Around the age of ten, I became aware of something I would learn a young girl isn’t supposed to know about herself. “I won’t be having kids,” I responded to classmates at my Christian school who were brainstorming possible names for their future daughters.
A decade later, as I began to date, I became aware of another thing that a young woman is not supposed to know about herself. ‘While I like having romance in my life, I doubt I’ll ever marry; I don’t even want to live with a boyfriend.’
These seemed like simple realisations to me. An awareness of who I was and who I would become no different from when a child realises they’re interested in a certain hobby and a young adult begins to understand why they’re prone to pursue a career in one field and not another.
However, my youth was filled with persistent messages that I was somehow wrong about this person I knew myself to be. Peers, older women, men of various ages, and all manner of media insisted I’d reached my youthful conclusion prematurely. I’d eventually grow up and no longer see being single and childfree as privileges to be savoured.