Dear Diary #31

Notes on not being a mother

Oh, hi. It’s me, Tass. This newsletter is an invitation for an unhinged conversation, the kind we could have over brunch or a glass of wine with friends who actually care. We don’t just talk, we meet in real life — scroll all the way to the bottom, I have a few invitations for you.

I was 29 when I sold my car so I could get my MBA degree before having kids. I did this with an IUD in my uterus, despite never seriously considering getting pregnant. This contradiction perfectly reflects the message we received in the early 2000’s: don’t ever get pregnant versus be an independent woman with a great job and a beautiful family.

I have a clear memory of a hormonal wave that hit me four years ago and made me truly consider having kids. I remember messaging a friend about how much I was dreaming of a little girl. I had tears of joy in my eyes just imagining that cute, tiny human. But I’m a classic millennial, and it didn’t last. Imagining motherhood triggered my issues: I can’t afford to have her. I’m too emotionally unstable to keep a regular job. I felt 16 again, and pregnancy was a punishment for naughty girls, something to avoid at all costs. Motherhood was still divine, though. It would level me up to “mommy”, a Goddess who can do everything on her own, multiply food and love out of nothing, and be sustained by grace. When I woke up from this dream, what scared me the most was how lonely I pictured myself in it. Loneliness—number one among my top three fears. Second is having no money.

The contradictions go on and on. A year after the hormonal wave had passed, I had a meltdown because I had given up on motherhood to pursue career, money, my curiosity, my writing, an interesting life, and end up with nothing. When I hit rock bottom, I wished I had a daughter so I could say I had achieved something meaningful in my life. I also thought that having someone depend on me would boost my motivation to keep going. Afterwards, I felt the most selfish person in the world.

It led to a sincere discussion with my therapist. I asked her whether the desire to be a mom is real or something patriarchy has brainwashed us into believing. She asked me why I wanted to be a mom. My answer was easy: I don’t want to be a mom—I’m just curious about being pregnant, giving birth, and watching a child grow into a teenager, then an adult.

Curiosity might be enough if I were a rich woman willing to pass property down within the family. That’s not the case, unfortunately. The desire to be a mother may not be a requirement for having kids, but without it, chances are you’ll regret it or find it much harder. If I had a baby, would I prefer paying to outsource the work or having a village to help me? Does anyone have a village-friendly lifestyle nowadays? Isn’t having a safe way to care for your baby and raise them enough? Does it have to be so complicated? It probably shouldn’t.

I’ll always savor the strange taste of missing something I never truly wanted, living as a kind of teenage adult. I know that never having held a sick baby has left my view of life softer, more naive. And I wonder about that unique kind of love and fear—the kind that only exists when you create a person from your own cells. I’ll stay curious. The last time I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see a mother looking back at me.

P.S. I seem to have forgotten there’s usually a father in the picture. I didn’t, but in my notes on not being a mother, I realize I can’t fully account for the father as an equal part of the equation. This is not a belief or a value I hold—it’s simply my honest perspective in this reflection. I loved my dad deeply, and I’m forever grateful that he provided for us financially. My mom took care of me, my sister, and everything else, so he could focus on work and have more freedom.