Of motherhood and of friendship

Sketch - 06/29/2025

A few months back, someone asked my friend and I, “Do you want to have kids when you’re older?”. I said yes, maybe, I’m not sure. I don’t think much when I answer questions like that, because I’ll get to know the answers when I’m older, and my preferences now can always change. My friend answered,

“No, I’d be a terrible mom”.

And I think that was the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

It’s not because of some political ideology or anything too. I actually despise saying that the greatest joy in a woman’s life is to be a mother. I think I despised that. I think it was because it took the freedom out of what was supposedly beautiful. Because I believed, and still believe, that liberation is vitality and vitality is beauty.

But why were those words so heartbreaking?

Why?

Why would you be a terrible mother?  

She’s one of the greatest people I’ve had the fortune to get to know. I’ll never say this in front of her, actually not yet would be more suitable, because we’re teenage girls and we joke around and don’t ever say fluttering, soft, genuine things like that to each other. But she’s been there for me for so long, and she’ll always be there next to me if I call out for her.

Recently she texted me one of those instagram posts that have many different types of the same category, and you can choose what you align with. This one was about different forms of light. She told me that I was like a streetlight; I laughed and texted her that she was like the starlight. Subtle, sometimes unnoticeable, but always there. Far, far away, but always there.

I think the notion that my friend would be a bad mother was tragic to me because I associate motherhood with warmth. With a crackling laugh that spreads across everyone like a wildfire. With a clumsy but reliable hand that helps pull you up from the ground when you fall down, snickering at you but still ever so gentle. With an encouraging smile and attentive eyes that don’t flicker around, staring deep into you as you ramble about some random interest you’ve developed over the past week. With kindness, with humour, with honesty, with care, and with starlight. 

But it’s different for her. Because motherhood is a complex thing, as well as girlhood, and if those two don’t cross paths well enough then you end up with a messy pile that only hurts the two roads that have tangled together. 

And because the motherhood she’s seen is so different from mine, she may never look up to her mother as I do mine. She talks only of responsibility, of multitasking, of safety, when I question more about the meaning behind her words. And I will understand, or I will pretend like I understand, which I somewhat do, but I will never understand motherhood in the way she does.

She’ll probably only be confused if she ever reads this. I’m confused why I thought I had to write this too. Ultimately, it was just a fleeting conversation, and by lamenting about my friend’s refusal towards motherhood, I’m basically just being like those “all women should feel joy in being a mother” people, and I hate to be like that.

It’s not like she’s particularly fond of children either – but it’s more like she’s purposefully avoiding them. Like she believes she will harm them. Like the heat radiating from the stars light years away will wither away those on Earth. Like she will hurt them like her mother has hurt her.

I can’t do anything about it, and she wouldn’t want me to do anything about it anyway. What could I even do if she does ask me to help? 

So I’ll just stay silent, look at her, and be with her. I’ll hope for her to experience familial love in the ways I’ve been fortunate enough to experience, and if she isn’t able to, I’ll hope for her to meet many others that care for her as she cares for her friends. They won’t be able to fill that absent void, but they'll squeeze her hand and walk with her when she needs it.

And next time, if ever the same topic resurfaces, for whatever reason, I’ll hope that she answers the question,

“Do you want to have kids when you’re older?”

With

“No, I don’t really want to.” 

Instead.