BPD Chronicles

In the early days of getting to know each other, D and I didn’t just talk about the usual things — jobs, hobbies, favorite movies. We also went deeper. We wanted to understand what mattered most to each other. So we talked about the future — where we saw ourselves in five years, what kind of life we hoped to build, the kind of people we wanted to become.

We asked each other about kids.

She used to say she wanted a big family — five children, to be exact. She’d smile when she said it, like the idea filled her with warmth. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that many, so I’d joke that I wanted just one — so we could meet somewhere in the middle. Three kids sounded right. Realistic. Balanced.

She also talked a lot about education. Frustrated by the system, concerned about bullying, even saying she’d want to homeschool. I believed differently — thought kids needed to grow up around others, to learn from different kinds of people and experiences.

Still, we felt aligned enough. Enough that after I proposed, we made a plan: we’d give ourselves a year of marriage to get to know each other fully — quirks, habits, dreams, fears — before starting to try for children. It felt fair. Healthy. Thoughtful.

And at first, it was beautiful. We were in that golden phase of marriage, learning how to live together, discovering little things about each other that only time reveals. We had our moments, of course — like when she told me she wanted to return to her home country to pursue dance (a story for another day). But overall, we were building something real.

Then, seven or eight months into our marriage, I brought up the topic of children again.

I mentioned that our one-year mark was approaching. I wanted to check in — how did she feel our relationship was going? Was she still on board with our original plan? Did she still want to start trying?

She looked at me like I was asking something completely new.

“I don’t want children,” she said flatly.

My heart dropped.

I stared at her, confused.

“What do you mean? What happened to five kids? To homeschooling them? What changed?”

She shrugged. “I’m too young. I don’t want to change my body. Not now. Maybe in four or five years.”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this.

I told her, gently but firmly, that this was a huge deal — not just a small difference in taste or preference. This was foundational. I had been clear from the beginning: having children was one of my biggest hopes in life. At 39 when we married, I wanted to have time — to run with them, carry them, play with them before my body slowed down. I wanted to be present for all of it.

I asked why the change.

She didn’t really answer. Just said she wasn’t ready. That she didn’t want to think about it yet.

I told her I understood that feelings can shift — but this wasn’t just a shift. It was a reversal. And it left me feeling like I had built a life with someone who no longer shared one of my most important dreams.

She didn’t like the conversation. She got up and walked away.

To be continued…