10 Things You Should Stop Saying to Childfree people
Every childfree woman or person has heard it. The backhanded comments, the guilt trips disguised as “concern,” the relentless insistence that her life is incomplete without children. It’s wild how confidently people will question your happiness, your love, and your purpose simply because you chose not to reproduce.
So, consider this my public service announcement — or maybe my therapy session in writing. Here are 10 things you should stop saying to childfree women, and what we’re really thinking when we hear them. Spoiler: it’s not what you expect.
#1 - “you’ll change your mind some day.”
So what you’re really saying is that you don’t take my choices or my autonomy seriously. Now, imagine if we flipped the script: someone tells us they’re pregnant, and we respond with, “Well, you’ll change your mind about being happy once you realize how much work it is raising a kid.”
Sounds ridiculous — and incredibly rude, right?
I celebrate my friends’ wanted pregnancies and their parenting milestones, because their choices deserve respect, and I’m genuinely happy when my friends are happy. But our choices deserve respect too. Yes, humans change their minds all the time. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t (look I already know I won’t but for the sake of argument…). Either way, that’s a future-me problem. And most importantly? It’s none of your goddamn business.
#2 - “Who is going to take care of you when you’re old?”
My fat-ass brokerage account, my retirement contributions, the estate attorneys I hire, and the senior life planning I’ve set up. That means things like long-term care insurance, advance healthcare directives, hiring in-home caregivers, senior living communities, and having a solid financial advisor in my corner. You know what I’m not doing? Forcing kids into existence just so they can wipe my ass when I’m 85.
And seriously though, what is with this question? Even if I had children in some alternate universe, there’s no way I’d dump my end-of-life care on them. They’d have their own lives, and I’d respect the hell out of that. They don’t owe me anything just because I chose to have them. I would be the parent; they would be the child. They don’t need to take care of me — they need to take care of themselves and their own families, if they choose to have them. Because unlike what this question implies, I’m not trying to reproduce a future caretaker and call it “family.”
And really, any parents reading this: please, plan for your own future. Even if your kids are capable of helping, it shouldn’t be their primary responsibility. They didn’t sign up to be born so they could take care of you. You chose to have them, to care for them, to give them a good life. So return the favor: make sure you’ve planned for yours. Let your kids focus on living their own.
#3 - “That is so selfish!”
Oh really? I’m the selfish one because I made a mindful decision not to raise a whole human and chose to pursue other goals instead? But it’s not selfish to have a child just to play the martyr or chase social approval? That logic is honestly laughable.
Let’s be clear: choosing not to have kids when you don’t want them isn’t selfish — it’s responsible. What’s actually selfish is bringing a child into the world you don’t want, can’t support, or secretly resent because you caved to pressure or wanted validation. And honestly? When someone calls me selfish, what they’re really doing is projecting their own frustrations onto me. If they had the freedom and flexibility I do, it would shatter their narrative of self-sacrifice. That’s not my problem. I’m not here to make anyone feel better about their choices — or mine.
Here’s the truth: I’m not knocking parenthood. If you love being a parent, that’s amazing. But part of parenthood is accepting the tradeoff: less time for yourself. That’s the role you chose. I’m simply choosing differently. I want my time, my autonomy, and a life that reflects my own values. And just to be extra clear, you’ll always find me voting for and advocating for policies that support parents — paid parental leave, extended maternity leave, affordable childcare. Those things should exist. If you choose parenthood, you deserve real structural support, not just empty praise.
So let’s kill this myth once and for all: childfree people contribute deeply to the world. We volunteer, we nurture chosen families, we mentor kids who already exist, and we pour into careers, passions, and communities that create real change. We care for ourselves so we can show up better for others. That’s not selfishness — that’s responsibility.
#4 - “Your Biological Clock is Ticking! If You Don’t Do It Now You Will Regret It!”
Good. Honestly, I wish the damn clock had broken years ago so I wouldn’t have needed a bilateral salpingectomy. How nice would that have been? I still have all the reproductive parts of a female body — minus my tubes as of this year — and if I could donate my uterus to someone who actually wanted it, I would. Because let’s be real: periods suck.
