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After approximately 30 hours of desperately trying to cope with the most excruciating pain I’ve ever known, I gave in and let them inject the longest needle I’ve ever seen into my spine. I fell asleep. The next thing I remember was being woken up by the nurses, telling me I needed to push. Fast.
Just minutes after they woke me up and forced me to push, they placed my daughter on my chest. After the brief relief of knowing she was alive and well, I felt immense confusion about how I would ever catch up on that sleep. I never did.
Little did I know that the humiliation and isolation I experienced in that labor room were just the trailer for everything that was about to unfold. I walked into that hospital needing women to hold me through the most sacred experience of my life, but instead, I was treated like a problem to be managed— ideally as quickly and efficiently as humanly possible.
And if my birth story isn’t the perfect metaphor for what motherhood feels like in a capitalist, patriarchal society, I don’t know what is. Efficiency. Isolation. Gaslighting. Medication. Unsurprisingly, the system didn’t just fail me during labor. It kept failing me relentlessly in all the moments that came after, and it continues to do so, as if it once made a silent vow to keep punishing me for daring to expect more.
Since I’m not the only woman on this planet who damn well understands the underlying motivation to opt for a child-free life after experiencing the soul crushing reality of motherhood in the system we’re forced to mother in, I decided to include the voice of the fabulous Briana, along with insights from hundreds of mothers I polled on Instagram, in this essay.
The voices of women choosing to live a childfree life are getting louder and louder — and rightfully so. I think we can all agree that, much to the dismay of many men in the comment sections beneath those posts, women are done subscribing to the bullshit narrative we were fed as little girls. It took many of us a few messed-up relationships, abuse, and a whole lot of therapy to understand that this narrative wasn’t designed to serve us, merely to contain us.
Children’s books and Disney movies did an excellent job in convincing us that our highest calling was to become wives and mothers. That our value peaked when a man chose us and a baby ultimately completed us. But what we weren’t told is what happens after the fairytale ends. When your handsome prince suddenly wants to get blackout drunk with his boys instead of taking care of his child. When your pretty dresses aren’t possibly big enough to cover the isolating pain in your chest.
We weren’t told that motherhood can feel like a beautiful prison.
Personally, I gaslit myself for long enough into believing that it’s not actually that bad, but I’m done subscribing to the glamorous image of motherhood that has been sold to us for decades by the media. Motherhood doesn’t look like a blonde, white woman with shiny hair blissfully breastfeeding her baby. Cinderella isn’t the blueprint. I bet that bitch has bills to pay, too.
I believe what’s the most disappointing for me is the lack of support from wider society. During my pregnancy, everyone showered me with congratulations like I’ve never experienced with any other milestone in my life, but once the baby was there it’s like society expects you to be at home and don’t bother anyone else with your screaming baby and your leaking boobs. I was shocked by how isolating it all felt.
Everyone wants to come and see the baby, but no one actually wants to help raise it, and to be fair, having people visiting the baby doesn’t help a new mom AT ALL. In contrast, it even puts another workload on us.
I also find it incredibly frustrating to witness how the life of the dad doesn’t change at all. My daughter’s dad was able to go clubbing with his friends like nothing ever happened, although our daughter was just 5 days old and I can barely get dressed.
And the worst part is we’re still told to be grateful. We’re still told that venting about motherhood is dangerous, that it makes us sound ungrateful, or worse—like we don’t love our kids. Love isn’t the issue. The issue is that the second we become mothers, the world expects us to disappear into that role and never ask for more. In fact, it’s because we love our children that we demand something better. I would even go as far as saying, better won’t cut it. We need a fucking revolution.
Briana: I never dreamed of becoming a mother, nor did I fantasize about marriage or whatever else is shoved down the throats of young girls to distract us from ourselves. So you’d think the harsh reality of modern motherhood wouldn’t be as devastating — IT IS.
First, nothing could have prepared me for the rage I’d feel for the continued and unearned praise my daughter’s father receives for simply being seen with her. It’s not specific to him; each boyfriend says the same, “people are really nice to me when it’s just the two of us.”
Meanwhile, I am offered little beyond critique, judgment, and sharp shame whenever I don’t perform motherhood perfectly. We all know “perfection” is a moving target, so it’s a lose-lose game.
