You Do It To Yourself, Just you, You and No One Else…

2015 did not get off to the start I had hoped. Not because I am usually hopeful about the dawning of any new year but because I was particularly hopeful about this one. And because as soon as it started it was rubbish.


At the start of the year there was a revelation from the BFF. She’s leaving Dublin and I am heartbroken.

No one ever talks about this, society doesn’t ever hold up any other love except romantic love as the ideal, as the one that means anything. I refute that. I adore this woman and this will hurt as much as anything a lover could inflict.

And that’s not fair either, she’s not inflicting anything on me, she’s just making the best choice for her and that just happens to not include me. And let’s make no mistake here, this is me being a fucking selfish bitch and just venting why I’m sad. I’m not accusing anyone of anything – well – except myself. As is customary, I’m accusing myself of a lot of things.


She’s leaving Dublin because she wants to start a family with her boy and obviously you can live in a house twice the size if you don’t live in a nation’s capital.

Of course I understand this, of course it makes sense. Of course I believe she should do it. Of course I want her to do what makes her happy.

But it doesn’t mean that I won’t miss her desperately and any talk of how things will be the same is just absolute fucking horseshit.

Everything will change. As it should, when you want to start a family. But I won’t be involved and I’ll be very far away. Not to mention I have zero interest in having kids myself. I just don’t understand the need and I can’t relate.



This has always made me feel like an outsider. Funny as it may seem but there isn’t hordes of us career* focused girls who don’t want kids – every girl I know seems to want them. Except for one – and I adore her for it, I suspect I’ll be having dinner in her house with her husband for Christmas when I’m 40+ and sick of everyone else. Drinking til we puke and eating chocolate custard doughnuts for breakfast on nice furniture as we plan our next 4 holidays for the coming year.

*(just to clarify, I’m not at all career focused, I am sex, food and nice bed linen focused – while I have a decent job I’m not what anyone could call a high flyer, if indeed anyone at all still uses a term like that?)

And before anyone wants to tell me that I will change my mind when the ‘right one’ comes along? GO FUCK YOURSELF. I’ve had 2 right ones that wanted to marry me and I have not changed my mind. But that’s beside the point. Please don’t presume to know my mind and by the way, trite platitudes such as that are enraging. They’re stereotypical, reductionist and a bit mean. I already feel fucking awful that I don’t have a mothering instinct so I’d really thank you not to make it worse by contacting me to say so, it’s just unhelpful.

That said, I’m not saying never. I have fleetingly had the thoughts, mostly really arrogant unkind ones where I think I could do better than someone else. Where I think I could certainly do better than my parents. This thought alone makes me want to have them.

Then I think of every conversation I hear at work, how one dimensional people become and how no one seems to derive any joy from it? I think of the conversations I have with my ex Don Draper and how he says ‘Never do you have a day where you think it’s all worth it’.

And most of all I think what if I’m as terrible as my parents and I produce kids like me?

Or ugly ones or stupid ones or ones that will need care for the whole of their life? (Cue a chorus of the hackneyed responses I’m used to hearing ‘Oh you’ll love it when it’s yours’ ‘Oh everyone thinks that’ ‘Jesus Abbi, you’re not that heartless’ ‘You will love anything that you produce’) But that’s simply not true is it? Not everyone loves their kids and not everyone is actually cut out to be a parent and the evidence is everywhere. People who really shouldn’t have done it. And I am the kind of idiot who would rue producing a person.

And don’t even get me started on how many marriages/relationships fall apart because one or other of the partners wasn’t expecting their life to actually change. Or was simply unwilling to make any change in their life – leaving the other one doing all the work. And shock of horrors want to take a guess at who was carrying the burden? Yup, in all three cases that I have been witnessing it’s always the girl. Now this actually terrifies me. If I manage to find a boy that I adore fucking and who adores fucking me and we actually get along and have a happy home there is NO WAY IN HELL that I want to find out that he isn’t up to being the parent that he thinks he is. I don’t want to take that risk. I’d rather live in ignorant bliss never knowing that he was a selfish prick when it came to childcare.

The smartest person I know said to me recently, on this topic; “if you’re thinking of having a baby and you’re not sure then ask yourself, would you still want it if you were raising it alone and it was special needs? Because that’s the worst that can happen; your partner leaves or dies and your child isn’t perfect. And if you think you’d still want to be a parent under those circumstances then you definitely should.” I think this is a little extreme. I’m not sure anyone but bona fide saints would vote for that. But that is indeed the terror I have about it. These are all the terrors I have about it and I haven’t even mentioned the disgust at the barbarity that is childbirth.


And then I think, what if I meet someone that changes all this? Someone who adores me and who really wants kids? What if I love this person so much I would do anything for them? What if I cherish this person so much that I can’t bear not to have them in my life? That I want to make more of that person, to create something more?


But I’ve never thought that with anyone.


So I can’t relate. I don’t have any ticking time bomb of a biological clock. I just don’t feel that need to procreate. I don’t think that I’m so great that the world needs more of me.


I could ignore it before but I can’t ignore it now. Everyone is pairing off and moving away and having kids or making decisions ‘to start trying’ and I’m not part of it. I can’t even pretend. And unfortunately I resent everyone for it and hate myself for resenting them. I hate everyone for conforming and can’t understand why I don’t want to conform.

I feel on the outside and I hate it.

But I don’t want to be inside either.


And I will still love her but she will be far away and her priorities will no longer be to do anything stupid with me. (Relax, I’m fully aware of how selfish I sound but this is my blog and I can say what I like)

I hate change.



But I suppose mostly this just makes me feel alone. I’m not of course, but this makes me feel it metaphorically. It just reminds me that no one chooses what I choose. Reminds me that like growing up in a big family, I’m not the most important person to anyone. And I’d really like to be.




I know that she will read this. Maybe not on the day that I post it but pretty soon.


Boo*, It’s not about you, it’s my own issues.




*I’m hardly going to use her real name, am I?

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