Member-only story
I’m Not Afraid of Missing Out. I’m Afraid of Doing It Wrong.
When a friend told me that her coworkers (women) judged her for enjoying her alone time when her kids spent summers with their dad, I worried — about myself.
Had choosing not to parent meant I’d doomed myself to a life free from arbitrary and unwarranted criticisms?
Sure, there’d been the occasional highly conspicuous side-eye because I was a woman-without-a-child. But was it possible only mothers experienced the daily pressure of unqualified opinions? Pressure so oppressive and relentless it bowed their backs, bit by bit, until at the young age of 35 they could be seen hobbling down the street like those unfortunate old women with perpendicular spines?
I wondered, Should I have (or should I at some point have had) a baby?
While lying in bed one night, wide awake and inexplicably anxious at 3:45 a.m. (after having gone to bed at 8:30 to get all the sleep social media links say one should get), I realized, no! I didn’t need to have a child to feel judged and scrutinized.
As it happens, I’ve been under scrutiny, too.
But a scrutiny so subtle and commonplace I didn’t even see it. Imagine my elation when, after some reflection, I discovered I’d experienced zero days in the last six months that had been absent the…
