Stories are written by people who don’t necessarily work or study in fields related to sexology. They convey emotions, perceptions, and subjective perspectives. Opinions voiced in the stories are those of their authors, and in no way represent Les 3 sex* position.

Ce témoignage est aussi disponible en français [➦].

Translated by Florence Bois-Villeneuve.

When I meet a good-looking guy, one of the first questions I ask after "Do you want to go for a beer?" is "Do you want children? Because I really don’t.” I don’t want to develop feelings for someone who is looking to start a family; I prefer to minimize the risk of heartbreak. 

It could never work between me and someone who wants children. I am very sure of my decision. 

I admire all the people who have children, who raise them with love and happiness, and who are so passionate about their lovely families. I love my friends’ children. I love playing with them, helping them with their homework and watching them develop their intelligence, their artistic side and their sense of humor. In fact, I think my friends are outstanding parents and that I wouldn’t measure up. 

“No, Marie, you would definitely be a good parent.”

I don’t think so. I need space badly. I suffocate without time to myself; 

I don’t live with my boyfriend and I never will. 

I need to take a bath for two and a half hours without hearing anything other than the sound of my cat scratching at the door to get in. 

I need to travel alone and often. 

As a 32-year-old woman who has chosen not to have children, you often get asked: “OK, but why?”

Honestly, I don’t want to take care of a kid. I’m not interested in family activities,  or in having a co-parenting dynamic with my boyfriend. I don’t want to give birth, breastfeed or feel my body change. I want to go out often and try all the new restaurants. If I make bad decisions, I don’t want them to involve others. I want a fulfilling sex life; I want to work hard to make all my professional dreams come true; I want to buy a business; I want to move to the Gaspé Peninsula just to see if I like living far from the city; I want to break up with my partner if it doesn’t work out; and I don’t want it to be even more complicated and painful because we have a child together. Besides, I don’t want to have a child, break up, hate my ex and still have to keep speaking to him anyway.

Not that I don’t admire parents. At times, I find them rather boring, but I have to admit that these parents take risks and do things that I could never do myself.

I know that many people judge me, and I know that because many of them tell me so or even exclude me from their conversations or their close circles. I worked for years with people who never asked me a single question about my personal life, because their entire discussions always revolved around family. I attended lunches and dinner parties with these same people, during which I mostly smiled and nodded (people who know me would say that’s not really my style; I’m known for loving to talk, as well as being funny and rather interesting).

I also lost a few friends. I’m not really sure why. It might be because they stopped inviting me to brunch and started hanging out with other people in their circle who were raising families. Or maybe because I no longer knew what to say to them, since I felt uncomfortable with their lack of interest in anything that wasn’t focused on life as new parents. Maybe it’s because they shared a lot of self-righteous articles on Facebook that stigmatized childless women. Maybe because I found some of their comments hurtful: "Of course she can afford a bottle of wine at that price, she doesn’t have kids" or "Wow, you look good, it must be nice to have the time to get dressed up." 

With all that said, even though I tell myself that I simply have a higher-than-average need for solitude and freedom, I still wonder if I’m a little selfish.

Of course, I sometimes worry about my decision. I’m afraid that growing old without children might be the only thing worse than having children. And yet, that’s the risk I’m willing to take;

there’s no other way to live my life than to live it my way.