Knowing if you want to have kids—or not—isn’t a simple decision for many. For Toronto-based writer Koren Leung, she used an article she found online to help her make the decision. Below, she reflects on her choice—a year after becoming a mom.

For the second half of my 20s, I spent many nights imagining what my future might look like with or without a child. I didn’t believe in my bones that I was “always meant to be a mother,” but I also didn’t have conviction I wanted a child-free life. The question laid like heavy sediment. I’d stir it up every few weeks to see if the load had lightened enough for me to see through the clouds, but it never did. I’d let the sand settle so I could carry on my days—but after five years, something needed to change.

I realized that the sediment was made of fear. Fear of losing my freedom and my sense of self. Fear of the state of the world and the downfall of humanity. Fear of irreversible changes to my body. Fear of giving birth. Fear of missing out on the experience of motherhood. Mostly fear of regret. My poor husband’s neck from the whiplash. Snip, snap, snip, snap.

An article written by a parental clarity coach helped me recognize that I needed to separate my desire from my decision. Understanding the truth of my desire in isolation helped me then approach the decision with the objectiveness I was craving.

A month after reading that article, I got pregnant…with twins. It all happened so quickly. The twins are now 13 months old and I am only just starting to process my new reality.

To help move through the nuance, I am dedicating space to honestly reflect. I’ve been thinking about recent conversations with close friends and I wanted to revisit the big question of “Do you want kids?” I do not wish to go back and change my mind, but my perspective on children is different now that I have two. I hope my sharing can bring me closer to anyone in a similar headspace as I was 2 years ago.

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We chose to move forward with trying to grow our family because in that article I mentioned, it asked to take 5 days to pretend as if you decided that you were going to have a child. And take 5 days and pretend as if you decided not to have a child. Remove blocks and allow yourself to dream positively and big.

The option with a child was simple and pure. I imagined a day at the ROM, learning about dinosaurs together before grabbing dinner and heading home for bedtime routine. The option without a child was relaxing. It was a chill day of visiting cafes and exploring neighborhoods together while we worked remotely in another country for a month at a time. It was quiet and blissful.

When I tried to do this exercise, I would often be interrupted by doubt. Specifically the option with a child. There was so much unknown and therefore a lot of fear. What’s going to happen to my body? How hot is it going to be on Earth when my child is an adult? Will it be worth it? What if I regret it?

I did my best to silence the murmurs and by the end of the 10 days I felt like the image of our little family was worth the risk. I love my husband so much, I would certainly love a tiny version of us. I believed we would figure it out. So we started trying. And shortly after that, my grandfather passed away. I felt a spiritual wind that soothed me with how the end of a life is just enough energy to start another.

Turns out that energy was enough to clone itself—and now I am a mother of 13 month identical twin boys. I would tell that confused girl that everything will be okay. Now, I think back to those big fears and questions I had.

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What’s going to happen to my body?

Girl, it goes through a lot. My skinny-with-no-shape figure flaunted my midriff as her best asset and now after birthing my boys, I vow no one will ever see me in a bikini until I get a tummy tuck. When people say I look the same as before, I feel like I’ve deceived them somehow. My ribcage is bigger, my waist is thicker, my belly is wrinkled, my hair is thinner. Everything I was afraid of came true. Except for one thing—how I’d handle it. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to see the good my body did, but I do. I’m so proud of myself for that. For the first time ever I feel motivated to stick to a gym routine not just for vanity but for my health and longevity. It’ll take time and I’m happy to be on the journey. I am genuinely in awe of my body for creating two humans at the same time. It is only fair I treat her right.

How hot is it going to be on Earth when my child is an adult?

The world is f*cked. Like truly. I felt despair before having kids and now objectively the world is even more f*cked up than when I was pregnant. I’m not a very positive or hopeful person when it comes to what’s happening in the world but now I have to be. I need to work towards a better version of tomorrow so my kids believe in their future too. “How can we make the Earth less hot when my child is an adult?” kind of mindset. It’s really hard to feel hope when everything feels awful—a live-streamed genocide, self-serving billionaires making policies, extreme climate disasters…the list goes on. And although I’m still mad about everything, I choose to channel it into something progressive to show my boys apathy isn’t the solution. Everything is political and mothering is no exception. I am embracing that, and I am more hopeful than ever.

