Still Whole: On Being Kid-Neutral in My 30s
Content Warning: This post includes mentions of miscarriage, fertility, and conversations about motherhood. Please take care while reading.
I’ve always considered myself kid-neutral. If I have children, I know I’ll pour love, structure, creativity, and so much care into raising them. And if I don’t, my life will still be rich with meaning, joy, and fulfillment. That has always felt like a calm truth to me — something I don’t need to force or rush.
Kid neutral is a term I started using to describe how I feel about the idea of having children. For me, it means I’m not actively planning for motherhood, but I’m also not opposed to it. If it happens, I trust I’ll show up with love and care. If it doesn’t, I know my life will still be full, joyful, and complete. It’s not about indecision — it’s about being at peace with multiple possibilities and not defining my purpose or success by whether or not I become a parent.
Still, the pressure to figure it all out, and do it on a schedule, is real. When I turned 30, the questions started coming more frequently and with less tact.
“Are you thinking about kids?”
“Don’t wait too long.”
“You’re not getting any younger.”
A few years back, one woman even reached out and put her hand on my stomach without asking. Enough time hadn’t even passed from a miscarriage I had weeks earlier. She had no idea. I hadn’t told many people. The pregnancy was unexpected and unplanned, and I was quietly moving through grief, processing what my body had just experienced, and trying to hold myself together.
That moment shook me. Not just because it was physically invasive, but because it reminded me how normalized it is to ask women deeply personal things without any context or care. You never know who’s trying. You never know who has just lost a pregnancy. You never know who is already struggling with fertility. And you don’t know who’s perfectly fine not having children at all.
I’m actually blessed not to have to worry about fertility challenges being a barrier for me. After my miscarriage, I went through months of scans, testing, and poking and prodding. Doctors were thorough, and thankfully, everything came back essentially normal,and I could likely carry a pregnancy in the future. But even with that reassurance, my stance hasn’t changed. I remain kid-neutral. For me, motherhood isn’t a milestone I need to reach in order to feel whole. I deeply respect and celebrate those who choose to center it in their lives — that path is beautiful and valid. As for me, if it happens, I’ll receive it with love. But I don’t feel like anything is missing without it.
My career and stability matter deeply to me, especially in this moment when the world feels heavy and unpredictable. With so much political chaos, attacks on bodily autonomy, rising costs of living, and systemic instability, I don’t take the idea of bringing life into this world lightly. I'm focused on building something solid. I want security. I want freedom. I want to pour into the people already in my life. That kind of foundation means something to me.
Still, even with all that clarity, I’ve felt the pressure that creeps in with age. When you’re in your early 30s, people start to look at you like you’re running out of time. A friend of mine said something that really stuck with me. He said, “That pressure is just the lie of the American dream.” And he’s right.
We’re sold this fantasy that life follows a neat little timeline: you graduate high school at 18, finish college by 21 or 22, get established in your career by 25, get married shortly after, and somewhere between 25 and 35, you have kids and build your family. And if you deviate from that in any way — if you’re single at 30, if you’re married but not sure about kids at 32, if you’re still figuring things out — people act like you’re being reckless, lost, or somehow behind. But behind what, exactly? Who set that standard?
What I know now is that the path to fulfillment looks different for everyone. There is no one-size-fits-all timeline. And honestly, there shouldn’t be. I’ve spent the last few years unlearning the idea that I need to reach certain milestones by a certain age. Life doesn’t happen in a straight line. It curves, it pauses, it blooms in seasons. And my joy doesn’t depend on checking off boxes.
So whether motherhood is in the cards for me or not, I trust myself. I trust my timing. I trust the life I’m building. I trust that I can love deeply, care for others, create beauty, and be fulfilled — with or without a child.
And for anyone who’s ever been asked one of those uncomfortable questions about kids or their plans for a family, just know: you don’t owe anyone your timeline, your trauma, or your truth. You get to decide what your version of a full life looks like.
Mine is already in motion.
