It's mid-October and snowing heavily outside here in Minneapolis. While it's much too early for my liking to see white covering the rooftops, it reminds me in a visceral way that I'm just six weeks out from my first major deadline of my project. (I'm using "project" now as distinct from "thesis"; it evokes less anxiety.) On December 1st I will be submitting a draft of 100 pages. To make the idea more palatable, I've broken the task down to completion of two pages every time I sit down to the computer. Essentially, my butt stays put until I have finished two new pages. (If any of you have helpful hints on how to stay focused through the challenging sections of writing, I'd be grateful to read about them.)
When I get right down to it, what I most want to show or attempt to substantiate is the notion that if the decision not to parent was as legitimate and valued in our culture as is the choice to parent, women and society at large would benefit in important ways. Primary among them is that more women would feel free to be thoughtful and careful about deciding whether raising children is the right life choice for them. There would be more opportunity for contented and fulfilled lives, and perhaps more good being done in communities if people respected each woman's desires, intuitions, and their innate or circumstantial ability to do well the most important job of raising children. More than one of the women I interviewed stated simply that they do not think they would be good mothers. Isn't it in all our best interests to accept these women's understanding of themselves, and be glad, even, that they aren't taking on a job they don't have interest in or feel they would be good at?
Consider this: Why would we expect someone who wants to become a botanist to be a lawyer? Why would we perpetuate the notion that if she chooses botany anyway—because it’s what makes her feel satisfied, allows her to feel connected to and contributing to something larger than herself; because it’s what fuels her passion and is what makes her happy—that she has made the wrong choice, that she is selfish, that she does not really know what she wants, that she can still become a lawyer if she doesn’t wait too much longer, and that if she doesn’t, she will regret her decision someday.
Why would we think it doesn't matter that she may discover a new variety of plant life or that she may discover a fungi that has healing properties that we didn't know about, or that she will enjoy how she spends her time? Why don't we seem to care that because the life she's chosen fulfills her, her relationship with her spouse or partner is enhanced, or her relationship with co-workers, neighbors, friends, community? Is it not important that she has the energy to volunteer her time with a community service group, or that she has the time and energy to care for her nieces and nephews and share her love of plant life with them?
Essentially this is what we tell our young girls when we directly or indirectly presume or tell them that they will have children someday. We may be telling them that they should be mothers instead of botanists, despite their innate interests. And if we tell them, no worries, you can do both, there is plenty of evidence that she likely won't be able to do either job well or to her satisfaction.
Joan Williams, in her book, Unbending Gender, says that "If mothers have failed to achieve equality in market work, equality in the family has proved equally elusive...on average mothers spend thirty-one hours a week on [household tasks]...despite our self-image of gender equality, American women still do 80 percent of the child care and two-thirds of the housework (2)."
That's 40 hours per week in the market place and (if we presume 8 hours of sleep) roughly 45 hours per week on child care--a total of 95 hours out of 112 weekly waking hours. Is it smart to encourage anyone to do this week after week, month after month, year after year--especially, despite a woman's best intentions and effort, both professional gains and their children may suffer?
If you are a mother and are raising children while working full time, I'd love to read what you think about this. Are you able to "do it all" to your satisfaction?
Off I go into the early winter wonderland! Thank you for reading.
Williams, Joan. Unbending Gender: Why Family and Work Conflict and What to Do About It. New York: Oxford Univeristy Press, 2000.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Childless / Childfree by Choice: A Social Movement?
I'm at the crossroads in my research on women who make the conscious choice not to parent where I need to zoom in on a particular focus. It's a challenging place for me to be. In my last entry, I wondered about focusing on the "naturalness" of a woman's choice not to raise children. I've since wandered off from that notion, not because I don't believe it's true--I wholeheartedly believe that for many women, not having kids is as natural a choice as having children is for others--but because I'm not sure this notion alone will carry me through 100 pages or more. At least not by itself.
My thinking of late has been around the idea that if western culture not only legitimized women's choice to be childfree, but valued it, our collective lives would be improved. In my reading to date (which has not been exhaustive), much attention is given to childfree women themselves--who they are, why they've made the choice, how they treated by society, and debunking many of the myths about non-parents. What I'm finding harder to find is literature that shifts the spotlight away from details about us and onto how our pronatalist culture should respond. The facts that we exist in noticable numbers, that our way of life is not seen in a favorable light, and that the assumptions made about us do not hold up under scrutiny are easy to substantiate in the literature. Perhaps what's needed now is a cultural response to these realities.
