Wait, You Thought I Didn’t Want Marriage or Kids?
Someone recently told me they didn’t think I wanted to get married or have kids. And I had to pause like… Wait, what? I was honestly shocked, because this is someone who knows me well. I’ve never said I didn’t want those things. But they explained that I had once said I was okay if I never got married or had children, and to them, that meant I didn’t want it.
And that was such an interesting moment for me. Because what I actually meant was, yes, I want those things, but I don’t need them to feel fulfilled. And apparently, a lot of people don’t know how to hold both truths at once. It’s like you have to choose a side: either you’re praying daily for a husband/wife and kids, or you’ve thrown the whole idea away.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much people associate value with being chosen. As if there’s something wrong with you if you’re not married or not a parent, especially by a certain age. I’ve even heard folks say it’s a red flag. A red flag! That’s crazy. But that mindset says a lot more about the pressure we put on women, and especially Black women, to prove we’re worthy through our relationships, instead of our wholeness.
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Wanting Doesn’t Mean Needing
There’s a big difference between wanting something and needing it to feel whole. I’ve learned how to make peace with both, the desire and the detachment.
Yes, I would love to be somebody’s wife. I would love to build something beautiful with the right person. But that desire isn’t driving me to force a relationship that doesn’t serve me. I’m not making permanent choices from temporary loneliness. I’m not sacrificing my peace, my growth, or my boundaries just to say “I have someone.”
If I’m going to be a wife, I want the relationship to be full of safety, softness, communication, laughter, and shared values. I want it to feel like a team, not a task. And if I never find that person? If that door never opens? I still love the life I have. That’s the part people misunderstand the most.
Marriage Doesn’t Guarantee Joy — But Neither Does Avoiding It
I’ve seen both sides. I come from people who have spun the block on love, some successfully, many not. I’ve seen marriages held together by fear of being alone and others that blossom from deep respect and partnership. So when I say I’d love to be a wife, I don’t mean I want to wear a ring and post a cute wedding reel. I mean I want to be in it, in the good stuff and the hard stuff, with someone who’s in it with me.
But I’ve also learned I don’t want to be in a relationship that costs me myself. I’ve watched too many people sacrifice their joy at the altar of “I just don’t want to be alone.” I refuse to let my desire for partnership talk me into a partnership that isn’t loving, safe, or aligned.
My friend Courtney said it best on tiktok.
I pray for a lot of things, but a man has never been one of them
Courtney
She went on to to talk about praying for my family. Praying for money. Praying for health and guidance and strength. But not praying for a man. I felt that, because same, and not because I don’t believe in them, but because I already feel full. And I believe the right relationship will meet me where I already am: whole.
On Motherhood — It’s Complicated and Clear All at Once
Motherhood is a different kind of conversation. One I’ve had with myself in quiet moments, long drives, grocery store aisles, sitting on the edge of my bed.
Could I be a mother on my own? Absolutely. Am I strong enough? Yes. But I also know myself well enough to say this: I don’t want motherhood so badly that I’d do it alone just to make it happen. I don’t want to force something I believe is meant to be built from softness, support, and love.
I want to parent in a partnership. That partnership doesn’t have to be a marriage, but I want it to be rooted in trust and stability. I want a co-parent who shows up, emotionally, physically, financially, and spiritually. And if I do have a child and things fall apart later? I’m okay with that. I know I can handle single parenting or co-parenting if it comes to that. But that’s not my starting place. That’s not my plan A.
What I’m not doing is having a child from a place of panic, pressure, or fear that I’m running out of time. I want motherhood to start from joy. From love. From deep intention. And if it doesn’t happen, I’m still whole.
Life Isn’t a Checklist — It’s a Journey
We live in a world that wants you to pick a lane. People ask, “Do you want kids or not?” “Do you want to get married or not?” And if you don’t answer with a bold yes or no, they act like you’re confused. But I’m not confused. I’m clear. I want what’s meant for me, nothing more, nothing less.
Life is fluid. Desires change. Circumstances shift. You don’t have to tie yourself to a hard stance at 25 and then feel guilty for evolving at 35. You can say “I want this” while also saying “But I’m not going to die without it.” That’s not confusion, that’s maturity. That’s wholeness.
I’ve learned to let go of the need for certainty. I don’t need to know how my life will unfold to love the life I have now. Whether I’m someone’s partner or someone’s parent, or just someone who shows up fully for herself — that’s enough.
The Power in Choosing Joy First
At the heart of all this is one thing: choosing joy. Not the fake, performative kind. Not the “look what I bought/look who I married/look what I birthed” kind. I’m talking about deep, grounded, internal joy. The kind you create, protect, and return to, even when your circumstances don’t look like everyone else’s.
That kind of joy puts you in a position of power. When you’re not desperate for a title, a role, or a timeline, you make better choices. You don’t ignore red flags. You don’t stay where you’re not growing. You don’t settle.
Choosing joy first means choosing yourself, not selfishly, but intentionally. It means honoring your life as it is, even while you remain open to what could be. It’s not about pretending you don’t want love or family or forever. It’s about not allowing those desires to run the show. You run the show. Your peace runs the show. Your discernment runs the show.
And that? That’s freedom.
I’m Allowed to Want Both and Still Be Whole Without Either
So yes, I’d love to be a wife. I’d love to be a mom. But I don’t have to be either to live a life that’s meaningful, joyful, and full. That doesn’t mean I don’t care. It means I care enough about myself not to compromise my peace for the sake of a title.
Maybe some have misunderstood me before. Maybe they assumed my contentment meant disinterest. Maybe they missed the part where I implied, “Yes, I want love, but I want it to be right.” Maybe they missed the implied part of me wanting and family but not from a place of fear.
That misunderstanding might’ve changed the course of something. Or maybe it didn’t. Either way, it taught me the importance of being clear, with myself, with others, and with the universe. It taught me that clarity doesn’t always mean certainty. Sometimes, clarity means holding space for multiple truths at once.
So if you’re like me, if you’re somewhere between yes, I want it and no, I don’t need it to be happy, know that you’re not confused. You’re clear. You’re just not rushing. And that’s powerful.
