How to find contentment as a single, child-free woman. Photo / Getty Images
After my last relationship ended eight years ago I chose to start living life on my own terms.
I never intended to be unmarried, single, celibate and childless at 49. But don’t pity me. I’m really rather smug about it (though we who haven’t procreated do prefer the term “child-free” please).
Throughout my 20s and 30s there were plenty of lovely boyfriends, some of whom I lived with, and who would have gladly walked me down the aisle. I’ve enjoyed plenty of romps and romances over the years, too. Sex is great – it’s just something I haven’t done since my last serious relationship ended in 2017, bar a very brief fling five years ago. And you know what? I don’t miss any of it.
Because this isn’t a sob story – it’s the opposite. As I approach my half century birthday next year, I’ve honestly never been happier or more fulfilled.
Of course, I haven’t always felt this way. Growing up in Dorset, sandwiched between a big sister and younger brother, in a loving, nuclear family, I always assumed I’d grow up, settle down, and pop out 2.4 kids. As women “do”. In my 20s, that was the path I was on. After studying in Oxford and graduating with a psychology degree, I was trying to work out what career path to take, and going out in London with boys and partying with friends. So far, so normal.
Then in my 30s I landed my dream job in the production team at Radio 2. By then, friends’ weddings dominated my summers. I remember standing in those church pews, next to my then-boyfriends – surrounded by flowers and frenzied excitement – feeling only a sense of dread. Instinctively, I knew this wasn’t for me. Yet I never shared that with anyone else because that meant I was weird, surely?
By my late 30s, babies were everywhere. My older sister had reproduced aged just 28, and while I passionately adored my nephew (with the three other nephews and one niece, my “niblings” that followed), feelings of broodiness were alien. That famous biological longing? Not me (at least not then – more on that later).
Despite being in my late 30s – the time when women’s biological clocks are supposed to tick loudly – I’d break up with boyfriends, never feeling it was worth being with a man simply to procreate. Just the idea of it made me feel claustrophobic.
I then dated a guy for two years, in what was my last (and perhaps final ever) relationship, which ended when I was 41. Looking back, I realise this was my last window to have children, but at the time I just wanted out. It wasn’t a healthy relationship for either of us, and babies weren’t on the agenda.
It was a difficult time in my life and I just wanted a change: I needed a new career, I wanted out of relationships. So I jacked in my job and even had a short-lived stint as a trainee detective in the Met (I hated it). In the end, I trained as a barista so I could keep the cash coming in. I felt such a weight had been lifted, having no partner and a job, as opposed to a career.
Meanwhile, my WhatsApp groups were full of friends moaning about being holed up with annoying husbands and being landed with the “kidmin”. Much of the chat was about petty domestic arguments – the boredom and the stress of raising children. Scrolling through these messages as I sat outside my flat in Richmond on a beautiful sunny afternoon, I vividly remember thinking: I am so glad I don’t have to deal with any of this. For the first time, I realised I wasn’t lacking anything, I was the one free of all this. That remains one of the most powerful realisations of my life.
From that moment, I chose to take back control of my life, and start living it on my own terms, rather than the patriarchal expectation of me. By then, I’d been single for several years, and had no desire to download a dating app (I never have, and never will). Instead, I buried myself in books about personal growth and development (don’t roll your eyes until you’ve tried it). I went in search of the real me – and guess what? I liked who I found.
I was so excited by this new discovery that I started writing about how great single life was. Enjoying long morning walks along the river, I took life slowly and treated myself to delicious, leisurely breakfasts. Without the shackles of a family or boyfriend, I felt re-energised enough to start making a podcast in 2022. I wanted it to reflect my life, and to talk about the issues facing women who live alone. We don’t moan or complain about being single. We have such a laugh, about how lucky we are to be free of the stress of relationships – and the peace of life minus men!
After seven years of more or less celibacy, I know how most people think that if you’re not having it, something’s wrong. And if, like me, you’re “a woman of a certain age”, people blame the menopause for your loss of sex drive. But I haven’t “lost” anything, I’ve just consciously channelled my energy elsewhere. (Look up what the American author Napoleon Hill wrote about “sex energy” if you’re interested in this theory; it’s powerful stuff.)
Today, I spend my time meeting friends for coffee, the evenings hanging out with my bonkers cat Johnny Depp (the real love of my life), and I enjoy the freedom to do exactly as I please. I am currently planning upcoming trips to Greece and Iceland.
At 49, I won’t ever have a baby, but that’s not to say I haven’t experienced moments of yearning. Ironically, the time my broodiness suddenly kicked in was soon after my final relationship ended. A baby in a supermarket gave me this gut-deep tug in my body that I’d never experienced until then. But I’d describe that grief as quiet, and transient.
I’d look away, and it would pass. I massively respect women who pursue motherhood alone through IVF or sperm donation, but I didn’t want to parent solo or have a child just because I might later regret not doing it. In fact, I strongly suspect some women – if they were truly honest – actually regret having kids. We aren’t all cut out to be maternal. And why should we be?
It’s astonishing how threatened some people are by a life choice like mine. One man, asking what my podcast was about, tilted his head sympathetically when I told him, as if I’d just announced I was terminally ill.
Another man accused me of having “a chip on my shoulder”, muttering “the lady doth protest too much”. Women are just as judgmental. One remarked: “But aren’t you lonely at night?”, as if I sob myself to sleep every evening. But, honestly, I’m never lonely. I’m fully occupied building a life that excites me, and my bed is for rest, not regret.
Another (annoying) thing people ask is: “But who will look after you when you’re old?” I laugh at this one. There are no guarantees. Even if you have children, they might go and live in Australia. Or decide that they hate you! Even if you’re blissfully wed, will your spouse be up for wiping your elderly bottom? People leave. People die. You can’t plan life.
While sex is great, I truthfully don’t miss it: the awkwardness, the small talk, the emotional negotiations. Nor do I miss the performance (and I bet there are many women who’d agree with me, but never admit it).
And no, I’m not frantically “making up for it” with some battery-operated companion. I don’t even own any sex toys. While I wouldn’t kick the super-hot Suits actor Gabriel Macht out of bed, I don’t lie awake fantasising about men.
I don’t miss the emotional admin of relationships at all – second-guessing a man’s texts, or worrying about whether I’m “too much”, or “not enough”. Nor do I miss curbing my own desires and dreams to fit someone else’s.
I realised that I’d always lost myself in my relationships, I was simply happier being single.
If I met someone I was genuinely attracted to, I would absolutely want to have sex again. My desire hasn’t vanished, it’s just lying dormant waiting for the right context. Sex, for me, is about connection, intimacy, and chemistry. Until that shows up organically, I’m fine without it.
I am not anti-family. I adore my five “niblings”. Nor am I anti-love. If Mr Right knocked on my door with roses tomorrow, I’d honestly turn him away. Who knows if I’ll change my mind later about that. Never say never. Mainly, I’m pro-women choosing their own life paths. So please, spare me the sympathy. I’m single. I’m child free. And I’m not a cautionary tale – I’m a success story.
As told to Susanna Galton
Shiny Happy Singles: Celebrating The Joy Of Independent, Childfree Lives, by Lucy Meggeson, is out now.
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