For the first time in my life, someone asked me if I wanted children, and I said no.
Not maybe.
Not someday.
Not "I'm not sure."
No.
And apparently, I said it with such disgust that the person laughed.
"Well, excuse me!"
And I was just as surprised by their reaction as they were by mine.
Because to me, the answer was obvious.
Have you seen everything going on around here? And you're asking me if I want to be somebody's mother?
I’m good, love. No, thank you.
But afterward, I started thinking.
I don't think I've ever actually said I wanted children.
I've talked about how many I might have. I've imagined what they might look like, what I'd name them, and what kind of mother I could be.
But whenever someone asked me whether I wanted children, my answer was always some variation of maybe.
Maybe one day.
Maybe two.
Maybe twins.
Maybe.
And for the first time, I realized that maybe had been doing a lot of work for a very long time.
Because this week, I finally said no.
And goodness, did it feel good.
Interestingly enough, I had another encounter this week that made me think about the way we discuss motherhood.
I met a woman who I thought might be pregnant, but I wasn't sure. And listen, I know better than to assume. Some of us are just enjoying our food, okay? I have food babies myself.
We're at that age where we're not sucking anything in anymore.
I'm chilling.
Chilling, chilling, chilling.
So I've decided to retire the casual questions about people's reproductive plans.
Seriously.
We don't walk up to people at work asking whether they wax, shave, or let it grow.
Why are we casually asking what they're planning to do with their reproductive organs?
Some things can simply remain personal until someone chooses to share them.
Now, relationships? Oh, I love talking about relationships.
Friendships, marriages, family, human connection. I'm all in.
But I've realized there's a difference between being interested in someone's life and assuming certain experiences are supposed to be part of it.
And motherhood, for me, is no longer an assumption.
What's interesting is that I absolutely adore children.
I think they're some of the funniest, smartest, most honest people on this planet.
They haven't learned to disguise themselves quite like we have.
They're curious. They're direct. They're unapologetically themselves.
And I love that.
I think it's part of why I hope to always remain a child myself.
Not in the sense that I refuse to grow up. I've grown quite a bit, thank you very much.
But in the sense that I never want to lose the person looking through these eyes.
Because when I think about it, the eyes I'm looking through today are the same eyes I looked through as a little girl.
I don't experience myself aging the way I see myself aging in photographs.
I'm just here.
Still me.
Learning, changing, discovering, reconsidering, laughing, loving.
Becoming.
And I don't need to become a mother to continue becoming a woman.
I think that's what feels so freeing about this.
I'm not rejecting children.
I'm not rejecting motherhood as something beautiful.
I'm simply recognizing that something can be beautiful without needing to belong to me.
And for the first time, I'm comfortable saying that out loud.
Of course, I've considered whether I should make this decision permanent. Whether I should take steps to ensure that motherhood stays off my list.
But even that feels like another decision I don't need to make today.
For now, I'm just going to be.
I like being.
Actually, I love being.
I love my husband. I love my cat. I love my home. I love good food, good sleep, stretching, showering, writing, laughing, and the people who make my life feel so full.
I love the woman I am.
And I am so excited about the woman I'm becoming.
The other day, I told my husband something that felt especially meaningful.
"I'm glad I'm still here."
And I meant it.
I'm proud to be here.
I don't know whether it's the therapy, the medication, the writing, the self-expression, the love surrounding me, or some beautiful combination of it all.
Maybe it's everything.
Whatever it is, I'm grateful.
Grateful that I get to live this life.
Grateful that my home feels magical.
Grateful that I get to work somewhere magical.
Grateful that I can recognize the magic in my own presence.
For so long, I imagined what my life might become.
And somewhere along the way, I started falling in love with what it already is.
I finally said no.
And somehow, life feels like one enormous yes.
With love, Nay