Now, back to the point. Telling a childfree woman that her “biological clock is ticking” is nothing more than fear-mongering — FOMO marketing for motherhood. People love to remind us that men can father children forever because sperm are “always there,” while women supposedly expire like cartons of milk. Sure, younger eggs are statistically healthier. But here’s what no one mentions: younger sperm matter too. Fertility challenges are not just a “woman problem.”
And even if we accept the science, so what? We live in a world where people freeze eggs, use surrogates, explore IVF, or decide to become parents later in life. There are new moms in their 40s and 50s who are thriving. Do I personally get why someone would want to do that? Not really — but that’s because I’m childfree by choice, and I own that bias.
The whole “biological clock” narrative is tired, outdated, and manipulative. It’s a patriarchal scare tactic designed to rush women into marriage and motherhood before they’ve even had a chance to figure out what they actually want. And if someone does regret not having kids, that’s their journey to navigate. But using regret as a weapon against women’s autonomy? That needs to stop.
For women who do want kids later, there are options that patriarchy conveniently forgets to mention:
Egg freezing – more accessible than it was even 10 years ago
IVF – still expensive, but increasingly successful
Surrogacy – both traditional and gestational options are expanding
Adoption & fostering – life-changing paths that don’t require pregnancy
Later-in-life parenting – plenty of people are thriving as parents in their 40s and beyond
No woman should be bullied by a ticking clock metaphor. Autonomy means making choices on your timeline, guided by your values — not someone else’s expiration date.
#5 - “But You’d Be Such a Good Mom/parent!”
Cool. And if I went to culinary school, I’d probably be a great chef. If I went to law school, I’d probably make a solid lawyer. If I had a beak and rainbow feathers, I’d probably be a great parrot. Just because someone has the potential to do something doesn’t mean they’re obligated to do it.
This so-called compliment is often just another way of nudging women toward motherhood — as if being nurturing, responsible, or emotionally intelligent automatically means you should pour all that into raising children. But those qualities don’t belong only to parents. They’re part of being a decent human being, and they can show up in a thousand different ways.
For some women, that path is motherhood. For others, it’s teaching, mentoring, creating, leading, building, or simply living authentically on their own terms. None of those choices are lesser. None of them require a child to validate their worth.
#6 - “You’ll never know true love until you’re a parent”
I probably hate this one the most. As if the capacity to love could ever be measured. The people who say this are trying to gatekeep love itself. You know what I truly love? Myself, my partner, and my animals. That’s my family unit and I love them so deeply it hurts sometimes. I would do anything for them. And you know what would absolutely destroy what I already love and hold dear? Bringing a screaming child into the mix.
While that may be a dream for many people, it’s my literal nightmare. If I brought a child into this world, I would resent them… not because of who they are, but because of what I’d have to give up. My disposable income would vanish into childcare costs. My time after work would be spent chauffeuring them to activities. My activism and voice would shrink into palatable, kid-friendly lessons instead of the unapologetic truth I want to speak. Instead of using my energy to challenge systems and inspire change, I’d be using it to make lunches and manage bedtime routines. My love for activism would fade; and with it, so would a huge part of who I am.
My capacity to love isn’t defined by whether I have kids. I can, and do, love deeply, fiercely, and fully in my own life. And if we’re talking about “true love,” maybe take a scroll through the Regretful Parents subreddit. So many of those posts start with “I love my kids, but…” and others skip the pretense entirely, admitting they can’t stand being parents. So no, I don’t need to birth a child to understand love. Love isn’t earned through parenthood; it’s expressed through how we show up for what (and who) we care about.
#7 - “What about your partner? What do they want?”
When it comes to the choice of whether I birth a child, I don’t give a single fuck what my partner wants — and I can say that with love. Why? Because we had that conversation long before we ever got serious. I set the tone early, back when things started to feel deeper than friendship, and I made it clear: I do not want children. And they felt the same.
There’s no bait and switch here. No “maybe they’ll change their mind.” No martyring yourself on the altar of someone else’s dream. If you’re childfree by choice, you need to be upfront about it — not because it’s controversial, but because it’s foundational. You don’t date someone who wants kids and hope love will magically bridge that gap. It won’t.
