I am childless and I am single. The first is a fact for the rest of my life, the second may change yet.
I grew up in a village in Hungary in the 1970s, where women were married with children. I remember one exception, a teacher of mine who had neither a husband, nor kids. I really liked her, but it was strange to see a woman like her, and I often thought I hoped I wouldn’t be like her. For me it was so natural that a woman is supposed to have a husband and children.
My mother was 31 when she gave birth to me, and I was her first child, born prematurely, hardly staying alive. I remember my mother telling me how often she had been harassed by people around her, even her brother, because she hadn’t got married earlier and hadn’t given birth in her twenties. It was a shame at that time. In the 1950s - my mother was in her teens at that time - childless people, especially women, were regarded as ‘enemies of the Communist Party and the state’, they needed to pay an extra tax, and though communist propaganda became a bit milder in the following decades, it had a lasting effect on people’s thinking.
Four years after me my brother was born and lost within three weeks; then a year later my sister was born - my mother dreaded that she would lose her too. My mother desperately wanted to have children and she did, but becoming a mother was mingled with sorrow and grief for her. Now neither my sister nor me have children; my sister would describe herself as childfree; I describe myself as childless not by choice.
I don’t know if I would describe myself like this if I hadn’t felt the enormous social pressure to have a child. As far as I can remember, I always wanted to be a mother, but it remained very abstract for the most of my life; more practical or more distant issues took up all my attention, and basicallyI was happy with this. I never chose to become childless; my smaller or bigger decisions resulted in it.
I went to university right after secondary school, and I was passionate about my studies, I learnt History. I lived in a city far from home, and enjoyed university life. I was in love, of course, several times, but I didn’t form steady relationships. I moved to Budapest, the capital of my country in my mid-twenties, and I worked hard; I was alone and I come from a poor family and I had no support, and life in the capital was expensive - but it was my decision, and I loved this city and my life in this city.
Two of my friends got married and had children at the beginning of the 2000s. I visited them several times when their kids were young and I never felt envy; they had children and were much better off than me, but they didn’t seem to be happy: their marriages were so unpeaceful. I realised at that time that for me the quality of my relationship is more important than having a child.
Still I was hoping to start a family, but my wish for a family and a child was muted by having to work a lot to make ends meet for years and years.
I was in my thirties when I decided to study again to become a psychologist. I imagined I would have time for my private life while learning, but it turned out to be different. During my second university I worked, and after finishing the university I had two jobs at the same time. I worked at the university; I liked it a lot, but it paid very little, so I had to have a second job to pay for my rent and bills; and though I had some short relationships, they never lasted and I did not have the time or energy to get to know men and form relationships. I was in my forties at this time; I knew that I was running out of time, but I kind of accepted it - it was not my immediate concern.
Last year I decided to leave the university because of the low pay and the increasing government control (unfortunately Hungary is not a democracy anymore, again), and started to work as a freelancer; since then I have been working with clients as a counsellor and life coach.
I think I was lucky, because my parents didn’t nag me to have children, even though I know they would have liked to become grandparents. Sometimes they mentioned it, of course, but they were more concerned about our happiness. I think my mother was able not to place my sister and me under pressure, and this way she released us from the social pressure of having to have a child to be accepted in our family. I am grateful to her for this.
I used to dread the reunions. I attended an all-girls class and I missed some of the reunions in my twenties and thirties because I didn’t want to be asked about family and children. Then I did go to a reunion in my forties and I realised that it wasn’t only me who did not have a family and children. Some of my ex-classmates told their stories of never finding the partner they wanted, or of having a partner and trying to get pregnant in every possible way without success. And I was really grateful for them, because I felt I am not alone.
The social and political pressure to have children is both weaker and stronger in Hungary now than when my mother was young. Childless people are a bit more visible than at that time. But childlessness has again become an issue for politicians. The far-right government of Hungary attacks some groups in the society from time to time, creating enemies for the majority; last year it was the LGBTQ+ people, this year it is people running a small company, and it seems childless people can be one of the next possible targets, this time as ‘enemies of the nation’. This spring, right before the elections, people raising kids got back a large proportion of their last year’s income tax – at least we, childless people can say that they didn’t try to buy our votes like this…
I think this government cannot be changed in a democratic way and the atmosphere is terrible in this country, so I decided to sell the flat I bought a few years ago after my parents had died and leave Hungary permanently next year, and settle down somewhere else with my dog. (I have had my dog for seven years but I never call myself a dog mum!) This summer we are forced to close our small family business because of a sudden change in the laws, so I have already set up my new company in the UK. I will mostly work online and pay tax in the UK and I am happy about it. I will move somewhere where I can work and live; I don’t know yet where as I might not get a visa to the UK. But wherever I’ll go, I will be an immigrant, but I am used to being in the minority; and I will start over - but I am used to that too. I will be 52 next year; a perfect time for starting over.
I am childless not by choice; I never decided not to have children. But I had some decisions and circumstances in my life, the consequence of which is that I am childless. And I do take the responsibility for this. I never took the biological clock too seriously; maybe that is why I could simply become late for being a mother - but that might also be one of the reasons why it is basically all right for me.
Some say that it is important to find ‘your own path’ in life. But I think your own path is not something that you need to find. It just develops from your steps; you create your own path with every step you take. And it is important not to be harsh with yourself, as you cannot see too much of the road ahead of you when you take your steps. My path has led from wishing for a family and children through accepting that I will not have my own children; my childlessness is a consequence of my own steps in my life and, though an important aspect, still it is only one aspect of my life. And this is my own path that I love.
Rosie
Photo byJens LelieonUnsplash