Illustration by Alex Chen
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When I was growing up, I knew I would be a mom. Not because I wanted it desperately, but because I thought it was something all women did. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, even as I entered my teens and then 20s. I was too absorbed with friends, school and work to leave room for anything else.
Everything changed when I turned 30. Suddenly children and the idea of raising them was at the forefront of every conversation. Friends pondered, family pressured and all the while I was wondering, is this really what I want for my future? My husband and I were happy, we loved our jobs and each other. We loved our freedom and independence. Surely a child would ruin all of that, at least in the short term. But in the long term, if we didn’t have children, would our lives feel lonely and purposeless?
I found myself consumed by the idea of regret. I was terrified that I might regret having children and terrified that I might regret not having them. I saw regret as this permanent stamp, a mark to show that I had made the wrong decision in life. I would stay awake at night obsessively reading about parental regret on social media, panicked that it might happen to me.
After months of indecision, I borrowed a self-help book for aspiring parents. It featured exercises every week designed to get readers thinking about different aspects of childhood, motherhood and parental relationships. Overall, it was effective. By the end of 12 weeks, I felt comfortable with my decision, knowing a child was what I wanted. This is good, I thought. I can do this, I thought. Then my daughter arrived.
Nothing can prepare you for motherhood. I’d heard about the sleepless nights, the drudgery of breastfeeding, the earsplitting screams, but hearing about something and experiencing something is completely different. There’s no time for self-care or care for your partner, all energy is devoted to your child. It is exhausting and frustrating. I wanted to be my best self, the kindest, smartest, most loving version of myself. Instead I was the worst version, a zombie roaming the house, angry at my daughter and myself.
A horrible realization hit me around the five-week mark. I had been trying to get her to sleep for two hours, rocking her and crying in the dark when it came to me. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have had her. I wish I had never had her. I’d chosen wrong.
There it was, that awful feeling of regret. The thing I had been dreading all along. I felt sick, knowing I was the one to make the decision. I’d trapped us in this horrible life, where we’d be stuck forever. I cried all night long.
There were days when I didn’t think I would ever feel okay again. The regret weighed heavily on me, even more so because I felt I had to keep it a secret from everyone. Isn’t motherhood the best? Family would say to me, and I had to nod and smile. Inside I felt a knot tightening in my stomach.
Then, not two weeks later, I had two great days with my daughter. Her digestion was improving, she started to seem happy in her little body. I took her for walks in the pram, each time relishing the time we had together. She started smiling, real social smiles where her eyes looked like they were laughing. I slept for five hours instead of the usual three. After these two blissful days, a thought crossed my mind. I don’t regret her anymore, I thought. I’m glad I made this choice. For the first time, I felt a lightness.
I understood then that regret is not permanent. Just like any emotion, it comes and goes. In my life, there will be days that I regret this choice and days that I don’t. The same would be true if I had chosen not to have kids. It was my first epiphany of motherhood.
My daughter is three months old now. She’s starting to roll and giggle. We still have hard days, some that feel never-ending. But they always do. Joy always comes around. In those moments, I hold her so close.
Kate Belmore lives in Toronto.