I often tell people motherhood sucks, but mostly because of societal expectations, the destruction of robust community in a digital-first world, and the general intolerance of children and their parents (re: mothers) in public spaces. Women are disappointed with motherhood because it’s an unnecessarily isolating experience. Raising children is a community effort - period. The degradation of proper third places (not overly curated events rebranded as third places with a $40 entry fee) combined with the accepted norm that children should only exist in child-specific spaces, it’s simply too much work.
Especially because women do the overwhelming majority of labor associated with childcare.
What we need to understand is that the image of motherhood has been created by the media, which, in turn, has been shaped by men. Yes, the part of our society that doesn’t have a uterus, will never experience the pain of childbirth, and the social isolation that comes with it, sold us the idea that it’s the best part of our lives. And ironically, they’re also the ones benefiting from our unpaid domestic labor. They glorify sacrifice, romanticize exhaustion, and call it love when, in reality, it's often just unpaid, unrecognized labor.
Motherhood is painted as a noble duty, a woman’s highest calling, yet the systems in place do little to support mothers once they step into that role. From the moment a woman becomes a mother, she is expected to put herself last—her ambitions, her health, her identity all taking a backseat to the needs of her family. And when she dares to voice the struggles, the exhaustion, or the resentment, she’s met with guilt. Society tells her to be grateful, to cherish every moment, to smile through the sleepless nights and the endless demands because "one day she’ll miss this."
But why is it that the burden falls so disproportionately on women? Why is a father "babysitting" his own child while a mother is simply doing what’s expected? Why is childcare her responsibility, her career the one to suffer, and her body the one to bear the irreversible changes?
We are we told that motherhood is the biggest gift, but for too many women, it feels like an unnecessary trap—a role that consumes their identity, limits their freedom, and leaves them invisible in a world that heavily depends on their labor but refuses to value it.
Briana: It only takes one good video of a mother bawling her eyes out about being crushed by the endlessness of motherhood before you start to question if the risk is worth the reward. Whether it’s a result of the cost of living crisis, political instability, lack of desire, or the growing anti-child sentiment, fewer people are choosing a life alongside children, but not just of their own. As a millennial, the girl-boss era absolutely burnt us out. We were taught to collapse our existence into the endless pursuit of career success while maintaining the delusion belief that we can “have it all.” Girl-bossery left no room for living, much less dating, gestation, birth, and raising a child. We were so down bad we showed up to the club in blazers and pencil skirts, y’all!
After the collective crash of grind culture, women started caring for their mental health by going to therapy in droves. With women outpacing men educationally and emotionally, what we see today is a cultural divide between men and women as we’ve adopted different philosophies on life, in my opinion. This, of course, communicates a major privilege as distance means financial freedom outside of men. Proximity to a man also doesn’t carry the same social capital it once did. So the question becomes: why attach yourself to a man and child when parenthood has fallen out of fashion? It’s economically, socially, and emotionally challenging, what’s the point if it isn’t a burning desire?
I think what’s ironic is that growing up, I never heard a mom complain about motherhood. The only message that seemed to stick was that the love I’d feel for my daughter would somehow fix everything. I wish even one mom had sat me down to prepare me for what was coming. I wish we could all agree—as mothers—to stop romanticizing motherhood. That way, women who are unsure about having kids could make an informed decision instead of buying into decades of propaganda. And moms who feel crushed by the reality of it wouldn’t feel even worse comparing their journey to some mom on Instagram, perpetuating that same propaganda bullshit just to brand herself as the perfect mom.
I wish we would realize this: Perfect mom. Good mom. Bad mom. Hot mom. Cool mom. MILF. None of these labels trying so hard to box us in actually matter — because the benchmark was set by men. Built to make us manageable.
Palatable. Non-threatening. Easy to praise when we conform, easy to shame when we don’t. Motherhood isn’t the problem. The way motherhood has been policed, judged, and commodified through a male lens is.
And even though you’d think we’d know better by now, we all carry parts of ourselves that are still trapped in the socialization of the “good girl” who eventually gets rewarded with her perfect happy ending. Deep down, we’re still performing for approval — still trying to outperform other women to earn validation from a system that never wanted to validate us in the first place. We need to collectively unsubscribe from this shit show.
I’ll never forget when I asked moms on Instagram to privately share something they’d never say out loud, one mom said, “Sometimes I dream about being hospitalized just so I can get a break from my kids without feeling guilty.”