People act like being childfree must mean one partner is dragging the other along. But in healthy relationships, it’s not about one person “allowing” the other to opt out of parenthood. It’s about two adults building a shared vision for their life together. My partner and I didn’t fall into that by accident. We made it intentional and we designed a life rooted in freedom, peace, and mutual respect, not obligation.
And honestly? That’s what real partnership looks like. It’s not about compromise at the cost of your core identity — it’s about alignment. It’s knowing that you can love someone deeply without needing to create another person to prove it.
#8 - “But Who Will Carry On Your Family Name?”
Short answer: I don’t care. My worth isn’t tied to a last name, and it’s definitely not my job to continue anyone’s bloodline. My family name fucking sucks anyway and as far as I am concerned this bloodline ends with me. Oh no, how tragic — I won’t get to pass on generations of trauma wrapped in the fantasy that maybe my kid will cure cancer and make my existence “worth it.”
You know who probably could’ve cured cancer? The women who were manipulated into having babies they didn’t want. The ones who gave up their education, their ambitions, their freedom — all to raise another generation that would be told the same lies about what a “good woman” should do. Everyone romanticizes the potential of a baby but never talks about the potential that’s lost when a woman is pressured into motherhood instead of being free to reach her own.
It’s not my job to reproduce so that some distant descendant can find my name on Ancestry.com 75 years from now and still have no idea who I was. Most people can’t even name their great-grandparents, so let’s drop the “family legacy” act. My legacy isn’t a surname — it’s the life I chose for myself.
#9 - “That sounds like such a lonely life”
Not any lonelier than crying in the bathroom because my spouse forgot my birthday again after one of our kids puked at basketball practice and the other one called me a bitch out of pure teenage rage. Not any lonelier than being unappreciated and feeling like my worth only exists in what I can do for everyone else. People love to romanticize family chaos as “love,” but half the time, it’s just plain burnout.
You know what my life is though? Peaceful. I get to decide what to do with my energy and who has access to it. I can design a life that actually fits me — take time off when I want, travel when I want, go on dates with my partner, and enjoy our time together without the logistics of childcare. I can spend weekends nurturing my friendships, diving into my passions, volunteering, or doing absolutely nothing. My life isn’t empty; it’s full in a different way.
And when I’m older? I’ll hopefully retire earlier, not stress about supporting adult children in a collapsing economy, and not end up raising grandkids I never wanted. Maybe my holidays will be quieter, sure — but they’ll also be calm, joyful, and filled with peace. I’ll wake up in my dream city, drink coffee with my partner, and reflect on a life that was entirely mine. A life where I didn’t spend decades trying to meet everyone else’s needs at the expense of my own.
Because here’s the thing: loneliness isn’t about who’s around you. It’s about whether you feel at peace with yourself. And I’d rather have quiet mornings and genuine contentment than a house full of noise and resentment. My life isn’t lonely, it’s intentional. It’s full of love, just not the kind you were told to chase.
#10 - “You’re going to regret it when you’re old”
The only thing I regret is how much time I wasted worrying about this decision in the first place. I regret the years I spent in my teens and 20s agonizing over the “right time” to have kids, when deep down no time ever felt right. I regret trying to delay pregnancy in my marriage just to avoid being pressured. I regret wishing for infertility, hoping nature would make the decision for me. I regret not pushing harder for the bilateral salpingectomy I didn’t get until my 30s. Mostly, I regret how much mental energy I spent being afraid of a regret that was never actually mine.
So kindly, shut the fuck up about what I’ll regret when I’m old. I’ve already wasted enough of my life trying to convince myself that motherhood was the right path. I’m done living in fear of what you think I’ll feel one day. I don’t regret choosing myself. I regret that it took me this long to realize I could.
At the end of the day, every one of these comments boils down to the same message: “Your life only matters if it looks like mine.” But it doesn’t. My life is whole, meaningful, and deeply loved — not because I followed a script, but because I had the courage to write my own.
Choosing to be childfree isn’t a rejection of motherhood; it’s an embrace of selfhood. It’s saying, I know who I am, and I know what kind of life feels right for me. And that, honestly, is the most beautiful legacy anyone could leave behind.
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