I'm easily reminded of the milestone shifts toward acceptance of individual freedom in the country: the abolitionists movement, women's sufferage, the civil rights movement, women's rights movement, the environmental movement, the GLBT movement, and the current and emerging interfaith movement to name a few. Could the non-parenthood movement the next big shift from intolerance to respect for individual freedom? (The language to use to describe the focus of this movement, childless women, would be the first major hurdle to jump over.)
Perhaps this is a viable focus. My thesis might go something like this: The major social movements that have spotted the landscape of American history have given rise to greater freedom for the disenfranchised to pursue and reach their full potential. A push for tolerance and eventual valuing of women who choose to not raise children may have the potential for taking it's place on the American social movement timeline.
My thinking of late has been around the idea that if western culture not only legitimized women's choice to be childfree, but valued it, our collective lives would be improved. In my reading to date (which has not been exhaustive), much attention is given to childfree women themselves--who they are, why they've made the choice, how they treated by society, and debunking many of the myths about non-parents. What I'm finding harder to find is literature that shifts the spotlight away from details about us and onto how our pronatalist culture should respond. The facts that we exist in noticable numbers, that our way of life is not seen in a favorable light, and that the assumptions made about us do not hold up under scrutiny are easy to substantiate in the literature. Perhaps what's needed now is a cultural response to these realities.
I'm easily reminded of the milestone shifts toward acceptance of individual freedom in the country: the abolitionists movement, women's sufferage, the civil rights movement, women's rights movement, the environmental movement, the GLBT movement, and the current and emerging interfaith movement to name a few. Could the non-parenthood movement the next big shift from intolerance to respect for individual freedom? (The language to use to describe the focus of this movement, childless women, would be the first major hurdle to jump over.)
Perhaps this is a viable focus. My thesis might go something like this: The major social movements that have spotted the landscape of American history have given rise to greater freedom for the disenfranchised to pursue and reach their full potential. A push for tolerance and eventual valuing of women who choose to not raise children may have the potential for taking it's place on the American social movement timeline.
Monday, September 14, 2009
A Matter of Acceptable Choices
What do you think of the following?
Until Western cultural accepts parenthood and nonparenthood as equally valid choices, we limit for many women their ability to recognize that there is more than one course to a contented life. Some women choose to have children whether or not it suits their inclinations, knowledge-base, abilities, or personalities.
Because the culture holds motherhood in high esteem and choice to not parent abhorrent, women have children in spite of their own best interests and the interests of the communities in which they live. Inadequate parenting is often the result, which in turn, creates dysfunction in children. This dysfunction breeds negative outcomes along a vast continuum from low self-esteem to death. Many are ill-prepared for healthy adulthood, causing costly ripple effects throughout our communities and social institutions.
For the sake of individual happiness and the greater good, we cannot afford to perpetuate the notion that having children is the correct and natural path irrespective of women’s desires, intuitions, and innate or circumstantial ability to parent well. It is in the legitimization and value given the choice not to parent that will significantly impact this costly cycle of dysfunction at its root, and in turn, begin to improve the health and well-being of our society as a whole.
Until Western cultural accepts parenthood and nonparenthood as equally valid choices, we limit for many women their ability to recognize that there is more than one course to a contented life. Some women choose to have children whether or not it suits their inclinations, knowledge-base, abilities, or personalities.
Because the culture holds motherhood in high esteem and choice to not parent abhorrent, women have children in spite of their own best interests and the interests of the communities in which they live. Inadequate parenting is often the result, which in turn, creates dysfunction in children. This dysfunction breeds negative outcomes along a vast continuum from low self-esteem to death. Many are ill-prepared for healthy adulthood, causing costly ripple effects throughout our communities and social institutions.
For the sake of individual happiness and the greater good, we cannot afford to perpetuate the notion that having children is the correct and natural path irrespective of women’s desires, intuitions, and innate or circumstantial ability to parent well. It is in the legitimization and value given the choice not to parent that will significantly impact this costly cycle of dysfunction at its root, and in turn, begin to improve the health and well-being of our society as a whole.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
A Natural Choice?
I'm at an all-important point in the development of my thesis paper: zeroing in on a focused and arguable thesis statement or central question interesting enough to fill 100 pages or so.
