Why I’m Reflecting on Whether I Want to Be a Mother This Lunar New Year

I’m not sure exactly when it started, but in the last two years, the universe began putting pregnant women all around me. It started with family friends, then friends of friends. Then it was the regulars at my aerial arts studio. When I brought it up with my acupuncturist, she gave me a meaningful look.

“If you think the universe is trying to tell you something, maybe you should listen,” she said. Hmm, maybe, I thought. Not even five minutes later, she tapped a few needles into the tops of my feet. The slight ache radiating from the pricks felt like a stamp from the universe – I had worked with my acupuncturist long enough to know what that feeling meant. Sure enough, when I checked my cycle tracker, I was dead in the middle of my ovulatory phase. It seemed like the universe really wanted to chat with me about having a baby, and after pushing the conversation off for as long as I could, it seemed like I couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Maybe due to the age gap between my husband and me, we’ve had dozens of conversations about having children, but we’ve also never been able to settle on a “yes” or a “no.” It’s a necessary conversation in any relationship, but especially in a relationship where one party is starting their 40s, and the other party is about to end their 20s.

He could be perfectly content having children or staying child-free. I always assumed that I would eventually want to have children, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve found myself questioning if children are what I really want. I’ve had phases where I could really imagine having a child, and phases where having a child couldn’t be less unappealing. Each time I cycle through these phases, I struggle to parse out what my motivation might be to have a child – I don’t feel as though my family is incomplete, and I don’t want to have a child to fix any sort of personal baggage that I have. I’m prone to depressive episodes, struggle to manage my anxiety, and I’ve inherited (or maybe internalized) a lot of anger issues from my parents. I don’t want to pass those things on. Ultimately, the magical feeling of simply wanting to have a baby has never come, and it makes me worry that I might not have an innate maternal instinct or I haven’t hit a point of maturity that is supposed to trigger the desire for children.

In fact, it’s not any sort of maternal affinity or fondness for babies that’s made me interested in children – it’s the fear of loss. My husband and I love each other so much, but our age gap means facing the reality that we might have less time together than other couples. The idea that he might pass before I do, and everything I love about him will end with him, fills me with dread. If we had a child, at least I’d have a part of him in the world with me.

And with each passing year, I’m realizing how I feel less connected to my Chinese roots. Growing up, being Chinese was built into my day-to-day life – my parents cooked Chinese food, we spoke Mandarin at home, and we always celebrated Chinese festivals with friends. But living away from my parents means that the connection to Chinese culture has been harder to maintain. Cooking Chinese food can be a time-consuming process, and it’s easier and faster for me to make pasta or steak. My husband is Chinese, but he doesn’t speak any Mandarin or Cantonese, so there’s no opportunity at home to keep my Mandarin skills sharp. We also celebrate Chinese holidays less often. Lunar New Year is the only Chinese holiday I still celebrate, and I don’t know how to make the celebratory foods I grew up eating. I don’t even wear jade anymore, after a childhood spent wearing a jade pendant carved in my Chinese zodiac sign. For years, I wore a jade pendant, carved in the shape of a pig, on a red string for luck. Characterized as grounded, loyal, and easy-going, pigs are also symbolic of luck and wealth. My parents wanted to reinforce those connections to good fortune, and made it a point to find more pigs-themed objects to bring home.

I do believe having a child would bring me closer to Chinese culture, and the thought that I might never have the opportunity to continue any Chinese traditions feels uncomfortably permanent. When I’ve brought these fears up with my acupuncturist, she tells me that all things are impermanent, and that fear-based decision-making will never give me the self-trust I’m actually seeking. It’s ironic when she puts it that way: fear is what draws my interest in children, and fear is also what pushes me away from motherhood.

The fear that pushes me away from motherhood is the fear of motherhood itself. Would I even be a good mother? My husband thinks I’d be a great mother. But I’m not sure I agree. I’m worried I’m too selfish – I like being able to go to the gym without worrying about whether a baby needs me. I like how strong and confident I feel in my body, after years of self-berating my appearance. Most of all, I like who I am without a child. I like how I’m a caring friend, a loving wife, and a fun person. My greatest fear is that motherhood will consume me so fully, I will have nothing for anyone else or for myself, and then I’ll become a person that I won’t like anymore.

I’m not even 30 yet, and my mother already worries I’m past my prime to have a child. In her ideal world, I would have gotten pregnant last year, and gave birth this year. 2025 is the year of the snake – a bad compatibility match with someone born in the year of the boar, like myself. In Chinese zodiac readings, snakes and pigs are considered mortal enemies, doomed romantic partners, and combative parents and children. But I’ve come to personally admire snakes: they’re characterized as cool, resourceful, and enigmatic. In wider Chinese culture, they represent duality and intuition, and are associated with the receptive feminine.

I’m going to let that spirit of intuition guide me as I enter this new zodiac year, and as my husband and I live closer in alignment to having a child. So far, my intuition has been telling me that it’s time to make a bigger effort to stay connected with Chinese culture and to re-imagine some Lunar New Year dishes to put a personal spin on a traditional holiday. And maybe, while I’m folding dumplings with my husband or I’m lighting candles to ward away bad spirits, I’ll imagine showing a child how to pinch every dumpling pleat or dressing them in lucky red. It’s said dumplings will bring wealth and good fortune to those who eat them on Lunar New Year. My husband’s family never grew up folding dumplings, so his skills are abysmal, and mine are pretty rusty. But I hope that if we had a child, their dumplings would turn out even better than ours.

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Jen Li is a Philly-based freelance writer covering beauty, wellness, mental health, entertainment, and more. With five years of experience, her work can be found in Byrdie, InStyle, Refinery29, The Zoe Report, and Bustle.