I recently came across an intriguing article by Maria Jennings in the New York Times, which critiqued the label “single mother by choice.” Jennings argued that this term fosters an unjust hierarchy among single mothers, suggesting that some are more deserving than others. While her points are valid, I believe the discussion overlooks many women’s experiences. Historically, this label has predominantly described affluent, heterosexual white women who leverage their privileges to become mothers, whether or not they have a partner. This perspective can indeed come off as elitist and neglects the narratives of queer women, women of color, and those from low-income backgrounds who also choose single motherhood.
For me, identifying as a single mother by choice is a powerful assertion of my reproductive autonomy and a stand against a society that often devalues Black motherhood, especially among single mothers. When I decided to pursue motherhood at 33, I was at a pivotal moment in my career, managing a significant research center at Columbia University. I longed to be a mother but was aware of the potential excuses that could delay my plans—my career ambitions, financial instability, cramped living conditions in New York, or waiting for the perfect partner. Ultimately, none of these concerns deterred me.
Before making my decision, my evenings were filled with laughter and camaraderie with friends at a local bar we humorously dubbed “the Southern office.” When I revealed my plans to conceive on my own during one of those late-night conversations, my friends were taken aback. “Are you sure?” they asked. Absolutely, I replied, and we raised our glasses in celebration.
By February 2010, I was pregnant with twins through IVF—a demanding and expensive process that many women, especially women of color and those with limited resources, cannot access. In my reproductive care center and birthing classes, I frequently found myself surrounded by couples, often feeling like the only one without a partner. The lack of diversity was striking, but I remained unfazed, buoyed by my doctor’s encouraging support.
When my pregnancy became apparent, a white friend expressed concern about how I might be perceived as a young, single Black mother, hinting at the negative stereotypes that often accompany that identity. I dismissed her worries without hesitation. I cared little about public perception, having been shaped by the experiences of my own mother, who was a single parent under challenging circumstances. The stereotypes surrounding Black single mothers—be they by choice or necessity—simply do not reflect our realities.
People often assumed I had a husband and posed questions about my plans for work after the babies arrived, revealing societal expectations around marriage, heterosexuality, workplace flexibility, and maternity leave. Each inquiry served as a reminder of how far we still have to go in understanding women’s diverse experiences in motherhood. My responses were direct and unapologetic: I didn’t have a husband; I had utilized IVF. I found amusement in watching others grapple with their assumptions as they attempted to recalibrate their understanding. “No need to apologize,” I would reassure them, “I’m not ashamed of my choices.”
I embrace the term “single mother by choice” because it challenges societal narratives about who can define motherhood on their own terms. It’s not about distancing myself from other single mothers—regardless of their circumstances—we are all navigating this journey together. For further insights into the intricacies of home insemination and related topics, visit this informative blog post. Additionally, for a comprehensive understanding of artificial insemination, check out this authoritative resource.
In summary, identifying as a single mother by choice is not merely a label; it is a declaration of my autonomy and a rejection of societal norms that seek to categorize motherhood. It is a journey shared by many, regardless of their backgrounds or circumstances.