Based solely on my conversations with ten bright, articulate, and thoughtful women about their lives and decision not to parent, I'm thinking about a couple of possibilities, one of which has to do with the idea that choosing not to raise children is a natural choice. During the interviews, I asked the participants to give me their reaction to the following statement:
It is just as natural to be childfree as it is to be a mother.
The responses to this statement were varied and interesting. Four of the ten disagreed with the statement, five agreed, and one woman agreed and disagreed depending on how she interpreted the question. "I think emotionally it’s probably perfectly natural or it’s equally natural," she said. "But physically and from a perpetuation of species standpoint, I guess I would say, technically, no, it’s not as natural."
Like this woman, all those who disagree with the statement have genetics and a biological imperative in mind. One woman said, "Women’s bodies are organized around the concept of having children. Everything from how we gain weight, to our period, to how our sex drive changes is built around the concept of reproduction. No. ‘Not having children’ is a fight almost against biology. But it’s something where you choose to make sure that your brain is stronger than your biology."
Another woman spoke about the statement from a biological and psychological point of view. Emphatically, she said, "I don’t believe we’re all created to have babies. I mean I just don’t! I mean it just doesn’t make any sense that 100% of women would be child bearers. Some of that’s been by natural selection that women are unable to have babies; so why wouldn’t it make as much sense that some women wouldn’t have babies due to not physical but maybe psychological or whatever?"
From my childfree experience there is nothing unnatural about the decision or the results of my decision. Aside from very infrequent and short-lived day-dreams of what it would have been like to have children, I have never felt that I have been fighting biology. For me, to not have children has felt completely natural to who I am and how I want to live my life.
Clearly, there seems to be some arguability to this question, at least among us eleven women, and worth further study. What will be pivotal in such a discussion is how I establish the definition of "natural". Or, how I turn the term over, like a tiny globe in my hand, noting the contrast of land to sea, or the variation in the shapes and sizes of the landscapes from a distance.
It seems possible to study the question from various world views or schools of thought, such as biology, psychology, sociology, religion, cosmology, art, and from the day-to-day experiences of both average citizens and women with some notoriety.
I may just be on to something.
I'm curious how you feel about this question, and would love to hear from you, whether or not you have or are raising children. Do you feel it is just as natural to be childfree as it is to mother?
Based solely on my conversations with ten bright, articulate, and thoughtful women about their lives and decision not to parent, I'm thinking about a couple of possibilities, one of which has to do with the idea that choosing not to raise children is a natural choice. During the interviews, I asked the participants to give me their reaction to the following statement:
It is just as natural to be childfree as it is to be a mother.
The responses to this statement were varied and interesting. Four of the ten disagreed with the statement, five agreed, and one woman agreed and disagreed depending on how she interpreted the question. "I think emotionally it’s probably perfectly natural or it’s equally natural," she said. "But physically and from a perpetuation of species standpoint, I guess I would say, technically, no, it’s not as natural."
Like this woman, all those who disagree with the statement have genetics and a biological imperative in mind. One woman said, "Women’s bodies are organized around the concept of having children. Everything from how we gain weight, to our period, to how our sex drive changes is built around the concept of reproduction. No. ‘Not having children’ is a fight almost against biology. But it’s something where you choose to make sure that your brain is stronger than your biology."
Another woman spoke about the statement from a biological and psychological point of view. Emphatically, she said, "I don’t believe we’re all created to have babies. I mean I just don’t! I mean it just doesn’t make any sense that 100% of women would be child bearers. Some of that’s been by natural selection that women are unable to have babies; so why wouldn’t it make as much sense that some women wouldn’t have babies due to not physical but maybe psychological or whatever?"
From my childfree experience there is nothing unnatural about the decision or the results of my decision. Aside from very infrequent and short-lived day-dreams of what it would have been like to have children, I have never felt that I have been fighting biology. For me, to not have children has felt completely natural to who I am and how I want to live my life.
Clearly, there seems to be some arguability to this question, at least among us eleven women, and worth further study. What will be pivotal in such a discussion is how I establish the definition of "natural". Or, how I turn the term over, like a tiny globe in my hand, noting the contrast of land to sea, or the variation in the shapes and sizes of the landscapes from a distance.
It seems possible to study the question from various world views or schools of thought, such as biology, psychology, sociology, religion, cosmology, art, and from the day-to-day experiences of both average citizens and women with some notoriety.
I may just be on to something.
I'm curious how you feel about this question, and would love to hear from you, whether or not you have or are raising children. Do you feel it is just as natural to be childfree as it is to mother?
