I don't want to have kids, but as an only child, I felt guilty about not giving my parents grandchildren. They're supporting me anyway.

• As I'm an only child, my parents' expectations of grandchildren fell squarely on my shoulders.
• The idea of pregnancy terrified me, but I didn't know how to tell my mom.

"We can't wait until Lacey gives us a grandchild!" my mother said to her sisters, sitting around the table. It was a family holiday, and adults were congregating in the kitchen. The adjacent living room was bustling with children ranging from toddlers to not-quite preteens.

"Say it with me, Mom: grandpuppy," I said.

My family chuckled as my mom rolled her eyes and shook her head, brushing off my comment as a joke.

In my head, the only joke was whether I would even adopt a dog. When it came to children, I found myself leaning more and more toward an emphatic "not for me." But I wasn't sure how to break the news to my parents — mainly because I was their only shot at having grandkids.

The weight of being an only child

As much as I've always loved being an only child, it did come with one major downside: My parents' dreams and expectations fell squarely on my shoulders.

I could make my parents endlessly proud or thoroughly humiliated, and the pressure to avoid the latter felt immense.

Additionally, I was not only an only child but an adopted one. My parents often (affectionately) referred to me as the miracle they'd waited for over several years. My mother would say my addition to the family was part of God's plan. She wouldn't have it any other way, and she often implied I'd fully understand once I became a mother.

Accepting my desire to be child-free took time

The problem was I didn't want to be a mother. I'd long struggled with a fear of pregnancy, one not assuaged by the idea of painful labor that resulted in a new life I'd then be responsible for. And though my adoption story gave way to the idea that I didn't have to give birth to be a parent, I still couldn't see myself with kids.

I've never known anyone who wanted to be child-free by choice. Everyone I knew had kids or desperately wanted them someday. Growing up evangelical, I heard never-ending testimonies about how children were a blessing and a woman's primary life purpose.

Naturally, I assumed my feelings would shift over time. But they didn't — they only grew more resilient.

Opening up to my mom gave me peace

The guilt that hung over me felt heavier than anticipated. It was one thing to make a choice that would radically change my life, but it was another to know it would alter my parents' dreams. What would they do if I told them I didn't see myself having kids, which would rob them of becoming grandparents?

With each passing holiday, I knew I had to explain my feelings. I sat my mother down first. "Listen," I said, "I've been thinking about this for a long time, and I just don't ever see myself having kids."

She seemed stunned. I watched her try to wrap her mind around the declaration. She eventually replied: "OK, but you might change your mind. Never say never."

Of course, I already knew. But saying the sentence out loud for the first time gave me a peace I'd never experienced before; it just felt right for me.

Because of the initial response, I wasn't confident my parents believed my conviction. They'd skirt the subject when others asked about the possibility of me getting married and having babies. I knew that deep down they felt confident I'd come around if I found the right guy.

With time, my parents came around

I continued to be honest that I'd never felt much of a maternal instinct. Initially, my mother gently pushed back. She said she also hadn't wanted children until her youngest sister was born — suggesting my aversion to pregnancy and motherhood could dramatically shift. Despite my love for my family's and friends' children, I still hadn't had the same revelation.

I was transparent about wanting to travel, write, and shape my life for myself rather than around children. I know many found this idea selfish, but it felt equally selfish to bring a child into the world and hope it would give me a purpose. There were numerous reasons motherhood wasn't in my future, but the biggest one was that I knew in my heart it wasn't right for me. My parents had always taught me to trust myself.

Now, at 30, my guilt has subsided about choosing this path, in part because my parents not only came around to my decision but started being outwardly supportive. Instead of focusing on the potential future they'd seen for me as a parent, they now enthusiastically celebrate accomplishments they know matter to me — such as becoming a writer.

Processing my feelings in therapy also helped me understand that I can be responsible only for my own happiness and well-being. I can't make life-altering decisions like motherhood based on guilt, shame, or coercion.

Ultimately, I'm thankful my parents are both still proud of who I am and who I'm becoming, even if "mother" is never one of the titles I'll wear.