If you’re reading this, chances are you’re sitting in a space of curiosity and uncertainty as you think about growing your family. You might find yourself wondering, How will I know when I’m ready to have another baby? Or perhaps you’re going back and forth, asking, Do I even want another baby? If these questions are on your mind, know that you’re not alone—you’re in good company.
Most of us have grown up in a world where we dream about our future family from childhood. I remember constantly playing with my dolls and Barbies, filling their world with the life I saw for myself, putting myself into mother roles—comforting, feeding, and playing with my dolls as if they were my real children. I always envisioned myself being a mom of multiple kids. At first, I was set on having at least two children about two years apart. I wanted to recreate my childhood with my big sister. Then, when I started dating my husband and dreaming of our future family, I thought I wanted a whole baseball team of kids—imagining the relationships they would have with one another and the grand adventures they’d create in the backyard or neighborhood.
And then I became a mama, and I quickly realized how little control I actually have over what my family looks like—how many kids I may (or can) have, what they will be like, how their relationships will unfold, and what my capacity truly is for creating the dream I once had. You see, as we go through life, our dreams shift and change with the ebb and flow of our experiences. What we may have always wanted can begin to change right in front of our eyes. This experience can bring moments of grief, loss, confusion—a desire to white-knuckle our fading dreams and not let them go.
Like many of you, after I had my first child and began to think about having more, I went through a cycle of back-and-forth thoughts and feelings. Six weeks postpartum, at my gynecology check-up, I told them our birth control was going to be a vasectomy. They laughed and said, "Now is not the time to make that decision," and suggested I consider other birth control options. The postpartum season for us was rough—navigating breastfeeding, the sleepless nights, the intense anxiety, the tug and pull of being working parents with so little time to spend with our baby. It was all so different than I had imagined.
I would ask my husband over and over again, "When do you want to have another kid?" His response was always an uncertain, "I don’t know," and it felt more avoidant than anything else. Eventually, I realized I was asking the wrong question. So I started asking, "Do you want to have another kid?" This led us into a whirlwind of conversations about what our life looked like, what it might be like with another child, what the journey toward pregnancy might entail, how it would shift our world, and whether that was something we truly wanted.
I felt so conflicted. And then I felt grief as I realized: my husband truly doesn’t want another child. At first, I lived in denial, telling myself this was just how he reacted to big life changes. Then I felt anger at the reality that this might actually be his truth. And finally, once I moved through the anger, I sat with the question: What do I truly want?
We live in a time where we are privileged to ask ourselves this question. We are not forced into marriages to have children, nor expected to grow large families out of obligation. We have the space to sit with our desires and ask: What do I truly want?
This realization opened a whole new world for me. I spent time with the different versions of myself—the little girl playing house, the version of me who dreamed of a big family, the version of me who felt like she was in survival mode trying to keep one baby alive, and the version of me who was finally beginning to feel into what I truly wanted. I sat with my dreams, with the feelings I wanted to cultivate in my life, with the implications of having more children—what it would mean for my son to have siblings, or to not. The realization that I had a choice, that my desires could shift and evolve, felt both scary and exhilarating at the same time.
Cue the vision board analysis.
As I sit in my office writing this blog, I look to all the vision boards of my past. They all have common themes. They don’t just list concrete goals; instead, they express an energy—a feeling state that I have always longed for. A feeling of being grounded, interconnected with nature, surrounded by plants, chocolate, and sourdough. A lifestyle that is slow, intentional, and deeply connected. And when my husband and son appear on these vision boards, it’s just them—no other children. They are always doing things like sitting on a porch drinking coffee or rowing a rowboat on a pond.
When we disconnect from the way we have been trained to think and plan, and instead allow ourselves to feel into the life we want, we create space for our soul and subconscious to shine through. When we step away from doing the "math" of how many kids we want, how many years apart they should be, or how old we want to be when they turn 18, and instead move into an embodied feeling state of dreaming, we can:
- Outline what we truly desire.
- Learn what we may need to surrender and grieve.
- Hold space for a path to emerge that may completely surprise us—and may lead to the most precious experiences we could ever imagine.
If you are currently struggling with your mental or emotional health, this may not be the best time to answer these questions for yourself. You are the number one predictor of your child's mental health and wellness. If you bring more children into the world without first feeling mentally and emotionally stable, you risk over-stressing yourself and creating more stress in your family unit. It is okay to take the time to prioritize your well-being before making this decision.
If you need support navigating this season of life—whether it’s processing the grief of a changing family vision, struggling with emotional well-being in motherhood, or deciding what’s next for your family—I invite you to explore my maternal mental health therapy and coaching services. You don’t have to figure this out alone.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized just how little control I actually have in this world. Motherhood has been a humbling awakening into this truth. And as I stand in the reality that there is so much I cannot control, I am learning to surrender—to fate, to faith, to trust that life will unfold exactly as it should for me and my family.
The answers won’t come from a checklist, a timeline, or what you always thought you wanted. They will come when you quiet the noise, step out of the mind, and into the wisdom of your body.
<3 Dena
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