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
In a Word: Nurture
The nurturing mother. The image is quite familiar. We see it or hear it in media on a daily basis, especially at this time of year as advertisers hope that parents (mothers in particular) will take good care of their children returning to school by buying their products.
While I'm sure most of us understands that nurturing can take place outside of parent-child relationships, my guess is that parental nurturing is an obvious and ready association. And while nurturing our children is one of the most important things we can do for the health of our society, I wonder about the "air time" of other contexts in which nurturing occurs, and its importance to our collective quality of life.
When I asked the childfree women I interviewed who or what they nurture, I got an array of answers, including:
While I'm sure most of us understands that nurturing can take place outside of parent-child relationships, my guess is that parental nurturing is an obvious and ready association. And while nurturing our children is one of the most important things we can do for the health of our society, I wonder about the "air time" of other contexts in which nurturing occurs, and its importance to our collective quality of life.
When I asked the childfree women I interviewed who or what they nurture, I got an array of answers, including:
- Animal companions
- Friends and other women
- Husbands and partners
- Literacy among non-readers
- The survival of independent bookstores
- Aging parents
- Political campaigns
- Gardens, Irises, Rose bushes
- Professions that better the lives of people and communities
And six out of the 10 women mentioned that they nurture other people's kids, be they the recipients of youth development programs, nieces and nephews who are given special attention and experiences by their aunts, those receiving tutoring on reading from a volunteer, and others.
And what about the idea of nurturing ourselves? How important is self-nurture? Are women who raise kids good nurturers of themselves--of their own interests, passions, the needs of their bodies, their minds, their spirits? Is is possible? Does it depend on how much disposable income one has, on the ability to pay for art classes or see plays or get good running shoes or have an extra $40 per month for a health club membership? How many children learn from their mothers the importance of paying attention to one's own needs in addition to the needs of others? Are those women who do not have partners and therefore may have more to do than their coupled counterparts able to be good role models in this respect?
I can easily name two women who are able to nurture themselves while raising their children. One of these women is mother to three who takes time to run on a daily basis and stays in good physical condition. Another delves into various activities that interest her, such as Web site design, fiction writing, and dulla work. She has two teenage girls. And no doubt a good portion of the population parent and work in positions which fulfill them.
I also imagine that there are many mothers who don't have the time, the energy or the resources to nurture themselves well--to attend to what makes them feel joyous or fulfilled in other ways than caretaking others.
There are likely no declaritive statements or conclusions one can make about nurturing as a mother vs. one who has decided to not have children. What I know for sure is that to nurture someone or something--and for women to turn nurturing in on ourselves is vital to the health and well-being of us all.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Her Name Would be Cassie
The first question I asked the 10 childfree interviewees was how they envisioned their adulthood when they were young. Some of them had awareness at a very young age they did not want to have children, others did not.
One 25-year-old woman didn't hesitate a moment with her answer. “When I was younger I imagined I would be single, I would be a business type consultant, something in consulting, and I would live in a studio apartment in downtown Minneapolis with my cats.” Her answer was the most specific of all, but several women had similar visions of a future pursuing a satisfying career, or of traveling the world, or of simply “being a very successful woman enjoying life.” And without children.
Other women envisioned a very prescribed and traditional trajectory into adulthood. One woman in her early 30s said, “I guess it was always something that I guess I just figured was expected of me and just part of being an adult. You grow up, you go to school, you go to college, you get married, you have a child. In that order” (emphasis hers).
While I don't remember thinking in grade school about babies I might have some day have, I do remember a period of time as a young adult when I envisioned a traditional family life.
It is the fall of my sophomore year in college, late at night. My boyfriend and I are walking the small town sleeping residential streets that surround the central Iowa campus. We are fully absorbed in our new, you-are-my-world love. The soft street lights infuse the molecules around us with an almost tangible yellow-orange glow, as if a single drop of dark citrus dye has been released into the softly swirling autumn air. When we stop to look at each other, the space between us is simultaneously heavy and crisp, and other-worldly. A hint of visible breath adds to the effect. Our jackets make our hug bulky. His lips are cool but all I feel is warmth.
We shuffle along arm in arm, stopping periodically at grand old 19th century houses. Several blocks into our walk, as we make the gentle curve onto a street that would lead us back to campus, the first house on the block stops us in unison. Three full stories loom over us; the building overwhelmingly inviting.
