Yes, I Have a Beautiful Life. And I Wish I Had Children.

Recently, while working on a study about the myths and misconceptions teen couples hold about sexual health behaviors and prevention tools, I found myself thinking about a different set of myths.

As it turns out, young people are not the only ones who hold misconceptions about deeply personal aspects of life. Adults do too.

In particular, I began thinking about the myths people hold about women who don’t have children. True to form as a researcher, I asked several women and men in my circle about the myths and misconceptions that they have heard—or personally experienced—regarding women without children. Not surprising, they were all able to rattle off several misconceptions, including:

“Women who don’t have children don’t want children.”

“Women who don’t have children have unlimited time and disposable income.”

“Women who don’t have children don’t have full lives.”

“There must be something wrong with a woman if she doesn’t have children.”

One myth, in particular, kept coming up. Many women noted that in moments when they were vulnerable and shared their feelings about not having children, uncertainties about their reproductive futures, or confusion about the best next step in their reproductive journeys, they were often met with, “Oh, but you have such a beautiful life.”

I myself have been on the receiving end of this response and, in the past, I have not always known how to feel about it or how to respond. Indeed, I do have a beautiful life, and perhaps not for all the reasons people looking in from the outside might think. But at the core of this response is an unspoken misconception: that having a beautiful life somehow cancels out reproductive longing.

Generally speaking, I do not believe that this response is ill-intentioned. Rather, I think it often comes from a place of discomfort within the listener—discomfort with holding space for a conversation that may feel difficult or emotionally complex. We are often not taught how to sit with or hold space for our own feelings and emotions, let alone hold space for someone else’s. As a result, we sometimes don’t know what to say or how to respond. Instead of engaging in the harder or more uncomfortable conversation, we rush to ease the moment—either by relieving our own discomfort or by trying to reassure the other person too quickly. I suspect most of us have done this at some point.

Just recently, a friend shared her feelings about a hurtful interpersonal interaction. My immediate instinct was to offer advice and comfort. In hindsight, I wish I had simply made space for her to express what she was feeling and then asked what she most needed in that moment.

Like many myths, the idea that a person has a “beautiful life” not only affects the person in question. It also influences how others respond to them. For the listener, this myth may unintentionally limit their ability to offer emotional support. For the woman sharing her experience, it may lead to feelings of guilt for even having those emotions, cause her to question whether her feelings are valid, or leave her wondering if she is being ungrateful for wanting more. It may also make women hesitant to share their experiences openly in the future, forcing them to carry these feelings in silence. Far too often, this is the reality for many women.

But what if it isn’t either/or, but both/and?

When we allow ourselves to think from a both/and perspective, we give ourselves permission to hold space for two things—sometimes contradictory things—to be true at the same time: two contrasting thoughts, two contrasting feelings, two contrasting experiences. We recognize that we do not have to choose one over the other. Instead, we can honor and hold space for both.

A good friend calls this “Yes, and.”

Yes, I have a beautiful life, and I wish I had children.

We see this tension play out in other aspects of our lives.

Yes, I love my family, and sometimes I need time to myself.

Yes, I love solo traveling, and I wish I could share this beautiful experience with someone.

Yes, I have the job I prayed for, and it no longer aligns with what I want.

Yes, I believe that things will all work out, and I am nervous and scared about how and when they will.

In the same way that we hold space for these tensions in our own lives, can we also hold space for women who have a beautiful life—and still long for children?