November 27th 2024.
When I first laid eyes on my wife, I couldn't deny that we made an excellent team. We just clicked and complemented each other perfectly. As we embarked on our journey together, the question of starting a family would often come up from friends and family. And each time, our answer remained the same - "No, sorry. Motherhood is not for us." We would say with a smirk and a shrug, knowing that this was not the path we wanted to take.
But without fail, the next statement would always be the same - "But you two would make such amazing parents!" It was a common assumption that after marriage, the next step was to have children. And for a while, we actually considered it. As a same-sex couple, we knew that our journey towards parenthood would require more thought and planning, but it was still an option for us. However, the mere fact that we had to put so much effort into even thinking about having children made me reflect on my own feelings about motherhood and how my upbringing had shaped them.
Growing up, my relationship with my mother was anything but easy. She was a dominating presence in our home, often showing resentment towards my existence. To put it politely, she was a narcissist with a touch of OCD, low self-esteem, and a clinical depression that lasted throughout my entire childhood. I have vivid memories of her breaking down in tears or lashing out violently over the smallest of things. I lived in a constant state of fear, knowing that every little act of kindness or favor would eventually be held against me and used as leverage.
I was raised in a system of checks and balances, where her love was never unconditional. I couldn't even begin to imagine what it would feel like to have a loving and trusting relationship with my parents. My mother's unpredictable behavior made it impossible for me to trust her, as I never knew how she would react to anything. It was like living with Jekyll and Hyde. As a teenager, I envied my friends' relationships with their parents. They would go on weekend trips, shopping sprees, and proudly post pictures with their moms on social media with captions like "my best friend." None of that made sense to me.
Although my parents were still together, my relationship with my dad became strained as my mom grew increasingly jealous of our bond. Something as simple as watching a movie or going shopping together would result in days of silent treatment from my mom. Eventually, I distanced myself from my dad as well. Our different upbringings definitely played a role in shaping who we were as individuals. While my friends were kind, generous, and carefree, I found myself being mean, jealous, and entitled - all traits that I had picked up from my narcissistic mother.
Things only got worse between my mother and me when I came out as gay. I was a teenager at the time, and her reaction was far from supportive. She called me a "disappointment" and cried, as if my sexuality was something I had intentionally chosen to hurt her. Just like that, her perception of me changed, and she made it clear that I had let her down by not giving her grandchildren. I was taken aback by her rejection, and it hurt even more to see how important having children was to her, as if it was the only way I could make her proud.
From a young age, I knew that having children was not something I wanted for myself. Being in a same-sex relationship only confirmed that for me. But I would often hear people tell me, "You'll change your mind when you get older" or "It's different when they're your own." But that maternal instinct never kicked in for me. Having children was never a goal in my life - I am not a naturally maternal person, I don't get all giddy over babies, and I've never even changed a diaper. It's just not something that I feel called to do, and that's okay.
When I first met my wife, I couldn't deny that we made a great team. We were both driven, ambitious, and shared similar values and goals in life. However, when friends and family would ask us if we were planning on having children, our response was always the same - "No, sorry. Motherhood is not for us." We would say it with a smile and a shrug, but inevitably, we would be met with the same six-word sentence, "But you'd make such good parents!"
I understood where their question came from. After getting married, it was assumed that having children would be the next natural step in our relationship. And for a while, we actually considered it. As a same-sex couple, we knew that our journey towards parenthood would require more forethought and planning, but the option was always there. However, the thought of procreating made me delve deeper into my own feelings about motherhood and the impact of my upbringing on my maternal instincts.
Growing up, I had a difficult relationship with my mother. She was a dominating presence in our home and seemed to resent my existence. To put it politely, she was an abusive narcissist who also struggled with OCD, low self-esteem, and clinical depression for most of my childhood. My early memories are filled with moments of her breaking down in tears or erupting into fits of violence over the smallest things. I lived in a constant state of fear, always trying to please her and avoid her wrath.
In my home, every act of kindness had to be repaid in some way. For example, if my mom gave me a ride to a friend's house or bought me new school shoes, I would have to do extra housework as payment. And this "favor" would be held against me indefinitely. In her eyes, I was in constant debt for simply being born and provided for. This made it clear to me that her love was anything but unconditional.
I couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have that sense of companionship, love, and trust with a parent. My friends would go on weekend trips with their parents, have girly shopping days, and post pictures with their mom on social media with the caption, "my best friend." I was envious of their relationships. My own parents were together, and I had a good relationship with my dad, but as I grew older, my mom became increasingly jealous of our bond. This made it challenging for me to spend time with my dad without causing arguments. Even simple activities like watching movies or shopping together would result in days of her giving us the silent treatment. As a result, my relationship with my dad also became more distant.
Our different upbringings definitely had an impact on who we became as individuals. While my friends were kind, generous, and carefree, I found myself being mean, jealous, and entitled - a product of my narcissistic upbringing. My mother and I only continued to drift further apart when I came out to her as gay.
I was a teenager when I first came out to my mother, and her reaction was not what I expected. She called me a disappointment and cried. In an instant, her perception of me seemed to shift, and she made me feel like I had let her down by choosing this life and not giving her grandchildren. It was a reaction that I was not prepared for, and it hurt deeply. It was also eye-opening to see how much having children meant to her, as if that was the only way I could make her proud.
From a young age, I knew that I didn't want children. Even being in a relationship with a woman didn't change that. People would often say things like, "You'll change your mind when you get older" or "It's different when they're your own." But the maternal instinct just never came for me. Having children was never a life goal for me. I am not a particularly maternal person, I don't get all gooey-eyed over babies in prams, and I've never even changed a diaper. It's just not something that I desire in life.
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