I’m Letting Go Of The Guilt Of Not Giving My Child A Sibling

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We have decided not to have another child, and it’s a decision that’s bittersweet and painful, but necessary.

I always imagined having a bigger family. I envisioned the warmth and chaos of siblings playing in a cozy home, the joy of seeing my son grow into a kuya, and experiencing the milestones of a second child. But for all the dreams of another baby, the reality of my first pregnancy and the aftermath has reshaped my thoughts. The struggle to conceive, the toll that it took on my body, and the painful labor experience, which ended in an emergency cesarean, all play their part in the complex feelings I wrestle with.

Having a neurodivergent child added another layer of responsibility and care. Raising my son with the right therapies and support requires emotional investment and financial commitment. I am choosing to invest fully in his future, to maximize his potential, and to provide him with the stability and support he needs. 

'I’d like to believe love is not measured in numbers, and that sometimes, the greatest act of love is to protect and care for the family you already have.' —Thea Alberto-Masakayan, mom of one

Wanting a second baby means further dividing your time and energy. Yes, people say that the heart expands with each child, and I would like to believe them. But in this economy, the realities of raising two children are daunting. Apart from having resources to live decently, you’d like to give your children time; you want to show up for every school event, heartbreak, or celebration. But the reality is, you only have this much energy to give. And if I spread myself too thin, I risk not being able to be the kind of mom my son needs me to be. I’ve learned that it's okay to step back and acknowledge that two kids may be more than I can handle. 

I have come to accept that I will never feel the familiar weight of a baby pressing against my ribcage again, or the sweet sensation of baby kicks beneath my skin. I won’t experience the quiet, intimate moments of breastfeeding anew, or the sleeplessness while rocking a newborn to sleep. These memories are precious, but they are also past. They are memories I must let go of, not because I want to, but because my capacity to be the mother I aspire to be can’t stretch any further.

There’s a lot of guilt that comes with this decision. Some days, I wonder if I’m letting my son down by not giving him a sibling. He sometimes asks for a sister, and even prays for this fervently in church. Then I think about the future—what if he feels lonely without that built-in companion? What if he regrets not having someone to share his life with? These questions linger, but deep down, I know that my choice is about giving him the best version of me. My love for him isn’t limited to the number of siblings he has; it’s about creating a home where he feels supported, loved, and empowered. This is a difficult and painful decision, but it is one I make with my son’s future, my family’s well-being, and my own health in mind. 

It helps that I am not alone with these thoughts. Recent data from the Commission on Population and Development (POPCOM) reveal that Filipino families now average fewer than two children, with urban areas like the National Capital Region dropping as low as 1.2. For someone like me, who has chosen to raise just one child, this shift feels like an affirmation of a decision that sometimes challenges cultural norms. 

I’d like to believe love is not measured in numbers, and that sometimes, the greatest act of love is to protect and care for the family you already have. The decision not to have a second baby has helped me focus on cherishing my time with my son, and making the most out of every day. And when I look at him, I see everything I ever wanted and more. He’s enough, and while my family will remain small, it will grow full of love, respect, and laughter. 

More and more Filipino families are 'one and done'. Here's what they wish others would understand about their choice.