I don't want to have kids for like 10 years. I still have a lot

The words of Avril Lavigne — “I don’t want to have kids for like 10 years. I still have a lot to do. I don’t even know if I could handle a dog right now. I’m so not ready. Someday I’ll be a mom but not until I’m in my 30s.” — speak not from rejection of motherhood, but from the wisdom of self-awareness. Beneath her youthful candor lies a lesson as old as the mountains: that every season of life bears its own fruit, and to force one before its time is to rob both of their beauty. In her honesty, she acknowledges the sacred truth that maturity, purpose, and love must first be cultivated within before they can be offered to another life. Her words remind us that to wait is not to delay destiny — it is to prepare the ground where destiny will flourish.

In saying she has “a lot to do,” Avril speaks for all souls in the early bloom of their journey, when the world is still wide and calling. The ancients would have recognized this impulse as the fire of becoming — the same spirit that drove young artists, thinkers, and wanderers to shape themselves before shaping others. A woman who knows herself first, who has tested her strength, followed her passion, and faced her fears, becomes not only a mother by biology, but a mother of wisdom — one who can give life with consciousness, not obligation. The ancients taught that creation without readiness breeds chaos, but creation born of patience brings harmony.

Her admission — “I don’t even know if I could handle a dog right now” — though humorous, carries a profound humility. It is rare in any age for one to admit unreadiness. The proud often rush into the duties of adulthood out of fear of being left behind, while the wise pause to recognize the magnitude of responsibility. In acknowledging her limits, Avril reveals her reverence for life itself. To care for another being, even an animal, requires stability, gentleness, and self-control — qualities that grow only through time and trial. Her humility transforms her youth into strength, for those who know they are not ready are far wiser than those who pretend they are.

This sentiment finds echo in the life of Queen Elizabeth I of England, who, though pressed from every side to marry and bear heirs, chose to devote her early life to the pursuit of leadership, education, and self-mastery. She understood that her first duty was to herself and to her calling — that to rule a nation, she must first learn to rule her own mind. Like Avril, she was not rejecting motherhood or love; she was honoring the journey of self-formation. And when she finally took her throne, she led with a maturity that inspired an age. From restraint was born greatness.

Avril’s foresight also speaks to a broader truth about modern womanhood — the power to choose one’s moment. Where the women of old were often told when to marry and when to bear children, she stands in a lineage of those who reclaimed that decision as sacred. To say “not now” is not to defy nature, but to listen to it more deeply — to feel the stirring of one’s own readiness, and to act not from pressure, but from purpose. The ancient philosophers believed that all things must follow their appointed time: the seed before the harvest, the dawn before the day. So too with motherhood, so too with life.

Her words, though spoken lightly, carry the weight of self-possession — the understanding that the greatest gift we can give to the future is to first become whole ourselves. Many rush to build families while still fractured within, seeking fulfillment through others rather than from within their own being. But Avril’s vow — to wait, to grow, to live — is a reminder that the most sacred duties in life demand wholeness, not haste. To build a home, one must first build the soul that will dwell within it.

And so, from her youthful honesty, we may draw this eternal lesson: Know your season. Do not sow when you are meant to wander. Do not parent when you are meant to learn. Let the years of freedom teach you resilience, the seasons of solitude teach you peace, and the fires of ambition teach you strength. For when the time for creation comes — whether it be children, art, or legacy — it will spring not from fear or pressure, but from wisdom.

Thus, Avril Lavigne’s words, though modern, echo the teachings of the ancients: that a life well-timed is a life well-lived. To wait with purpose is not weakness, but mastery. For the one who knows when to say “not yet” is already walking the path to “now.” And in that readiness — not rushed, not forced — both the woman and the world will find harmony.