's a strong taboo against being child-free, and it's one that works against all women—those without children and those with them, too. The maternal instinct is a spectrum, not a switch, and accepting it as such would absolve a tremendous amount of guilt for those who decide not to have children as well as throw a wrench in those straw men arguments fueling the mommy wars. (I love my work more! I love my kids more!)
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowAnd so we brought together four women who occupy different spots on this spectrum to discuss this taboo, and what unraveling it could mean for all of us: Meghan Daum, 45 and married, who has no children and never really wanted them; Elliott Holt, 41 and unmarried, who once wanted children but now is at peace with the fact that she won't have them; ELLE.com features editor Justine Harman, 30 and married, who wants to be a mom, but is also terrified of the prospect; and me, a married woman and mom whose tremendous love for her child has not fully extinguished her ambivalence about the role. Meghan, let's start by hearing why you decided to do this book.
More From ELLEMeghan Daum: I wanted to do a book like this because I'd always wanted to read a book like this. And while there are some out there, they tend to fall back on a kind of glibness that doesn't really serve anyone. You hear a lot of "I'd rather have expensive shoes than have kids!" and "I'd rather sleep late!" You hear about "brats" and "breeders" and a lot of one-liners about strollers blocking the sidewalk. And while it can sometimes be funny, it always struck me as an avoidance mechanism.
Apparently not wanting to be a parent is such a difficult thing for people to admit to themselves that they couch their choice in these throwaway lines or call themselves "selfish." It's funny, people who choose not to have kids often accuse parents of stereotyping them, calling them materialistic or lazy or immature and so on. But I've noticed it's frequently the non-parents who put themselves in these boxes. They call themselves "selfish" almost as if it were a preemptive strike. And that's because somehow it's less of a taboo to say you're lazy and want expensive shoes than to say, "Hey, I've thought about this and it just isn't for me." I wanted to put together a book that included different kinds of voices coming from different viewpoints but all of which transcended the glibness.
Justine Harman: That's interesting to me. Because, even as a liberal child of liberal parents, I never considered the fact that not having children was an option. I want to have children, and I love my nephews and niece deeply, but I never really considered the choice element of the equation. Regardless of how progressive I may be, having kids was always a given for me.
Elissa Strauss: Elliott, did you find yourself running into these internal biases?
"I've never thought that not having kids makes me selfish."
Elliott Holt: I didn't have that particular internal bias —I've never thought that not having kids makes me selfish—but for a while, I bought into the idea that life without children was somehow less meaningful. So many of my friends talked about parenthood as a life-changing experience that I started to feel like I was missing out on a crucial rite of passage. And not having kids made me really lonely. Most of my friends are busy raising their children and hanging out with other parents. When my friends started having kids, I missed the community we all had before everyone disappeared into their nuclear families. I felt isolated, which compounded the sense that my life was less fulfilling. But then I started making more friends who, like me, don't have children. I'm still friends with the ones who have kids, but I see the friends without kids a lot more often. It's been hugely helpful to realize that I'm not alone. And it's been freeing to let go of assumptions I had about what adulthood is supposed to look like. My life is full of meaning, even though I don't have children: I love my work; I have wonderful friends and pets; I travel a lot; I'm a devoted aunt. I really believe my life has worked out the way it was supposed to.
JH: I worry about this, too. When I was 25 and single in New York City, I never anticipated that, a mere five years later, my friends and I would have difficulty finding time to grab dinner. Even when we do get together, there are furtive glances at the time, e-mails that demand to be checked, and a sliding scale of interest when it comes to getting "just one more drink." Once kids get added to the mix, I fear that I no longer will get to choose my friends—I have the lurking suspicion that my friends will choose me (and, by default, my lifestyle).
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