You know when you\u2019re walking down the street and you catch sight of a battered plimsoll wedged in a tree…or some other random piece of clothing residing somewhere it shouldn\u2019t? If you\u2019re anything like me, you\u2019ll glance at it curiously, wondering for a moment what the story is behind it, how the offending item came to be placed so incongruously in its new environment, and then shrug internally and go about your day.<\/p>\n

That is how I feel as a childless woman. I am that plimsoll. I have ended up in a place I did not expect to be, and people tend to view my life with curiosity or suspicion, occasionally make a flippant comment or two…and then walk on by.<\/p>\n

I mean, it\u2019s not as though the plimsoll has a family at home worrying about where it is, is it? Perhaps if there were a couple of baby plimsolls looking forlorn at the foot of the tree then people would take an interest, reach out and get it down. But seeing as it\u2019s just a lone shoe, not even a pair, there\u2019s not much point worrying about what\u2019ll happen to it, is there?<\/p>\n

We live in a pronatalist society. Despite the rampant destruction by insatiable humans – our arrogance reassuring us that the planet and everything on it is ours, at our disposal, put here merely for our convenience – we continue to view reproduction as our sole purpose on Earth. If you fail to produce a family, as a woman at least, you\u2019ve failed at life. Or maybe just missed the point.<\/p>\n

Are childless households still families?<\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

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