I’m Not a Mother, but I Know Love.
When you’re a 30-something-year-old woman with no children, everyone has an opinion about it—and they love to tell you what it is.
I have heard everything from “you’ll change your mind,” to “maybe you just haven’t met the right guy yet,” to “who will look after you when you’re old?”
But perhaps the worst thing people like to say to me is, “You won’t know true love until you become a mother.”
I’m not saying I know the love a mother has for their child. How can I? I’m not a mother. But, condemning a woman to a loveless life if she has chosen not to (or has been unable to) have children seems a little unfair.
I’m not a mother, but does that mean I don’t know love?
I’m a teacher. I know what it feels like to watch a child grow and develop and learn. I know how it feels to want the very best for someone. I know how it feels to be invested in the progress and future of a child. I know what it’s like to show extreme patience and to fail at patience. I know what it means to be a part of another’s success and failures, joy and sorrow. I’ve wiped butts and spoon fed and cleaned up puke and sung to sleep. I’ve consoled heart break and calmed exam stress. I’ve sheltered, and I’ve opened doors. I’m not a mother, but I have mothered.
I’m not a mother, but does that mean I don’t know love?
I’m a lover. I’ve put my dreams on hold for the dreams of another. I have compromised and sacrificed. I’ve bathed the sick and the injured and nursed back to health. I’ve fed and I’ve cleaned up after. I’ve felt the gut-wrenching fear for the life of another. I’ve longed for and missed someone. My heart has skipped a beat at the sound of a ringing phone, and I have laid comfortably—content, knowing all is right with the world.