This is how bad it is y’all. A mother so burnt out she wants to get hospitalized should be proof enough of how ridiculously non-existent the support we receive as mothers is. We need to break the silence, stop pretending motherhood is the equivalent of a Disney movie, and start demanding real support—emotional, practical, and systemic. We won’t win this game by perpetuating a false image of motherhood just for the quick dopamine hit of being praised for our burnout. We will, however, create a different world for our daughters if we stop romanticizing the bare minimum treatment and start asking for the place in society we deserve.
That means not clapping for men who babysit their own kids. Not calling it “help” when a dad changes a diaper. Burning the idea that exhaustion is a badge of honor and replacing it with a demand for actual support. Structural change. Community care. Paid leave. Affordable childcare. Respect for mothering as labor.
Like dating a dude who wants to go 50/50 but still expects girlfriend treatment — we should be the ones covering the whole fucking bill and then leaving the table, instead of thanking him for offering to pay for his own meal. Maybe we have to be uncomfortable for some time to change the narrative, but maybe that’s the only way we can build a world where our daughters don’t have to recover from the lives they were told to dream about.
Thank you so much for reading this piece. If you want to support my work, it would mean the world to me if you donated to my fundraiser. I’m raising money to produce my own geo-docu series, where I share the raw, unfiltered stories of mothers from all around the world. It’s about damn time people finally listen.
If you want to read more from Briana, click here.
no one wants to have children anymore, and as a mom, I understand why
My experience with motherhood started in a cold hospital room filled with fluorescent lights and beeping machines. I was isolated from my daughter’s dad for reasons I can’t even fully remember, probably some fucked-up COVID protocol. While trying to concentrate on the breathing exercises I picked up from my Hypnobirthing book, the nurses and doctors surrounding me did absolutely nothing to support me emotionally, aside from offering one medication after another and getting increasingly impatient when I refused them.After approximately 30 hours of desperately trying to cope with the most excruciating pain I’ve ever known, I gave in and let them inject the longest needle I’ve ever seen into my spine. I fell asleep. The next thing I remember was being woken up by the nurses, telling me I needed to push. Fast.
Just minutes after they woke me up and forced me to push, they placed my daughter on my chest. After the brief relief of knowing she was alive and well, I felt immense confusion about how I would ever catch up on that sleep. I never did.
Little did I know that the humiliation and isolation I experienced in that labor room were just the trailer for everything that was about to unfold. I walked into that hospital needing women to hold me through the most sacred experience of my life, but instead, I was treated like a problem to be managed— ideally as quickly and efficiently as humanly possible.
And if my birth story isn’t the perfect metaphor for what motherhood feels like in a capitalist, patriarchal society, I don’t know what is. Efficiency. Isolation. Gaslighting. Medication. Unsurprisingly, the system didn’t just fail me during labor. It kept failing me relentlessly in all the moments that came after, and it continues to do so, as if it once made a silent vow to keep punishing me for daring to expect more.
Since I’m not the only woman on this planet who damn well understands the underlying motivation to opt for a child-free life after experiencing the soul crushing reality of motherhood in the system we’re forced to mother in, I decided to include the voice of the fabulous Briana, along with insights from hundreds of mothers I polled on Instagram, in this essay.
The voices of women choosing to live a childfree life are getting louder and louder — and rightfully so. I think we can all agree that, much to the dismay of many men in the comment sections beneath those posts, women are done subscribing to the bullshit narrative we were fed as little girls. It took many of us a few messed-up relationships, abuse, and a whole lot of therapy to understand that this narrative wasn’t designed to serve us, merely to contain us.
Children’s books and Disney movies did an excellent job in convincing us that our highest calling was to become wives and mothers. That our value peaked when a man chose us and a baby ultimately completed us. But what we weren’t told is what happens after the fairytale ends. When your handsome prince suddenly wants to get blackout drunk with his boys instead of taking care of his child. When your pretty dresses aren’t possibly big enough to cover the isolating pain in your chest.
We weren’t told that motherhood can feel like a beautiful prison.
Personally, I gaslit myself for long enough into believing that it’s not actually that bad, but I’m done subscribing to the glamorous image of motherhood that has been sold to us for decades by the media. Motherhood doesn’t look like a blonde, white woman with shiny hair blissfully breastfeeding her baby. Cinderella isn’t the blueprint. I bet that bitch has bills to pay, too.
