holywood model: Why Won’t People Just Let Me Not Be a Mom?

The summer after ninth grade, I worked as a nanny in The Hamptons. I was actually called a

I'd applied for the position so I could spend August at the beach and meet boys. But I met zero boys, and also failed to win over the two little ones in my charge. The younger son, age four, tantrumed for hours whenever his parents left the house. As soon as they drove off, he'd break his wailing for one chilling moment to tell me, "I'll chop your head off."

Even though I had no friends (or boys) to hang out with, I lived for my day off, when I could ride away on my bike and escape the kids. I was just 14, and already like the mother in the 2021 film The Lost Daughter, feeling smothered and dreaming of abandoning the family to experience life and pleasure again. In short, I wasn't motherly.

"I never loved babies or children, either," my mom encouraged me in my adult years. "Until I had you." Someday, she promised, I'd feel the same way about my own little ones. I'm sure I would have if I'd ever had any, but, in the end, I decided not to, because I didn't want them. I kept waiting to want them—to feel that mythical "maternal longing" kick in—and it never did. That's not to say I always felt clear in my choice. I spent a good decade on the fence, at a loss for evidence that, as a woman, you could forgo raising a family and still lead a fulfilling, happy life. Almost no one talked about this path, or made it look fun and normal, especially not in the media.

"You'll change your mind," people almost uniformly predicted when I told them I probably wasn't having kids. Or, as if I had just said I was planning on it but waiting for the right moment, they'd insist, "Well, you still have time."" title="The summer after ninth grade, I worked as a nanny in The Hamptons. I was actually called a "mother's helper," but I can't say I was much help. The mother had to prompt me, "Any chance you could get out of bed and watch the kids, or at least fold some of these sheets?"

I'd applied for the position so I could spend August at the beach and meet boys. But I met zero boys, and also failed to win over the two little ones in my charge. The younger son, age four, tantrumed for hours whenever his parents left the house. As soon as they drove off, he'd break his wailing for one chilling moment to tell me, "I'll chop your head off."

Even though I had no friends (or boys) to hang out with, I lived for my day off, when I could ride away on my bike and escape the kids. I was just 14, and already like the mother in the 2021 film The Lost Daughter, feeling smothered and dreaming of abandoning the family to experience life and pleasure again. In short, I wasn't motherly.

"I never loved babies or children, either," my mom encouraged me in my adult years. "Until I had you." Someday, she promised, I'd feel the same way about my own little ones. I'm sure I would have if I'd ever had any, but, in the end, I decided not to, because I didn't want them. I kept waiting to want them—to feel that mythical "maternal longing" kick in—and it never did. That's not to say I always felt clear in my choice. I spent a good decade on the fence, at a loss for evidence that, as a woman, you could forgo raising a family and still lead a fulfilling, happy life. Almost no one talked about this path, or made it look fun and normal, especially not in the media.

"You'll change your mind," people almost uniformly predicted when I told them I probably wasn't having kids. Or, as if I had just said I was planning on it but waiting for the right moment, they'd insist, "Well, you still have time."">

Why Won't People Just Let Me Not Be a Mom?

The summer after ninth grade, I worked as a nanny in The Hamptons. I was actually called a "mother's helper," but I can't say I was much help. The mother had to prompt me, "Any chance you could get out of bed and watch the kids, or at least fold some of these sheets?"

I'd applied for the position so I could spend August at the beach and meet boys. But I met zero boys, and also failed to win over the two little ones in my charge. The younger son, age four, tantrumed for hours whenever his parents left the house. As soon as they drove off, he'd break his wailing for one chilling moment to tell me, "I'll chop your head off."

Even though I had no friends (or boys) to hang out with, I lived for my day off, when I could ride away on my bike and escape the kids. I was just 14, and already like the mother in the 2021 film The Lost Daughter, feeling smothered and dreaming of abandoning the family to experience life and pleasure again. In short, I wasn't motherly.

"I never loved babies or children, either," my mom encouraged me in my adult years. "Until I had you." Someday, she promised, I'd feel the same way about my own little ones. I'm sure I would have if I'd ever had any, but, in the end, I decided not to, because I didn't want them. I kept waiting to want them—to feel that mythical "maternal longing" kick in—and it never did. That's not to say I always felt clear in my choice. I spent a good decade on the fence, at a loss for evidence that, as a woman, you could forgo raising a family and still lead a fulfilling, happy life. Almost no one talked about this path, or made it look fun and normal, especially not in the media.

"You'll change your mind," people almost uniformly predicted when I told them I probably wasn't having kids. Or, as if I had just said I was planning on it but waiting for the right moment, they'd insist, "Well, you still have time."

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