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You’ve scrolled past the baby shower invites and smiled through the “When are you having kids?” questions, because they don’t align with your life—and that’s okay. You’re not broken. You’re not late. You’re living intentionally.
You’re not alone either.
I can’t tell you how many of my friends have their plans to wait until marriage, after the twenties and “pop out kids by 30.” According to the CDC, more women are choosing to delay or forgo motherhood altogether. In fact, via the National Vital Statistics Report, “Women ages 30–34 made 24% more births in 2023 than in 1990, and those 35–39 had 90% more.” Also, a 2021 Pew Research study found that 44% of non-parents aged 18–49 now say they are “not too likely” or “not at all likely” to have children—up from 37% in 2018.
You deserve love, legacy, and softness—whether you raise children or not. You’re not selfish, you’re certain.
There’s a particular kind of weight that Black women carry—an expectation to birth, nurture, and hold everyone together. From your mother wanting grandchildren to the aunties in your ear talking timelines, it can feel like you’re constantly being nudged toward something that doesn’t quite fit.
But guess what? You don’t have to explain your ‘why.’
Your life does not need to follow someone else’s blueprint.
You may love kids. You might help raise your siblings, pour into your students, or be the favorite God-mama or Titi. But motherhood isn’t the only measure of a woman. Choosing a different path doesn’t make your womanhood incomplete—it makes it yours.
Rewriting the Narrative of the Single Mom
Source: kali9
Black women have long been cast in roles we didn’t audition for—especially the one where carrying the weight of the world and raising children is done alone, smiling through the struggle. The “strong Black single mother” trope has been both a badge of honor and a burden, painting Black women as endlessly resilient but rarely supported.
This narrative, while rooted in real legacies of strength, too often erases the reality: not every woman wants to be a mother—and not every woman should be expected to sacrifice her well-being just to live up to a stereotype.
Choosing not to step into that story doesn’t mean you’re rejecting your community. It means you’re choosing to author a different version of it—one where your desires matter just as much as your duties.
Because Pregnancy Can Be Political—and Dangerous
Source: John Parra
Only you can carry life. But that doesn’t mean you have to.
In today’s world, the choice to not become a mother can be as much about survival as it is about sovereignty.
Since Roe v. Wade was overturned in Dobbs v. Jackson, infant mortality rose in Texas post-abortion ban. According to Johns Hopkins/PBS/JAMA Pediatrics, “Texas saw a 12.9% increase in infant deaths vs. 1.8% nationally.” Maternal & infant mortality also increased after new abortion bans. In Nature / BMJ review, it’s “due to congenital anomalies rose 22.9% in Texas 2021‑22.” If that isn’t enough, restricted abortion states see higher maternal mortality especially in the black community. The Guardian states that, “States with abortion bans are experiencing a maternal mortality crisis—Black mothers are disproportionately impacted.”
These aren’t just policies. They’re pressure points.
We’ve seen the worst of it. Like Adriana Smith, a Georgia woman kept alive on life support against her family’s wishes so her fetus could be delivered.⁶ She was already brain-dead before birth—and the state still intervened.
There is no “right” time to be forced into motherhood.
There is no “safe” policy where autonomy is stripped.
Your body, your future, your boundaries—they matter.
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