I have no regrets about not having children. I still wait for

Hear the words of Amanda Donohoe, spoken with rare honesty: “I have no regrets about not having children. I still wait for the pang of guilt, but I have none. I tune into the television show ‘Nanny 911’ occasionally which reminds me how much patience and love it takes to be a good parent.” These words are a quiet declaration of freedom, a reminder that not every path must be walked, and that the worth of a life is not measured by whether one follows the choices of the many, but by whether one walks with truth, with dignity, and without regret.

The world has long praised parenthood as the noblest of callings, and indeed, it is a sacred task. To bring life into the world, to nurture it with tireless love, to guide it with steadfast patience—these are acts of immense sacrifice and endurance. Yet Donohoe, in her wisdom, reminds us that such a path, though honorable, is not the only measure of meaning. For to raise a child demands more than the desire to do so; it demands a spirit prepared for unending labor, for selflessness, for years of trial and joy entwined. To step away from such a path is not failure, but honesty, if one knows the burden is not theirs to carry.

History too teaches us this truth. Many great women and men who bore no children left behind legacies that nourished nations. Florence Nightingale, though never a mother, poured her love into the care of the sick and the broken, changing forever the practice of medicine. Leonardo da Vinci fathered no heirs, yet his works became the inheritance of all humanity. Their lives remind us that creation takes many forms, and that not all creation is of flesh and blood. Some give life not through children, but through art, healing, wisdom, or service.

Donohoe’s reflection also strikes at another truth: that to be a parent requires immense reserves of patience. In every generation, the task is the same: to nurture young souls who are wild, stubborn, full of unshaped fire. A careless or unprepared heart may wound rather than nurture. Thus, Donohoe watches even a humble program like “Nanny 911” and sees what is demanded: love that does not falter, patience that does not break. She knows that such virtues are not lightly summoned, and she honors them by acknowledging their weight.

Too often the world pushes souls into roles for which they are not suited, and then condemns them for faltering. The wise, however, know that each must follow their own calling. To live without children is not to live without worth, but to walk a different path. What matters is not whether one chooses parenthood, but whether one chooses truthfully, with awareness of one’s limits, one’s gifts, and one’s destiny.

The lesson, then, is this: Do not measure your life by the choices of others. Regret comes not from walking a different path, but from betraying your own heart. If your calling is parenthood, embrace it with full patience and love, giving yourself wholly to it. But if your calling is elsewhere, do not be ashamed. Pour your gifts into the world in other ways, and you will still leave behind an inheritance. For every life that is lived in honesty enriches humanity, whether through children born, or through works, deeds, and kindness sown.

Practical wisdom stands before you: Honor those who parent, for they labor endlessly. Honor also those who choose differently, for they, too, contribute in ways unseen. And for yourself, reflect deeply before taking on such a sacred burden. Ask whether you have the patience and love to give, and if not, let your life’s energy find its truest expression elsewhere.

So let Amanda Donohoe’s words be remembered as a quiet hymn to authenticity. She shows us that freedom from regret lies not in following the expectations of the world, but in living truthfully. Parenthood is noble, but it is not the only nobility. The true measure of a life is not in the children you raise, but in the legacy of love, patience, and authenticity you leave behind.