Why I Decided to Live a Childfree Life

After years of repeating the same explanation about why I’m childfree, I finally decided to put it all into writing. Consider this my one-stop answer. The next time someone asks, I’ll simply send them here and spare us both the TED Talk. Here goes…

I made the decision not to have children when I was a teenager; long before I even understood what adulthood really meant. I didn’t announce it back then; I kept it tucked away like a secret I wasn’t sure anyone would understand. It wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I started saying it out loud to close friends and family.

Looking back now, in my mid-thirties, it feels like such a blessing that I’ve always known what kind of life I want to live. I came into the world as a bit of an old soul, my friends will tell you I’ve been sixty years old since I was twelve. And honestly? The description fits. I’ve always been the kind of person who moves through life on my own internal rhythm.

Growing up, I never felt the need to follow what everyone else was doing. Not out of rebellion, more out of a sense of knowing what suited me and what didn’t. I was the last one in my friend group to have a boyfriend, not because boys didn’t like me (they did), but because I genuinely preferred building friendships with boys at that age. Plus, teenage boys were… questionable. They all had that strange cologne-meets-sweat smell, and whenever one approached me, I’d think, “Ugh. As if!” channeling my inner Cher Horowitz.

In middle school, people called me a primadonna. But Alex, the only boy I actually liked, once told me, “You’re a primadonna… and a secret nerd. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” I had never felt more seen haha. (And Alex, if you’re reading this... I probably still like you.)

But back to the point.

Even in those early years, I knew two things about myself: I valued freedom, and I valued independence. I grew up as a kind of “free-range” child, very typical for a third child. My mum trusted me, and that trust helped me develop trust in myself. While my friends were entering serious relationships at sixteen and planning their weddings at twenty-two, I never felt like I was falling behind. If anything, every year that passed made me more certain of who I was and what kind of life I wanted.

People have always told me I’d make a great mother. My exes said it, my family said it, strangers said it after watching me with my nieces. And the truth is, they’re not wrong. I do have nurturing qualities. But I also have strong legs; that doesn’t mean I need to become an Olympic runner. I’m a recreational runner. In the same way, I’m a supportive caregiver, just not a mother.

The desire for motherhood simply never showed up for me. Not once. Even when I was in loving relationships with men who would have been incredible fathers. Even then, the emotional pull wasn’t there.

A lot of this ties back to my childhood. My sense of identity arrived early and never really wavered. I’ve always been self-directed. I was the kid who insisted on cleaning her own room and doing her own laundry. If my mum cleaned my room, I’d get genuinely annoyed - my space was my responsibility. I chose my after-school activities, too. At one point I told my mum to cancel tennis because I had decided dance was my new priority. Once I knew what I wanted, that was it.

As an adult, I’m still like that. I’m structured, organised, and disciplined, but I also crave flexibility. I love spontaneity when I choose it; it’s what I call “organised spontaneity”. And most importantly, I need quiet. Real, deep quiet. The kind where you can hear a pin drop in the next room. My mum is the same way, so our home, when it was just the two of us after my sisters moved to London, was always calm. Peaceful. Predictable. I thrived in that environment, and I still do.

People who know me will tell you I’m a “reclaimed hermit.” I’m sociable, yes, but I need my solitude as much as I need oxygen. A personality test once told me I’m 56% extroverted and 44% introverted, and that feels right. Motherhood, on the other hand, requires a level of constant presence I simply don’t have the internal wiring for.

And then there’s freedom. People throw that word around, but for me it means something very specific: choices. I don’t have to pursue a job solely for financial stability. I’m not motivated by money. Being childfree allows me to shape my life around curiosity, personal growth, and fulfilment, not obligation.

Some people feel called to motherhood. Others simply drift into it. I never felt the call, not once. The absence of desire for motherhood is a clarity I’ve carried all my life.

In short, the reasons I live a childfree life come down to a few core truths:

• I’ve always had a strong sense of identity and knew early on that motherhood didn’t align with it.

• I value freedom, specifically the ability to choose my career, lifestyle, and priorities without constraints.

• Independence has been part of my personality since childhood.

• I need solitude and quiet to function well; I don’t thrive in chaotic, overstimulating environments.

• I never felt the emotional desire for motherhood, even in loving relationships.

So that’s the story. No dramatic twist, no secret heartbreak, just a girl who always knew who she was, and who decided to build a life that fits her perfectly. Childfree, yes. But never without love, never without adventure, and definitely never without peace and quiet.