I just finished reading Meghan Daum’s book, Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision Not to Have Kids. After hearing Daum speak on a podcast about her own to decision not to have children, I borrowed this book from my library.
Daum reached out to writers who were childfree and asked them to contribute an essay about their decision and how it impacted their life. Of the 16 who responded, 14 were women and two were men. The only one I was familiar with was Tim Kreider, whose essays I love to read.
I was excited that I might be introduced to a dozen other “Tim Kreiders” who would challenge me to think, make me laugh and fill my mind for months to come.
That didn’t happen.
Too many of the the stories I read were from women who struggled with severe mental illness, abuse and challenging lives that made them question their self-worth, their identity and even their sanity.
I couldn’t relate at all. My takeaway from these essays was that the authors were pretty psychologically messed up. I felt sympathy for them, but was not interested in their tales of woe.
I was more interested in the stories from the writers who made deliberate choices to put their career, their marriage or their hobbies first in their lives, instead of repressing them in order to raise children. One of the best was from an ambitious and successful writer who was now in her 70s and expressed no regrets.
I was hoping the book would be filled with stories like hers.
Sadly, I think this book paints a picture that those of us who, through deliberate choice or circumstance, are childfree are mostly damaged people who don’t “fit in”.
I’m not damaged.
I’ve known many people who don’t have kids who live fabulous, rich and satisfying lives without children.
I’d like to find a book with their stories.