Leading up to my 40th birthday, I didn’t anticipate a midlife crisis. I was fresh off the heels of one existential roundabout, the "to be or not to be" parenthood dilemma. Didn’t I get a pass? An exemption? Credit for time served? Hadn’t I individuated and self-actualized enough? Apparently not.
One crisis doesn't preclude you from another
My midlife crisis came about nine months after the big 4-0, as if it had to gestate like a baby. Seemingly out of nowhere, I was grappling with the realities of aging (my back hurts when I sneeze and I have high cholesterol?!). Not to mention the pesky problem of my mortality—life was likely half over (at best!). Just because I didn’t have a kid didn’t mean I was exempt from tangoing with these realities.
In pop culture and media, the midlife narrative usually focuses on parents. Their kids no longer need, want, or like having them around. They no longer recognize their romantic partner turned co-parent. They have newfound time and energy to feel and process emotions after years on autopilot. And the prognosis is usually not positive. They are stuck in a career rut in an unfulfilling corporate role, disenfranchised with the suburban life and nuclear family they were told would provide meaning. That’s the midlife crisis we know by heart.
Millennials are the first generation to opt out of parenthood in large numbers, thanks to factors good and bad (good: increased awareness and agency; bad: cost of living and the likelihood of climate catastrophe). Without children and the traditional life path, what shape does our midlife malaise take?
How the childfree midlife crisis is similar... And different
In many ways, it can be similar. We grapple with deteriorating health and aging (ours and that of our loved ones). We have careers that pale in comparison to what we thought we’d accomplish. We are driven to do an inventory of our lives and decide how to enhance the ROI of what’s left. That brings me to a major benefit of the childfree midlife crisis. We have fewer obligations and more flexibility to make big moves, write our own scripts, and take risks to jump-start our second act.
But it ain’t all sunshine. Many childfree middle-aged women return to the question they had put to bed, only to find it reawakening like a teething baby. Am I sure I don’t want kids?
Middle age is the last biological off-ramp from the childfree path. Your reproductive window only remains open a crack, and it’s now or never if you want to change your mind a final time—as everyone has been telling you you’d do since you revealed your childfree choice.
At midlife, we see female celebrities make the leap into motherhood after years of deferring and demurring. Hilary Swank just announced she’s pregnant with her third child—at 52. My grandmother was younger than that when I was born. Of course, celebrities have a lot more options than we mere mortals (access to the latest medical interventions, surrogates, and full-time nannies once the babies are born). But as humans, it’s hard not to compare yourself to those held up to us as the ideal. Aubrey Plaza, Cameron Diaz, and Eva Mendes are all recent examples of famous women we thought—or at least hoped—were childfree who had a child (or children) later in life.
And it’s not that we aren’t happy for them to follow the path that’s best for them, but it can feel like we’ve lost them to the other side.
You'll change your mind
It also reinforces the "You’ll change your mind" narrative that has always sounded vaguely threatening to me. When people say you’ll change your mind to brush off your carefully considered decision, it can feel like you’re childish, immature, and just haven’t seen the light yet. It also doesn’t take into account that you may have already changed your mind. I certainly did—a dozen or more times. I flip-flopped and fence-sat through my 20s and 30s and even wrote a book about it.
I always assumed that I would have kids one day, and it was only through disentangling myself from societal and cultural messaging and unlearning a lot of beliefs that I was able to say with confidence and conviction that I do not want to have children. Changing your mind can be a gift if it’s measured and considered and not a panic-fueled split-second decision. Staying true to your carefully considered and hard-won path can also be a gift.
Midlife Essential Reads
My doctor laughed when I recently expressed disappointment that my blood work showed I am not yet in perimenopause or menopause. I know that change will bring about its own challenges, but I’m so excited for that reproductive window to finally close. The latch will be secured, a padlock attached, and maybe some boards will be nailed over the frame for good measure. Then—at last—I can smile smugly at the folks who told me I’d change my mind.
Conclusions
Like everything else, the midlife crisis hits a little different when you don’t have kids, but it still exists. Who knows how many healthy years you have left. If there are any big moves or bold steps you want to take, this is the moment. And you can do so without jeopardizing the well-being of your (nonexistent) kids.
The childfree midlife crisis need not involve a Hail Mary pregnancy and last-minute biological legacy. Maybe you’ll move to the country or to another country. Maybe you’ll quit your job to pursue your dream full-time. Maybe you’ll start a revolution or a religion. It’s your one wild and precious childfree millennial midlife crisis. Use it wisely.