Will it be worth it?

I feel bad that my answer isn’t a wholehearted “YES!” but a meek “I don’t know.” It makes it sound like I’m indifferent about my boys, but that’s absolutely not it. It’s just a stupid question because it’s impossible to answer!

To evaluate it, I look at what I give versus what I receive. I give a lot. Everything I have really—love, time, energy, money. I used my body to grow and feed them and my body will never be the same. I sacrifice freedom and spontaneity. I give mental space and physical space in my home. When parents say kids change everything, they really mean it. It’s really hard (the twins thing definitely make it worse). And what do I receive in return? It’s hard to describe because it’s spiritual. In return for my labour and sacrifice, I feel my soul—that has drifted far—returning to my core. I am more patient and empathetic. I am more passionate. I am more grounded in what actually matters. I am more human.

It’s a high price to pay to have children, but I get something truly invaluable.

The reason why I have a hard time answering “is it worth it?” with a wholehearted YES is that I don’t know what my life would have been like without kids. Could I have found this sense of peace and centredness another way? That’s the missing piece to the equation. Which leads me to the last question…

Will I regret it?

I don’t. BUT it’s more complicated. When I was evaluating the two versions of my life with and without kids, I think I missed a crucial piece and if I had hindsight I don’t know if I would have made the same decision. That part feels hard to say, but honest.

The simple dream of seeing our little nuclear family go to the museum had meaning. I got to witness life take shape and grow, which I had a direct impact on. I cared about the future and the next generation. I was leaning into the full experience that life has to offer—embracing the hard things because it makes the good so much better. It was subtle. The smallest thing like imagining myself having to kneel down to get to my daughter’s eye level so we could chat about dinosaurs—it made me feel whole. It felt good and it felt right.

In my second dream, I was relaxed. I felt love for my husband and so grateful for the life we were living. It was carefree, but it also felt lonely like something was missing.

I realize I was comparing two versions of life where the only difference wasn’t just having a child or not. The real difference was that in one with a child I was living for a greater purpose. In the second I was living for myself. In one I was connected to life, and the other I was disassociating. My imaginary life without kids I was comfortable and privileged. Lucky enough to be one who gets to look away.

That’s what I wonder. I wonder if my decision would have been different with this insight. In the world without kids, what do I care about enough to want to learn more about it? To help shape its future? How do I want to use my time on earth staying connected to people and contributing to a greater collective? There is no shortage of injustices to be righted.

Parents talk as if they know something everyone else doesn’t. Yes, parenthood is a wild and unique experience, but at the root of it, becoming a parent simply awakens an inner knowing that everyone has in them—to love another human being. There is a lot to unlearn from the damage an individualist and capitalist society does to our nervous system. It makes us forget we are all human first, needing to care for and be cared by others.

And maybe without having kids I would have gone on living the same life feeling like I was too insignificant to make a difference, oblivious to what I am capable of. I don’t know.

Having children doesn’t make you a better person. You make you a better person. There are many ways to live a child-free life that is just as fulfilled and just as connected to your heart and soul if you are intentional and practice. You best believe, I would have been an excellent child-free auntie to my friends’ and siblings’ children.

So no, of course I don’t regret having my boys. I love them entirely! I hope I can raise them to be boys who care. They are a lot of work and some moments feel impossible, but I thank them all the time for helping guide my soul home. It wouldn’t have mattered what I chose, there’s always going to be moments where you wonder “what if…” Think deeply about what connects you to your humanity most. Like I wanted to tell that confused girl, everything will be okay (and also Free Palestine).

Koren Leung is a product manager, a hobby enthusiast, a writer, and a mother of identical twin boys living in the heart of Toronto, Canada. This essay is the first post of her brand-new substack—No big, No small—which you can subscribe to and support here.