So why are so many moms disappointed by motherhood, when we’ve always got told that it’s the most beautiful event to ever possibly happen to a woman?
Sarah: Ever since I’m a mom, I feel like I’ve discovered the biggest scam of our society. I feel incredibly naive for buying into the belief that motherhood would be the most beautiful thing to ever happen to me.I believe what’s the most disappointing for me is the lack of support from wider society. During my pregnancy, everyone showered me with congratulations like I’ve never experienced with any other milestone in my life, but once the baby was there it’s like society expects you to be at home and don’t bother anyone else with your screaming baby and your leaking boobs. I was shocked by how isolating it all felt.
Everyone wants to come and see the baby, but no one actually wants to help raise it, and to be fair, having people visiting the baby doesn’t help a new mom AT ALL. In contrast, it even puts another workload on us.
I also find it incredibly frustrating to witness how the life of the dad doesn’t change at all. My daughter’s dad was able to go clubbing with his friends like nothing ever happened, although our daughter was just 5 days old and I can barely get dressed.
And the worst part is we’re still told to be grateful. We’re still told that venting about motherhood is dangerous, that it makes us sound ungrateful, or worse—like we don’t love our kids. Love isn’t the issue. The issue is that the second we become mothers, the world expects us to disappear into that role and never ask for more. In fact, it’s because we love our children that we demand something better. I would even go as far as saying, better won’t cut it. We need a fucking revolution.
Briana: I never dreamed of becoming a mother, nor did I fantasize about marriage or whatever else is shoved down the throats of young girls to distract us from ourselves. So you’d think the harsh reality of modern motherhood wouldn’t be as devastating — IT IS.
First, nothing could have prepared me for the rage I’d feel for the continued and unearned praise my daughter’s father receives for simply being seen with her. It’s not specific to him; each boyfriend says the same, “people are really nice to me when it’s just the two of us.”
Meanwhile, I am offered little beyond critique, judgment, and sharp shame whenever I don’t perform motherhood perfectly. We all know “perfection” is a moving target, so it’s a lose-lose game.
I often tell people motherhood sucks, but mostly because of societal expectations, the destruction of robust community in a digital-first world, and the general intolerance of children and their parents (re: mothers) in public spaces. Women are disappointed with motherhood because it’s an unnecessarily isolating experience. Raising children is a community effort - period. The degradation of proper third places (not overly curated events rebranded as third places with a $40 entry fee) combined with the accepted norm that children should only exist in child-specific spaces, it’s simply too much work.
Especially because women do the overwhelming majority of labor associated with childcare.
Why are so many women opting for a child-free life?
Sarah: I think there are so many reasons to live a child-free life, but I guess the main dominator is that these women have simply educated themselves enough to discover the scam before having children on their own. I spoke to some women who told me they decided to never have children, after they’ve seen what their friends with children are going through. I spoke to women who told me they don’t want to have children in this economy. I spoke to women who told me they would want to have children, but the state of the world makes it impossible. I spoke to women who said that they realized having children was never a wish they had, but a societal expectation they carried. Also, I believe what plays into this today, very few women have the privilege to ‘just’ be a mother. Most of us are mothers, girl bosses, emotional caretakers and unpaid domestic workers. I think many women have come to realize that by choosing motherhood, they’re signing up for yet another unpaid full-time job — in an economy where you already need two just to survive.What we need to understand is that the image of motherhood has been created by the media, which, in turn, has been shaped by men. Yes, the part of our society that doesn’t have a uterus, will never experience the pain of childbirth, and the social isolation that comes with it, sold us the idea that it’s the best part of our lives. And ironically, they’re also the ones benefiting from our unpaid domestic labor. They glorify sacrifice, romanticize exhaustion, and call it love when, in reality, it's often just unpaid, unrecognized labor.
Motherhood is painted as a noble duty, a woman’s highest calling, yet the systems in place do little to support mothers once they step into that role. From the moment a woman becomes a mother, she is expected to put herself last—her ambitions, her health, her identity all taking a backseat to the needs of her family. And when she dares to voice the struggles, the exhaustion, or the resentment, she’s met with guilt. Society tells her to be grateful, to cherish every moment, to smile through the sleepless nights and the endless demands because "one day she’ll miss this."
