I am that deeply suspect Irish creature, a mother of an only child. It was by choice

I’ve grown to hate those “brave” articles on regretting motherhood. Not because I don’t think it’s possible to regret being a parent – let’s face it, many of the mundane acts of mothering are an absolute dose – and not because I don’t think it’s possible for some people to be inherently unsuited to parenting, but because their authors invariably frame motherhood as a “choice” – the idea being that if you’re crying into your breastfeeding pillow after the 2am feed, well, then maybe you made a bad life choice.

Motherhood is not for everyone, but this attitude neatly sidesteps the reasons parents and carers might be struggling: reasons to do with social atomisation, a lack of state supports, work pressure, the cost of homes and living, all circumstances that were not ours to choose in the first place.

But first a caveat: I am that deeply suspect creature in Irish lore – mother to an only child. By Irish standards I’m fairly sure this makes me barely a mother at all. Another caveat – somewhere around the time my very loved son turned three and a global pandemic swept our shores, my husband and I made the difficult choice to stop at one.

I’d like people to assume I fought and lost a battle with infertility before they discover the truth: that I simply chose not to give my son a sibling. I look at mothers of more than one child the way others look at endurance swimmers crossing shark infested oceans caked in grease; you’re all clearly made of stronger, better stuff. My sister with four, who took to motherhood like a duck to water. My mother, who reared eight with minimal wooden spoon action.

‘A primary school teacher shook a child in class, according to my granddaughter. What should I do?’

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When I conceived my son I joined a Facebook group for expectant mothers. By day, I soothed myself with online chat about how much we were looking forward to all of those lovely baby cuddles and what we were putting in our hospital bags. But some nights ... oh dear, I’d sit alone with my laptop balanced precariously on my expanding stomach and scroll through Reddit forums where women cried in the shower every night, grieving their former selves.

You will hear plenty of women say that motherhood is thankless, difficult and exhausting, but there’s almost always a Hallmark clause: “seeing their little faces makes it all worthwhile; I wouldn’t change a thing”. Orna Donath’s Regretting Motherhood: a Study offers a different perspective, one where nothing makes it worthwhile. When these bleak expressions are produced, in fiction, academic reports and confessional Daily Mail articles, the response is that the women in question are unnatural. They are anomalies. Or their condition is pathologised: if you regret being a mother you must be clinically depressed.

Regretting motherhood is now entering mainstream discourse. A recent academic study showed that 5-14 per cent of us feel regret about entering into parenthood. Then there’s the 73,000 strong Facebook group called simply “I Regret Having Children”. It is valuable to make space for all kinds of feelings around being a mother. Expecting every woman to feel the same about maternity is like expecting everybody to feel the same about long-distance swimming. We should pick apart the idea that within every pregnant woman is not only a baby, but a natural mother with the right sorts of feelings, ready to emerge.

What might the discourse of regret tell us about the condition of mothering today? When I take to the Facebook pages of “I Regret Having Children”, what immediately strikes me are stories of women (they are nearly all mothers) trying to love in unmanageable circumstances, caring in situations of domestic abuse, economic hardship, burnout and isolation.

The things those women claim to hate about mothering are not so much caring for and spending time with their children as the need to work and care and to do so alone, all while pretending to the world that they don’t feel ambivalent. But the thing that I hate the most about “I Regret Having Children” is how many people respond to tell these women that they did it to themselves.

A mother with a violent teenager describes feeling suicidal. Her son is physically and verbally abusive, steals from her and torments the family pet. She does not know who to turn to for support. “Have some decency and give your cat to a no-kill shelter. It doesn’t deserve to suffer for you [sic] choices.” Someone writes below. This comment has 53 likes.

I wrote here that I chose not to give my son a sibling. I think part of me will regret it forever

By framing mothering as ours to choose, we ignore a broader conversation about the ways that parenting has become at once more individualised and at the same time harder to do. We can choose to be mothers, but conditions like the rising cost of childcare, housing and living, rising expectations for parental engagement – today’s working mothers spend as much time with their children than stay-at-home mothers did in the 1970s – and weakening social infrastructure (less family, neighbourhood support) are not ours to choose. They make mothering harder. They make it lonelier. A 2023 study of parental regret found a strong correlation between these feelings and parental burnout, depression and overwhelm.

I wrote here that I chose not to give my son a sibling. I think part of me will regret it forever. I say “I chose it” but it felt more like an outcome that was wrenched from me. I hit a point where I didn’t feel I had the capacity to give more yet not lose other things that were precious: my marriage, my bond with my son, the work I love, my mental health. In a different society, might there have been better choices and fewer regrets?

Rachel O’Dwyer is a writer and a lecturer in digital cultures in the National College of Art and Design, Dublin, and the author of Tokens: The Future of Money in the Age of the Platform