I find myself having to tell people time and time again that I’ll never be a mother. I tell them that I am and always have been unequipped with the nurturing nature, the patience, the understanding it takes to raise a child. They always try to argue with me; why does it always turn into an argument? Some people are born with a maternal instinct and some people aren’t. That’s the way I’ve always rationalized it for myself; you shouldn’t be able to argue with hardwiring.
And it is hardwiring, at least in part. Even when I was young, Disney and various family members tried to shove ideals of the nuclear family with a white picket fence in suburbia down my throat and I couldn’t see myself doing that. I’ve always lived unconventionally; I never knew what it was like to have two parents or siblings without a generational gap. I knew what family was to me: my mother and every important relationship lacking in my life that she tried her best to compensate for. I was raised on a steady diet of unconditional love and uncommonness that felt more normal to me than anything else.
My mom encouraged me to live for myself, to find what it is that makes me happy and pursue it fervently. She instilled in me how crucial it is to determine what success is to me and how debilitating it can be to aim for someone else’s definition. It never phased her to hear that I didn’t plan on having children; in my world where everyone questioned why I didn’t want to be a mother and fulfill my purpose, my own mother urged me to consider what my purpose was. What was I put on this Earth to do?
People ask me consistently what my legacy will be. Questions like that used to make me nervous, now I think they’re quite loaded. Existentialism at the hands of others seems unfair. I’m nineteen years old; my life has just begun. While I’m unsure of what exactly my impact will be, I’m positive that I’m capable of accomplishing something incredible; I don’t need to pass on my family name to make a lasting mark on this world. I feel comfortable and preoccupied working out all of the things I want to experience for myself. I want to read, I want to write, I want to travel. I want to learn about other cultures, people different from me, perspectives and ideas I couldn’t possibly fathom on my own. I want to get my degree. I want to go to every concert I can. I want to write a novel. I want everlasting enrichment and stimulation. Success to me is constant growth; I never want to feel stagnant.
I want to teach and be taught; I believe we all exist to enlighten one another. I believe people come into our lives to instill knowledge in us through experience. I believe that everyone is here on their own respective journey and that in this life, we should be seeking out satisfaction. My purpose is to positively impact the lives of others and continue to grow intellectually and emotionally. I don’t need a child to give my life meaning and, more than anything, I’m still not sure why other people think that I do.