It’s time we stopped telling women their only value is being a mother

“So, do you have children?”

It’s the question that has shadowed me for decades. For some, it’s casual small talk. For me, it has often landed like a weight, a reminder that society still ties a woman’s worth to whether she has a pram parked in her hallway.

For years, I believed that my identity as a woman would be validated only through motherhood. I grew up on the white-picket-fence dream: marry young, have children, and build a family. When infertility took hold of my story, I wasn’t just grieving the absence of a child, I was also grieving the version of myself that society told me I should become.

And that’s the problem. We have been conditioned to believe that a woman’s ultimate role is motherhood, as if our value begins and ends with our ability to reproduce. But what about the millions of women for whom motherhood isn’t possible, or isn’t the path they choose? Why do their lives get painted as incomplete, as though they’ve missed their one “true” calling?

I spent fifteen years navigating infertility. It was endless cycles of IVF, miscarriages, procedures, and waiting rooms filled with hope and devastation. I poured my savings, health and heart into chasing something that seemed to come so easily to others. What compounded the pain wasn’t just the medical reality. It was the constant, invisible narrative pressing down on me: “You’re supposed to be a mother. That’s what women are for”.

Friends would offer well-intentioned but piercing comments: “Don’t worry, it will happen eventually,” or “You’ve still got time”. Strangers would ask, “When are you having kids?” as if the absence of children was a problem that needed fixing. It’s these moments, small but relentless, that reveal how deeply ingrained the motherhood-equals-womanhood equation still is. The script hasn’t shifted nearly as much as we like to think.

But here’s what I’ve learned, painfully and beautifully: womanhood is not a single script.

I am a wife, daughter, sister, designer, mentor, businesswoman, fur-mum, dreamer, creator. My life is full, rich, and meaningful. And yet, for years, I felt compelled to explain that richness as if it were a consolation prize: I didn’t become a mum, but look at all these other things I’ve achieved.

Why should I need to justify my existence outside of motherhood? Why do we still measure a woman’s worth against whether she raises children? We must stop confining women to such a one-dimensional definition. A woman who chooses not to have children is no less valuable. A woman who cannot have children is no less complete. A woman who mothers through step-parenting, fostering, community leadership, or her work in the world is no less significant.

Motherhood is one of many beautiful ways to live a life. But it is not the only way.

After closing the chapter on IVF, I faced the most daunting question: If I am not going to be a mother, then who am I? The truth is, reinvention was not a neat process. It was grief, anger, depression, bargaining and ultimately, acceptance. It was moving states, taking unexpected career turns, and finally stepping into my passion for interior design. It was building a business from the ground up – one that now helps clients across Australia create homes they love.

I didn’t plan for this life, but it has turned out to be mine and it is no less extraordinary than the one I imagined. My story is proof that life beyond motherhood can be meaningful, creative, full of impact and out of the greatest adversity amazing things can still happen.

Why this conversation matters

This isn’t just about me. This is about the millions of women who sit quietly at dinner tables, work functions or family gatherings, absorbing the sting of assumptions. It’s about the women who feel erased by a culture that equates success with motherhood.

It’s also about men, partners and families who struggle to know what to say or how to support loved ones walking this path. We need to dismantle the lazy language that tells women their worth is on hold until they produce children. We need to replace it with curiosity, compassion and openness to the many ways a woman can live a full life.

When we tell women their only value is as mothers, we strip away their individuality, their potential, their right to define themselves. We deny the world the richness of female lives that flourish outside of parenting.

My book No Fence, No Limits is about exactly this: dismantling the fences of expectation, challenging the idea that life must follow a neat suburban script. For me, that fence was motherhood. For you, it might be career, marriage or lifestyle choices. Whatever it is, the message is the same: you are allowed to design an unconventional life, and you can thrive outside the boxes society hands you.

We need to celebrate all forms of fulfilment, whether it’s raising children, running businesses, nurturing communities, creating art or simply choosing joy in ways that make sense to us. The goal is not to diminish motherhood, but to expand the narrative of what womanhood can look like.

So, isn’t it time we stopped telling women their only value is as mothers? Isn’t it time we stopped asking “Do you have kids?” as if it’s the defining marker of worth? Instead, let’s start asking: What lights you up? What brings you joy? How are you creating meaning in your life?

Because when we broaden the story of womanhood, we don’t just free those of us without children. We free every woman to define her own life on her own terms.

Life can be beautiful without motherhood. Mine is living proof. And the more we challenge the old narratives, the more space we create for all women to feel seen, celebrated, and enough.