But why is it that the burden falls so disproportionately on women? Why is a father "babysitting" his own child while a mother is simply doing what’s expected? Why is childcare her responsibility, her career the one to suffer, and her body the one to bear the irreversible changes?
We are we told that motherhood is the biggest gift, but for too many women, it feels like an unnecessary trap—a role that consumes their identity, limits their freedom, and leaves them invisible in a world that heavily depends on their labor but refuses to value it.
Briana: It only takes one good video of a mother bawling her eyes out about being crushed by the endlessness of motherhood before you start to question if the risk is worth the reward. Whether it’s a result of the cost of living crisis, political instability, lack of desire, or the growing anti-child sentiment, fewer people are choosing a life alongside children, but not just of their own. As a millennial, the girl-boss era absolutely burnt us out. We were taught to collapse our existence into the endless pursuit of career success while maintaining the delusion belief that we can “have it all.” Girl-bossery left no room for living, much less dating, gestation, birth, and raising a child. We were so down bad we showed up to the club in blazers and pencil skirts, y’all!
After the collective crash of grind culture, women started caring for their mental health by going to therapy in droves. With women outpacing men educationally and emotionally, what we see today is a cultural divide between men and women as we’ve adopted different philosophies on life, in my opinion. This, of course, communicates a major privilege as distance means financial freedom outside of men. Proximity to a man also doesn’t carry the same social capital it once did. So the question becomes: why attach yourself to a man and child when parenthood has fallen out of fashion? It’s economically, socially, and emotionally challenging, what’s the point if it isn’t a burning desire?
I think what’s ironic is that growing up, I never heard a mom complain about motherhood. The only message that seemed to stick was that the love I’d feel for my daughter would somehow fix everything. I wish even one mom had sat me down to prepare me for what was coming. I wish we could all agree—as mothers—to stop romanticizing motherhood. That way, women who are unsure about having kids could make an informed decision instead of buying into decades of propaganda. And moms who feel crushed by the reality of it wouldn’t feel even worse comparing their journey to some mom on Instagram, perpetuating that same propaganda bullshit just to brand herself as the perfect mom.
I wish we would realize this: Perfect mom. Good mom. Bad mom. Hot mom. Cool mom. MILF. None of these labels trying so hard to box us in actually matter — because the benchmark was set by men. Built to make us manageable.
Palatable. Non-threatening. Easy to praise when we conform, easy to shame when we don’t. Motherhood isn’t the problem. The way motherhood has been policed, judged, and commodified through a male lens is.
And even though you’d think we’d know better by now, we all carry parts of ourselves that are still trapped in the socialization of the “good girl” who eventually gets rewarded with her perfect happy ending. Deep down, we’re still performing for approval — still trying to outperform other women to earn validation from a system that never wanted to validate us in the first place. We need to collectively unsubscribe from this shit show.
I’ll never forget when I asked moms on Instagram to privately share something they’d never say out loud, one mom said, “Sometimes I dream about being hospitalized just so I can get a break from my kids without feeling guilty.”
This is how bad it is y’all. A mother so burnt out she wants to get hospitalized should be proof enough of how ridiculously non-existent the support we receive as mothers is. We need to break the silence, stop pretending motherhood is the equivalent of a Disney movie, and start demanding real support—emotional, practical, and systemic. We won’t win this game by perpetuating a false image of motherhood just for the quick dopamine hit of being praised for our burnout. We will, however, create a different world for our daughters if we stop romanticizing the bare minimum treatment and start asking for the place in society we deserve.
That means not clapping for men who babysit their own kids. Not calling it “help” when a dad changes a diaper. Burning the idea that exhaustion is a badge of honor and replacing it with a demand for actual support. Structural change. Community care. Paid leave. Affordable childcare. Respect for mothering as labor.
Like dating a dude who wants to go 50/50 but still expects girlfriend treatment — we should be the ones covering the whole fucking bill and then leaving the table, instead of thanking him for offering to pay for his own meal. Maybe we have to be uncomfortable for some time to change the narrative, but maybe that’s the only way we can build a world where our daughters don’t have to recover from the lives they were told to dream about.
Thank you so much for reading this piece. If you want to support my work, it would mean the world to me if you donated to my fundraiser. I’m raising money to produce my own geo-docu series, where I share the raw, unfiltered stories of mothers from all around the world. It’s about damn time people finally listen.
If you want to read more from Briana, click here.
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