Writing by Xani Kolac // artwork by Meg Kolac
When I was a teenager, I asked Mum what she’d do differently if she had her time again. And she was honest. She told me she wouldn’t have children.
Gasp.
Meanwhile, I was writing letters to my unborn daughter telling her all my woes, sharing all my stories of youth, and imagining how proud I was going to be having such a special relationship with my daughter. In one letter, I even promised not to get angry if she lied and said she was going to a friend’s house for a sleepover when in actual fact she was hanging out with her new boyfriend. Hypothetically. I had three ridiculous names picked out for my three imaginary children because that’s just how the world works. You go to school, get a job, find a partner, and have kids.
For the record, my Mum loves my sister and I to absolute bits, which she tells us constantly. And she is the best Mum a daughter could hope for. So why would she not want to have us? She has many reasons which she explained to me in that moment. Her honesty was like an injection of freedom and relief realising that I didn’t have to go down that path if I didn’t want to. And that sometimes, we make choices that we have to live with for better or worse. But that you can still make the most of them. It was a lot of lessons all in one.
I’m older now. I’ve finished school, got a job, got a career, and I’ve got a husband. But I made the decision over a decade ago not to have children.
Back when I was 25, I was out with friends and someone asked me when I was going to have kids. I was with my boyfriend at the time who was standing right next to me. And yet, I copped the question. “I’m not having children”, I said. My friend kept asking me why not, while getting angry and aggressive, saying that my reasons were stupid, nonsensical. I was bemused. It was awkward.
Another friend asked me a few years later to meet her for a coffee. She started with “I just want you to know that you can have children and have a career in music, you know? I’ve done it, so can you. You really can have it all.” But I don’t want it all. I can’t have it all. I don’t need it all. What would I do with it all? Having it all means that there is a massive imbalance in the world. In order for me to have it all, there’s a whole chain reaction that goes off where someone is getting a lot less. The neoliberal feminist mantra of having it all is capitalism in action.
I have my reasons for choosing not to have kids. They’re not popular to talk about. Bring up consumerism and privilege and climate change with people who have children and you’re guaranteed to cause a scene. But I find that I’m always having to defend myself. Or, if I am given some airtime, people are quick to tick off my reasons like a checklist: “No, I don’t agree with that one.”
It’s a privilege to have children. And it’s a privilege to choose not to. But right now, we are in a time of Roe v. Wade being overturned, and a time when pregnant people are made invisible, and a time when different bodies are scrutinised and vilified. So when, why, and how people choose to use their uteruses is just none of your business.
I hope that one day we can open up this discussion on all sides. But for now, I can rest easy knowing how happy my Mum is to not have any grandchildren. For now.
Dear Daughter by Xani is out now
