Life Without Children Sucks — But Here’s What They Didn’t Say

I ran the numbers in my head and found this to be true.

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My daughter was six when motherhood finally began to make sense to me. Before her birth, I thought being a mum would be a piece of cake — sprinkles and all. I imagined picture-perfect scenes: walking hand-in-hand to the park, baking cookies with flour smudges on our noses, bedtime stories under a soft glow. To me, motherhood was the ultimate prize, the crowning jewel of womanhood.

Like so many young girls, I grew up believing the dream: get married, have children, and you will be happy. Happiness, we were told, lived in the arms of a husband and the laughter of children.

But reality woke me up with a slap. I didn’t get married before having my child, and motherhood was nothing like the fantasy. I had my daughter through an emergency C-section, slipped into depression, and — this part still hurts to admit — there were days I hated carrying my own child. The guilt of that nearly swallowed me whole.

When my daughter turned four, something shifted. She began dressing herself, clearing her little table after meals, and showing me — without words — that she was growing into her independence. Most parents see this as a cute milestone. For me, it was survival. Each small act she…