i’ve lost count of how many times i’ve heard it: “you’ll never know real love until you have a child.” it’s usually said with a smug smile, as if they’ve just unlocked some secret level of human emotion that i, a childfree woman, couldn’t possibly comprehend. lmfaooo
cool. so i guess everything i’ve felt, everything i’ve poured into the beings i care for, everything i’ve fought for – that’s just what? puppy love? fake love? shallow scraps?
i’m a childfree woman by choice. i’m a pet mom. i rescue animals from the street. i care deeply, i commit fully, and i don’t need to push out a baby to validate my existence. this belief that childfree people are somehow incapable of “real love” isn’t just ignorant – it’s offensive.
it’s the kind of remark that strips people of their humanity and tries to shrink our emotional world down to a biological function. it’s patronizing. it’s lazy. and i’m not here to stay quiet about it.
so if you’ve ever dared to think, or say, that someone without kids can’t experience real love, buckle up. i’ve got a few things to say.
love isn’t reserved for people who reproduce
love isn’t something that magically switches on with childbirth. it’s not exclusive to those who’ve changed diapers at 3am or wiped tears after nightmares. love existed long before you had a kid, and it exists loudly outside of that experience too.
being childfree doesn’t mean being loveless. not even close.
i’ve sobbed for animals i couldn’t save. i’ve stayed up all night nursing a sick rescue back to health. i’ve built friendships so deep they feel like chosen family. love lives in all of that.
but let’s call out the real problem here: society doesn’t celebrate these kinds of love. it only worships one version – the parent kind. anything else gets pushed aside or treated as a stepping stone to the “real thing.”
this obsession with parenthood as the only valid form of deep emotional experience is a massive part of what i unpacked in this post on society’s toxic obsession with parenthood.
don’t confuse biology with depth
pushing out a baby doesn’t automatically make you emotionally evolved. biology doesn’t equal maturity, and having a child doesn’t give you a deeper soul.
some of the most emotionally stunted people i know are parents.
i’ve met mothers who use their kids as emotional weapons. i’ve seen fathers bail when parenting got inconvenient. i’ve watched parents abandon their pets when their human baby came along. but sure, tell me again how having a child unlocks a magical new level of compassion.
real depth comes from showing up. from being present, from holding space for others, from sitting in discomfort and still choosing love. it doesn’t come from biology – it comes from effort. empathy. consistency.
stop measuring love by diaper counts
why do people think love has to come with sleepless nights and stretch marks to be real?
is that the price of admission?
somehow, unless you’ve raised a kid, your emotional capacity is up for debate. unless you’ve had someone depend on you for survival, your version of love is seen as lite. low-fat. diet love.
but i’ve been depended on. not by a child – but by broken animals, by grieving friends, by people in crisis who needed someone who wouldn’t flinch.
if your definition of love is based purely on sacrifice and suffering, then you’re not celebrating love. you’re glorifying martyrdom.
and guess what? that’s not a badge of honor. that’s unhealthy.
my pets’ lives matter too
i’ve heard this one too many times: “it’s not the same.”
yeah, no shit. it’s not supposed to be.
but don’t insult the bond i have with the animals in my care. don’t write it off as practice, or a placeholder. my dogs and cats aren’t substitutes. they’re individuals with stories, trauma, personalities, and needs.
i’ve taken in strays off the street and spent months rehabilitating them physically and emotionally. i’ve paid thousands in vet bills. i’ve slept on the floor beside them. i’ve mourned them like family – because they are.
just because you can’t see that doesn’t make it less true. you don’t get to rank my love. this isn’t the pain olympics.
parenting doesn’t have a monopoly on meaning
there’s this idea that unless you’re raising the next generation, your life doesn’t really mean anything.
like if you’re not changing the world through your offspring, you’re just wasting your time.
here’s a radical thought: maybe i don’t want my meaning to come from someone else’s existence. maybe i don’t need a “mini-me” to validate my choices. maybe the point of life is whatever the hell i want it to be.
people act like choosing a childfree lifestyle is choosing emptiness. but honestly? i see it as choosing freedom, clarity, and peace. i get to pour into the people, projects, and passions that matter to me – fully.
without resentment. without regret.
if you want to be a parent, great. but don’t pretend like your path is more meaningful than mine just because it involves a stroller. hehe
and if you’re feeling a little spicy about this point, read why one doesn’t need kids to feel complete.
real love isn’t limited to cribs and strollers
some of the deepest connections i’ve ever witnessed weren’t between parents and kids. they were between people who chose each other. who committed without obligation. who stayed even when life got messy, not because they had to – but because they wanted to.
cribs and strollers are just props. they’re not proof of depth.
when you strip away the props, what’s left?
if your love only thrives in the parent-child context, that’s not a flex. that’s a limitation.
i’ve held dying animals and still been told i “don’t get it”
i remember one senior dog i rescued barely clinging to life. riddled with mange, terrified of human touch. i spent weeks slowly earning his trust. medicating him. feeding him by hand. watching him transform into a dog who finally wagged his tail when he saw me.
and then i had to watch him die.
and someone still had the nerve to say, “you just don’t get it… you’re not a mom. it’s not the same.”
fuck that.
grief doesn’t ask if you gave birth. heartbreak doesn’t care if your loss fits into society’s neat little categories.
love is love. and loss is loss. you don’t get to decide which kinds count.
respect goes both ways; don’t talk down to me because i’m childfree
i’m not asking parents to understand every part of my childfree lifestyle. but i am demanding they stop talking down to it.
being a parent doesn’t give you emotional superiority. it doesn’t make you a philosopher, a saint, or the keeper of all wisdom.
stop treating childfree people like unfinished adults. like we’re lost, or selfish, or waiting to be “completed.”
newsflash: we’re not incomplete – we’re intentional.
you can be proud of your parenting journey without minimizing mine. respect isn’t a one-way street.
and if you’re struggling with that concept, read this: parents vs. childfree: who is really selfish?
your baby isn’t the benchmark for my capacity to love
you having a baby doesn’t mean i have to recalibrate my entire life around your child. it doesn’t make you more compassionate than me, or more valuable, or more human.
it just means you had a baby.
stop holding up your child like a trophy and assuming it puts you ahead in the game of life.
love isn’t a race. and your milestones don’t invalidate mine.
you love your kid. i love my life. both can be real.
this isn’t about one being better than the other. this is about equal respect.
you chose kids. i chose something else. we both did what felt right. and both of those choices are valid.
so stop acting like love only comes in the form of lullabies and lullabyes. stop trying to prove that your kind of love is more “real” than mine.
real love is loyalty. it’s showing up. it’s grieving when it’s gone. it’s quiet sometimes. and sometimes, it howls.
but it doesn’t need a diaper bag to be legit.
childfree and full of love – get used to it
i don’t need a child to prove i can love.
i don’t need to give birth to feel complete.
and i sure as hell don’t need to be condescended to by people who think parenthood is the only path to emotional depth.
if you still think being childfree means being loveless, that says more about your lack of imagination than my life choices.
i’m not here to convince anyone to live like me. but i am here to demand that you stop invalidating what you don’t understand.
real love isn’t a club you earn access to through childbirth.
it’s a choice. a practice. a force.
and i live it every damn day.