thoughts on not being a mother
by melissa stanz

Am I really that strange? You see, I really never had a burning desire to have a child. Even as a child I watched my two sisters play with dolls and talk about the children they would have, but I never felt the urge. As a teenager, I became more certain children were not in my future. Don’t get me wrong, I like children, I try to continue to be a child—sometimes I even succeed. But motherhood was never in the picture.

And yet, the instinct for mothering is inbred—it’s strong. So what would I mother? In my twenties and thirties, it became clear for awhile. I would mother my career, yes, that’s it! And so I tried. I climbed the corporate ladder, lavishing my attention on promotions, working hard, capturing titles and authority. At one point, I mothered a whole company as head of Human Resources. As those of you who have children know, it’s not quite the same.

Twice in my life my biological time clock kicked in, and I even tried to get pregnant, once with my first husband, once with my second. Nothing happened. Be careful what you ask for.

I turn 50 this year. I do so with no children. My time for children is past, my ovaries have shut down, and I chose not to adopt, even though I know there are scores of children out there who need adopting.

So how does it feel? It feels sad, it feels good, it feels like where I am. During the past three years, going through menopause, there were many moments of deep sadness, moments of a longing unfulfilled. There were more moments of regret, and real contemplation about not being a mother. I thought about why I wanted to be a mom, I felt scared sometimes about who would care for me when I’m old, and I realized how selfish that was. I know that is definitely not a reason to have a child.

And finally, there is acceptance. A sort of sad, philosophical acceptance. I realize I’ll never be the mother to a fabulous son or daughter, and yet, I still have a mother’s role. I’m mom to many dear cats and dogs, dead and alive. I’m mom to my horse, who really likes me. Sometimes I’m mom to my husband; a role he likes and hates. I sometimes play mother to my friends. I know it’s not as deep, as permanent as being a biological mother, but it helps me smile—it feels good.

I honor all you mothers out there. I respect you, sometimes I envy you. I honor my mother, who at 82, still mothers me. I am amazed at her love, her caring, her life- long role. I honor my two sisters, who have six children between them, and I like to think that I’ve helped them play mom at times. Happy Mother’s Day—all you moms deserve a special day, and I salute you.