A letter to the daughter I’ll never have
Trigger Warning:
This post discusses sensitive topics including infertility, miscarriage, pregnancy loss, abuse, and rape. If these subjects are difficult or triggering for you, please take care while reading or consider skipping this piece.
If I was writing a letter to the daughter I’ll never have, it might start with “Dear You,” and it might end with “Love, Me.” It might go through every explanation for why I’ll never be a mother, all the reasons why I don’t want to be. I’d tell this nameless, faceless child how I’ve known for years that I don’t have that maternal streak in the way that some people do. I have no desire to bring a miniature version of myself into the world, to care for and protect. The thought terrifies me and fills me with dread. Caring for myself and a spouse is challenging enough on the tough days, I know I couldn’t handle an additional person depending on me. There’s a whole host of things I don’t want to risk passing down to the daughter I’ll never have, both mental and physical. There is no part of me that cares to be a witness to first steps and later dances, breakups, graduations and all the other accomplishments that parents are an audience for.
I’d probably tell her about how difficult it is to be a girl, how it’s still very much a man’s world. I might not get into the gender wage gap but would likely describe what society tends to expect from girls. I’d explain the dangers of walking to the car in a dark parking lot, to always keep your cell phone handy, always let a friend know where you’re going on a date. But I’d also tell her that makeup isn’t a requirement, and prettiness isn’t owed to anyone—you don’t even owe it to yourself. All these warnings, these things she would need to know are truths I never want to teach anyone. I don’t want to look a child in the face and warn them about being drugged or raped. And while I am not maternal, I don’t want to introduce a person into the world who will potentially face these dangers and have these fears.
I know I’d tell her about my own experiences of being a daughter, the emphasis that was placed on being appropriate and good. I’d repeat what I heard from an early age, that if a man ever hits or pushes you, physically harms you in any way, you need to leave, always. And I’d try to explain how that lesson seemed to lose its conviction when our country was “led” by someone who has bragged about grabbing women by their…vulnerability. The I’ll-never-have letter would conclude with something about the dynamic between my mom and myself, the relationship I’ve struggled with the most. I’d describe the panic I feel at the idea of repeating that cycle. And I would try my hardest to be clear about why this choice is the right choice for me. How the last thing this world needs is another unwanted child who is made to feel uncared for, like they are a mistake. That for the sake of many, including myself, I will not replicate or procreate, will not bring into being the daughter I’ll never have.
