I’m glad I chose not to have children. I’m 70, and I don’t regret it at all.
My name is Margaret Smith, and I reside in the quaint little town of Daylesford, nestled in the heart of the English countryside. Recently, I had an appointment with a dermatologist and found myself sitting in the waiting area of the clinic. Beside me sat an elegant woman with a gentle smile. We started chatting, and before I knew it, her words turned my perspective on life upside down. She turned out to be more than just a pleasant conversationalist; her story made me question what I had always deemed unchangeable.
At first glance, I noticed her style: well-manicured hands, a neat hairstyle, and clothes that seemed tailor-made. I guessed she was around 50, no more. But during our conversation, she mentioned that she was over 70. I was taken aback—neither her face nor her eyes showed any signs of age. She seemed vibrant and alive, unlike her peers who often seemed weighed down by years and worries. She radiated, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She candidly shared her life story without embellishment. She had been married twice and now was alone. Her first husband, Michael, and she parted ways when they were young. The reason was simple yet harsh: she didn’t want children. Michael knew this from the start—she dreamed of a marriage without nappies and prams. But after she turned thirty, he began to press the issue: “A complete family is one with children; it’s time to think about it.” Her maternal instinct never awoke, and she stood firm like a rock, believing that birthing against her will would betray herself. Though they spoke candidly, they went separate ways—a divorce was easier than self-deception.
Her second marriage was to David, a divorcee with a daughter from his previous marriage. He didn’t want more children, which brought them closer. They lived in harmony, never touching upon the subject of children. David even appreciated that she shared his views. Yet fate had other plans; he died in a car accident. Though left alone, solitude did not break her—it became her freedom. “I’m happy,” she told me, meeting my gaze. “I owe no one anything and live for myself.” Her voice carried no regrets, only strength and peace.
She spoke of friends who had pinned their hopes on their children. Now, they only sigh as sons and daughters have grown and flown the nest, leaving their parents in emptiness. “Children don’t need us as we age,” she said. “I saw this and didn’t want to have any. I never even dreamt about it.” Her life is full: traveling, reading, taking early morning walks by the river. The absence of children isn’t a void in her heart but rather wings that keep her afloat.
“And what about someone to care for you in old age?” I asked, recalling an old expression. She laughed: “I won’t die of thirst or illness. While my friends spent everything on their kids, I saved. Now I have enough to hire a caregiver for the rest of my days.” Her words challenged not society but the fear that without children, life loses meaning. She had proved the opposite: at 70, she was flourishing, living for her own joy, not in anticipation of others’ gratitude.
Watching her, I thought about how often we trap ourselves in societal norms, fearing judgment. She chose her path—without children’s voices filling her home, without nappies and sleepless nights, and that choice made her free. Her story was like a mirror: it showed me a woman who didn’t give in to the tyranny of “must.” Her first husband left; the second passed away, yet she didn’t break—she built a life where she thrived on her own. Her friends complain about indifferent children, while she sips her morning coffee in peace, smiling at a new day.
Now, I ask myself: what if she’s right? Her words deeply affected me. I’ve seen friends age alone despite having children, watching their hopes crumble when adult sons and daughters forget to call. But she—at 70—awaits no one’s assistance, doesn’t live in the past, doesn’t yearn for what wasn’t. She is as free as the wind over the Thames and as happy as anyone I’ve ever known.
What do you think of this? Do you agree with such a choice? Her life challenges stereotypes, proving that happiness lies not in children but in listening to oneself. I left the clinic with her smile etched in my memory and a thought: maybe it’s time I stop fearing my desires? She regrets nothing, and that compels me to rethink everything I believed in.
