The Freedom in Opting Out: Why I’m at Peace Without Romance or Motherhood

Let me say this plainly: I’m not waiting for the one.

I’m not holding out for some soulmate to come and scoop me up into a whirlwind romance, or for some life-changing maternal instinct to knock the wind out of me.

I’ve tasted love. I’ve loved deeply, disastrously, wholeheartedly.

I’ve nurtured like a mother without birthing a child. And after all of it, I’ve landed here—with peace.

Real peace. The kind that doesn’t beg for permission. The kind you don’t gamble with.

I used to feel like I owed the world a love story. Like I’d failed some invisible test every time a relationship ended. But what I’ve come to realize—after four long-term relationships, years of caregiving, and a mountain of self-work—is this:

Not everyone’s version of fulfillment has to look like a ring, a crib, and a Sunday roast with in-laws.

Mine looks like quiet mornings where my mind isn’t buzzing with “Am I enough?”

Mine looks like solo walks, untangled sheets and deep belly laughs with friends I’ve chosen for my soul, not my image.

Mine looks like not managing someone else’s emotional debris just to say I have someone.

On Romantic Love

I don’t crave it anymore. Not because I’m bitter—trust me, I’ve cried the bitterness out of me. But because the version of me that shows up when I’m in love? She struggles to keep her boundaries firm. She softens too much. She overextends. And I love her too much now to keep putting her in that position.

I’m not closed off. I’m just not available for self-sacrifice disguised as partnership.

On Motherhood

Some people dream of it. I don’t. Never really have. And yet, in many ways, I’ve already lived a mother’s life. I’ve spent the last two decades as a full-time caregiver—waking up in the middle of the night, managing meds, appointments, moods, and emergencies. I’ve already felt the weight of being responsible for someone else’s wellbeing on a daily basis. That chapter was written without me asking for it. So when people ask why I don’t want children, I just smile and say, “Been there. Just not in the way you’d expect.”

Motherhood is sacred. And that’s exactly why I won’t enter it half-heartedly, or out of pressure. I honour it too much to fake the desire for it.

On Aging Without a Partner

Some people hear “single forever” and think loneliness. I hear freedom. Travel. Creative projects. Spontaneous decisions. Soulful connections with people around the world. And yes—if and when the time comes that I need care, I’ll make sure I have the resources to check into a place that feels good for me. Play chess. Do karaoke. Maybe even start a revolution in the care home, who knows?

But I refuse to trap myself in a relationship just to secure company in old age. That’s not love—that’s a transaction. And my spirit doesn’t do deals like that.

On Sex and Desire

If the need for physical connection arises, I’ll cross that bridge with honesty and safety. There are ways to meet those needs without opening the floodgates of emotional chaos. And if I never cross it? That’s okay too. I’ve lived lifetimes in this one body already. I know its language. I’ll listen when it speaks.

On Choosing a Different Life

I know it unsettles people when a woman says, “I don’t want a partner. I don’t want kids.” But what they don’t realize is, I’m not seeking comfort. I’m seeking truth. Alignment. A life that fits me like skin, not one I have to constantly shrink or stretch to stay in.

I’ve spent too many years being a version of myself that made others comfortable. That version? She’s laid to rest. With love. With gratitude. But she’s not coming back.

Now? I’m building a life that makes sense to me. Whether people understand it or not is beside the point.

This isn’t a manifesto against love or motherhood. It’s a love letter to self-trust.

To knowing who you are and refusing to barter that away for societal approval.

And if someone reads this and feels seen? Even just a little? Then I’ve done what I came here to do.

🪞 If this post stirred something in you—good. You were meant to feel it.

For more soul-rooted reflections, taboo wisdom, and raw truth:

🜁 Visit: www.venusianalchemist.co.uk

Your path doesn’t have to look like theirs. It just has to feel like you.