Courtesy of Bill Wadman
Last month, I turned 32.
My mom gave birth to her only child at 32, and my grandma had my mom, the last of her seven children, at 32.
As an only child, I'm confronting pressure to bring a child into our increasingly thorny world.
When I was 19, on a rare vacation without my dad, my mom and I got a call. My dad had died of a brain aneurysm. Losing a parent prematurely sends you reeling. The missing parent, the remaining parent, your family, and genetics all become more precious.
Before that, I'd lived in an insulated, attended world. Both parents were the proverbial "helicopters" that circle many only children. In our little unit, my mom (then a nurse practitioner) was the breadwinner. My dad, a writer, was able and willing to handle childcare.
Because of rising costs and maternal health risks in the US, I probably won't have children. My parents never overtly pressured me to do anything I didn't want to do. Still, as their only child, I feel guilty for depriving them.
By definition, my family structure (with a breadwinner mom and stay-at-home dad) was quietly defiant, leaving me pretty unfazed by social gender norms.
But societal norms aren't the only source of pressure to reproduce. My parents' priorities were selfless: They prioritized my happiness and career and supported me far beyond the legally required 18 years. Neither demanded that I start my own family or carry on theirs.
Falling short of my parents' deepest inner hopes, though, or depriving my mom of some fulfillment she'd never ask of me — that's a different form of guilt altogether.
Being an only child means I bear sole responsibility for our family's grandchildren. It's dizzying when my only childhood fostered high expectations about parenthood's depth and lifespan.
It's all the more melancholy when I see how my mom delights in her two "grand-cats." Over Thanksgiving, as we devised food combinations and presentations they'd find palatable, I could feel the joy a grandchild would bring.
My parents elevated my wants for decades. Am I failing them by not reciprocating with my own child?
As I've transitioned out of law practice, I've taken only reproductive justice cases in Arizona. I've seen the costs and crises parents must navigate, from health and safety to education and employment. When systems fail or children fall through the cracks, it's hard not to imagine my potential kids in that position.
My mom has supported me as I've started a new career in media. Both public interest law and media are career paths equated with austerity. I worry that I'll never be able to afford the same financial support for my own child. As my mom nears retirement, would we have to choose between elder care and childcare? Neither my parent nor my child would deserve that existential threat.
My parents' roles sheltered me from the reality of many heterosexual parents. My dad was often the only male parent in sight after school or supervising playdates. He was reliable and attentive to non-verbal communication. He even French-braided my hair.
I knew then that we were unusual (and frankly, I heard my dad get disproportionate praise for parenting his own child), but I didn't realize the extent until I began dating. My male partners — across states, schools, families of origin, and on-paper beliefs — brought baffling paradigms into our relationships.
My experiences represent a larger trend of labor division for heterosexual couples. Many women like me aren't seeking partnership with any man who's tacitly accepted this culture.
That's a challenge. Without a partner and without a large network of siblings and grandparents, I can't afford parental costs of living on one income.
I want to honor the family that reared (only) me with children, but looking at 32 and 2025, it's unrealistic.
My parents are the main reason I feel guilty for not having my own child. Ironically, it's also their intentionality and support that made me reticent to parent if I can't offer the same.
When Mom and I wrangle her grand cats to an annual check-up — one carrier each — our hearts break at their anxiety, and we ask the vet excessive questions. We laugh about how my dad would delight in these fuzzy freaks. I'm grateful for what we have and what we could give if cost were no object.
Beyond guilt as a childless only child, I lament timing. Ultimately, this moment's political greed took this from my parents, who put all their love and time into one basket.
Mackenzie Joy Brennan is a writer, commentator, and lawyer. Find her work at MkzJoyBrennan.com or @MkzJoyBrennan on social media.