The house seems to have anticipated our arrival, its white wrap-around porch a knowing smirk in the darkness. All the interior lights are off; a single porch light winks. I wonder now how many young couples that house had welcomed onto its quaint domain, where dreams of the future are welcome, like the lingering smell of burning leaves on the air. Only the house knows for sure, but my guess is we were only one of hundreds through the years encouraged by this relic to dream. My love and I share dramatic whispers of "A house just like this" and "I can just see it" and "I want to always be with you" and "I love you."
In the middle of traditional America, the glow deepens around us, we take take the dream further. We would have children. The first would be a girl. She would be smart. She would be beautiful. We would adore her. Her name would be Cassie.
After that night and through our tumultuous relationship that ended about a year later, Cassie would enter our conversations only when we needed her, when we needed the confirmation of that night. In retrospect, our imaginings had nothing to do with life as parents. In our late adolescence, I'm certain we didn't discuss what parenthood might really be like, or whether or not we'd be good at it, or any multitude of factors that should be considered before raising a child.
Cassie had only to do with validation of ourselves, each other, and our on-again-off-again love. It had nothing to do with Cassie. I'm not sure it could be otherwise at that stage in our development. Like that surreal late-night walk, the fantasy served a specific purpose that at least for us, dissipated with the dawn. (I actually looked for the house one day, and couldn't find it with any certainty.)
My youthful brush strokes of a life so foreign to me now was, I'm sure, quite normal. In psychological terms, I was in the process of individuating. I was releasing my identity as a child, and embracing the cultural dictates of adult identity. For so many, though, this is the only adult identity that is acceptable. I am grateful I came to see other options, that the earth kept rotating that sophomore night and that in the light of day, I couldn't locate for sure that house around the bend.
But I won't pretend that I don't cherish the memory of that night--the stroll with my beau, my husband-to-be, the future father of my girl, Cassie. The experience is part of who I am, part of my history on which I have built the life I love.
How did you envision your adult life when you were young? Did what you imagined become real? I'd love to read about your story.
One 25-year-old woman didn't hesitate a moment with her answer. “When I was younger I imagined I would be single, I would be a business type consultant, something in consulting, and I would live in a studio apartment in downtown Minneapolis with my cats.” Her answer was the most specific of all, but several women had similar visions of a future pursuing a satisfying career, or of traveling the world, or of simply “being a very successful woman enjoying life.” And without children.
Other women envisioned a very prescribed and traditional trajectory into adulthood. One woman in her early 30s said, “I guess it was always something that I guess I just figured was expected of me and just part of being an adult. You grow up, you go to school, you go to college, you get married, you have a child. In that order” (emphasis hers).
While I don't remember thinking in grade school about babies I might have some day have, I do remember a period of time as a young adult when I envisioned a traditional family life.
It is the fall of my sophomore year in college, late at night. My boyfriend and I are walking the small town sleeping residential streets that surround the central Iowa campus. We are fully absorbed in our new, you-are-my-world love. The soft street lights infuse the molecules around us with an almost tangible yellow-orange glow, as if a single drop of dark citrus dye has been released into the softly swirling autumn air. When we stop to look at each other, the space between us is simultaneously heavy and crisp, and other-worldly. A hint of visible breath adds to the effect. Our jackets make our hug bulky. His lips are cool but all I feel is warmth.
We shuffle along arm in arm, stopping periodically at grand old 19th century houses. Several blocks into our walk, as we make the gentle curve onto a street that would lead us back to campus, the first house on the block stops us in unison. Three full stories loom over us; the building overwhelmingly inviting.
The house seems to have anticipated our arrival, its white wrap-around porch a knowing smirk in the darkness. All the interior lights are off; a single porch light winks. I wonder now how many young couples that house had welcomed onto its quaint domain, where dreams of the future are welcome, like the lingering smell of burning leaves on the air. Only the house knows for sure, but my guess is we were only one of hundreds through the years encouraged by this relic to dream. My love and I share dramatic whispers of "A house just like this" and "I can just see it" and "I want to always be with you" and "I love you."
In the middle of traditional America, the glow deepens around us, we take take the dream further. We would have children. The first would be a girl. She would be smart. She would be beautiful. We would adore her. Her name would be Cassie.
After that night and through our tumultuous relationship that ended about a year later, Cassie would enter our conversations only when we needed her, when we needed the confirmation of that night. In retrospect, our imaginings had nothing to do with life as parents. In our late adolescence, I'm certain we didn't discuss what parenthood might really be like, or whether or not we'd be good at it, or any multitude of factors that should be considered before raising a child.
