I don’t have my own kids, but please don’t call me childfree or childless

Typically, I don’t begin articles with a bunch of caveats and disclaimers. However, any conversation around women’s bodies, fertility and motherhood is so inherently nuanced and personal that a few caveats are called for. I’ve narrowed it down to two. 

Caveat number one is about language. I have never felt comfortable with labels like “childfree” or “childless”. For me, these terms are not only reductive and not at all an accurate description of my life, but they have always struck me as kind of…dramatic. 

My world is populated by children. To say my life is free of them or less them would be like saying I live in a world without Capricorns or vegans or octogenarians, it implies my life is devoid of an entire category of people. For me, words like childfree also imply a kind of deliberate avoidance of children, or that not having children is a core part of my identity − which, simply, it is not. 

Read more

How do you immerse yourself into motherhood while keeping your career alive? It’s a juggle Tully Smyth is passionate about

The other problem with these labels is they emphasise what I don’t have, rather than what I do. Plenty of other women find these labels useful, an easy shortcut to questions about whether or not they have kids. For me, my answer is always the same: I’m an Auntie. 

Caveat number two is related to number one − and it has to do with the problem of treating any subset or cohort of humans as a monolith. Women are not a monolith, nor are all women without children. Just as not all women are as turned off by the terms childfree or childless as I am, not all women are interested in being Aunties. Not all women enjoy the company of children. Many women are deliberately avoiding them − and all of this is OK. I don’t speak for all women without children, I only speak for myself. 

And speaking for myself, I can say I have come to believe healthy communities actually require Aunties who don’t have their own kids. Women like myself who not only delight in the company of children, but who are invested in them, devoted to them, and take their role in the lives of children seriously. 

My latest novel, The Cruise, is based on a group of women called the Squad. The Squad are all survivors of male violence who have decided they’re done waiting for the systems and institutions that are meant to protect them and to mete out justice, to do so. Instead, they take matters into their own hands to protect and avenge each other. 

They do this by calling missions. The idea is simple: If there is an opportunity to take out one of the monsters from their past, they take it. But not every Squad member is a suitable match for every mission. In The Cruise, for example, the mission requires five members who can play the part of young, athletic and attractive contestants on a reality show. In the follow-up to The Cruise, The Honey Trap, a whole different set of skills and abilities is required. 

Read more

Dating terrifies Phoebe Burgess and Hannah Ferrier was accused of faking an engagement - of course they’re starting a podcast

Importantly, many Squad missions require women who don’t have young children at home. A mission may take weeks to complete, they take a physical and mental toll on the women who join them, and they are inherently risky. There are also those missions where being a mother is useful, especially when it comes to extracting other mothers from dangerous situations. 

But the Squad only works because there is a mix of mothers and aunties. I have come to believe that there’s a reason not all women have children. Chief amongst them is that mothers are not meant to mother alone, they need the support of women who are not in the same boat as they are, but who are cruising up alongside them in a different boat full of snacks and energy. 

Some of us are called to aunt. I certainly was. And for me, to aunt is a verb, and I aunt hard. So hard, in fact, that I have developed five core tenets to auntying. 

Be clear about your intention. In addition to my actual niece (who is the queen of all nieces, obvs), adopt a big tent policy. Be deliberate and intentional about offering your auntie-hood to the children of the women you love, and lock in for the long haul. And most importantly, make sure they know they can count on you. 

Read more

‘All my pregnancy photos are selfies’: The unspoken ‘cost’ of being a solo parent

Invest in one-on-one time. Seek them out as real human beings, not just as tiny extensions of their parents. Sure, it gives their mother a break, but the true gift is proving to a seven-year-old that an actual adult finds their 45-minute Zelda monologue genuinely compelling.

Spend money on things their parents explicitly hate. Treat them like your heirs and your accomplices. It is your solemn duty to buy them loud instruments, sugary treats, and games with four thousand tiny pieces. If a gift does not require batteries or cause mild sensory overload, you are doing it wrong.

Establish your role in the emergency pipeline. Clarify early what you can be counted on for. For the little ones: cuddles, snacks, and floor play. For the teenagers: being the cool adult who will discreetly bail them out of jail or drive them to get a fake ID, no questions asked and no lecture attached.

Become a permanent fixture in the crowd. Show up to the rain-soaked sports games, the endless school plays, and the chaotic birthday parties. Parents are obligated to sit through these; your presence is a choice. Sitting on a tiny plastic chair for two hours just to cheer for them is the fastest way to prove you are in their corner for life. Bonus points for yelling their names a little too loudly. 

As the kids I aunt grow older, I often think about the fact that many of them will be called to aunt, too. Some won't have children, whether by choice or by chance. I want them to see my life as one living example of what that can look like, alongside other women doing it in their own unique ways.

Womanhood is a spectrum; we aren't all built for the same path. And any Squad worth its salt needs some legendary Aunties.

Naima Brown is an author and producer. Her new book The Cruise, the first in the Squad Series (Allen & Unwin), is available now.