Cassie had only to do with validation of ourselves, each other, and our on-again-off-again love. It had nothing to do with Cassie. I'm not sure it could be otherwise at that stage in our development. Like that surreal late-night walk, the fantasy served a specific purpose that at least for us, dissipated with the dawn. (I actually looked for the house one day, and couldn't find it with any certainty.)
My youthful brush strokes of a life so foreign to me now was, I'm sure, quite normal. In psychological terms, I was in the process of individuating. I was releasing my identity as a child, and embracing the cultural dictates of adult identity. For so many, though, this is the only adult identity that is acceptable. I am grateful I came to see other options, that the earth kept rotating that sophomore night and that in the light of day, I couldn't locate for sure that house around the bend.
But I won't pretend that I don't cherish the memory of that night--the stroll with my beau, my husband-to-be, the future father of my girl, Cassie. The experience is part of who I am, part of my history on which I have built the life I love.
How did you envision your adult life when you were young? Did what you imagined become real? I'd love to read about your story.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Learning Their Feet
I love children!
I particularly enjoy that precious first decade when children are taking in the world so fully and with abandon. As I go about my daily business, each encounter with a child is a gift (tantrums excluded). Like an infant mesmerized by shiny, colorful things, I am captivated by their presence.
Just ask Denise or others I'm out with. I've interrupted too many conversations in order to smile whole-heartedly at children that enter my sphere (I want them to feel that this is a friendly place they've been born into), to play peek-a-boo over restaurant booth backs, to watch those on the cusp of toddlerhood "learn their legs," to sense their fresh spirits for even a moment.
I feel fortunate that I am able to notice and enjoy children as I do, and feel filled when I get that 3-year-old to smile back at me. Or when I lock eyes with that 2-year-old and we both can't seem to break away from our mingling energies.
I've thought about environments in which children aren't present, such as prisons. I can't fathom living a life where I did not see children often and on a regular basis, let alone not be able to interact with them. Don't get me wrong; I'm not advocating for children to somehow have a presence in prisons (though it's an interesting thought), I just have a hunch that living without the fresh energy of youth is a major part of a tough sentence.
In the reading I've done so far about women who choose not to raise children, many are gaga about kids, as are several of the women I've interviewed. Many of us are teachers, child-care workers, health professionals who work with children, work in youth-centered organizations, are religion educators, volunteer with or for kids, and take care of nieces and nephews and neighborhood kids and others. We enjoy helping nurture children outside of our immediate families.
My hope is that this myth that exists out there that people who choose not to become parents must hate children sluffs off like dead skin. I'm sure that there are many who do not appreciate children in the slightest, and I know in my gut that many more of us cannot imagine life without them.
I particularly enjoy that precious first decade when children are taking in the world so fully and with abandon. As I go about my daily business, each encounter with a child is a gift (tantrums excluded). Like an infant mesmerized by shiny, colorful things, I am captivated by their presence.
Just ask Denise or others I'm out with. I've interrupted too many conversations in order to smile whole-heartedly at children that enter my sphere (I want them to feel that this is a friendly place they've been born into), to play peek-a-boo over restaurant booth backs, to watch those on the cusp of toddlerhood "learn their legs," to sense their fresh spirits for even a moment.
I feel fortunate that I am able to notice and enjoy children as I do, and feel filled when I get that 3-year-old to smile back at me. Or when I lock eyes with that 2-year-old and we both can't seem to break away from our mingling energies.
I've thought about environments in which children aren't present, such as prisons. I can't fathom living a life where I did not see children often and on a regular basis, let alone not be able to interact with them. Don't get me wrong; I'm not advocating for children to somehow have a presence in prisons (though it's an interesting thought), I just have a hunch that living without the fresh energy of youth is a major part of a tough sentence.
In the reading I've done so far about women who choose not to raise children, many are gaga about kids, as are several of the women I've interviewed. Many of us are teachers, child-care workers, health professionals who work with children, work in youth-centered organizations, are religion educators, volunteer with or for kids, and take care of nieces and nephews and neighborhood kids and others. We enjoy helping nurture children outside of our immediate families.
My hope is that this myth that exists out there that people who choose not to become parents must hate children sluffs off like dead skin. I'm sure that there are many who do not appreciate children in the slightest, and I know in my gut that many more of us cannot imagine life without them.
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