More than once in my life have I seen an adult look at a very small child and comment that they envied that child’s complete lack of responsibilities. 

I have a daughter who is currently 1.5 years old. The closest she comes to having responsibilities is being adorable so the adults taking care of her want to be nice to her, and even that isn’t a real responsibility because on the days when she is cross and bratty I will still love her and take care of her. In fact, at this point I will generally think it’s my responsibility that she is being cross and bratty. 

We have a deal, you see. She exists, and I love her and take care of her. 

But I don’t envy her at all. 

Because sure, yes, she has zero responsibilities. No pressure to perform. Not a care in the world. No consequences for not doing her work.

But she also has almost no control over her life. 

She doesn’t get to decide what her days will look like – where she will go, what she will do, who she spends time with. She has little control over what food will be made available to her, or when she will wake up or go to sleep. She doesn’t get to choose if some tall person will swoop down and pick her up suddenly whether she wants to be picked up or not. 

Now, she can scream loudly if she hates something – and sometimes she does. She can reject some things and embrace others, and because I am fond of her I pay attention to this and I like giving her things I know she likes. But she’s still at the mercy  of me deciding to do that. And sometimes I decide not to do that because I don’t think the thing she likes is good for her. And there’s nothing she can do about that except ask for it repeatedly and/or try to make the not giving it to her so unpleasant that I change my mind. 

I remember being a child, and I remember the complete lack of control. Not being able to decide that I would go somewhere I really wanted to, because I had to get permission. Not being able to choose to go home when I was tired, because I had to wait until my parents were ready to leave. My entire life in the hands of someone else. 

I also remember not having to decide what to make for meals every day. That part was pretty neat, to be honest. 

I didn’t necessarily hate it all the time at the time. Sometimes it chafed, of course, to want something and not being able to have it. But it was also the only reality I had ever known, so most of the time I accepted it as just the way life was. My parents were in authority over me. This is childhood.

If you’re fortunate (and I was), your childhood life is in the hands of someone who loves you, which means they actively want the best for you, and who sees you as a human being. I wasn’t miserable at all, just to be clear. I was just a human child. I was also one of seven children so a certain amount of falling in line was required for a functional family life, but my parents were not overly controlling and the more we matured, the more responsibility and freedom we were given. As it should be.

I do also remember the lack of responsibility. I don’t remember having quite zero responsibilities because my memory doesn’t extend that far back and my parents didn’t infantilize us, but I remember when my responsibilities were simple tasks and my main focus was getting them out of the way so I could play. 

And I don’t miss it. 

Not even slightly. 

Except for the meals. 

I enjoy being an adult. I enjoy choosing what to wear every day. I enjoy planning my days. I enjoy saying no to parties and events that I don’t want to attend, and yes to the ones I do. I enjoy choosing who I will spend time with. I enjoy deciding when I will push through and keep working, and when I will stay in bed an extra hour because I have a headache. I enjoy knowing that if I am regularly miserable, it’s because of my choices and it’s up to me to change it. 

But sometimes I get tired.

I think when adults wish to be children, they imagine they could give up all their responsibilities and still keep their freedom. 

We tend to do this when wishing we had something we don’t. We assume we would keep everything good we already have. 

But real freedom has consequences, and as soon as you have consequences you have responsibility – or you don’t actually have freedom.

• Freedom: the power to choose your actions, speech, and thoughts
• Consequence: a thing that happens as a result of the actions, speech, or thoughts
• Responsibility: ownership of or accountability for the actions, speech, or thoughts that created the consequence 

An immature mind thinks that the ideal is freedom without consequences – without responsibility. But once again, that’s assuming we could get something we don’t have without giving anything up.  

If you actually have no consequences for the choices you make, that means you have no consequences for the choices you make. Yes, you don’t suffer for poor choices, but you also don’t experience anything good as a result of what you’ve decided. There are no consequences. Your choices don’t actually matter, because they have no effect on the outcome.

Is there any point in even being able to make choices then?

I think that freedom with a complete lack of responsibility creates a complete lack of meaning. 

My daughter is entirely taken care of, and generally adored. If she acts a fool, people will look at her and think there is something wrong with her parents, because they don’t assume she is responsible for anything, even her own behavior.

Because she isn’t free.

I am partially taken care of, because I share my life with a good man and I have extended family and friends, but ultimately the quality of my life as I experience it is up to me. I’m probably not generally adored, but I think I have earned enough love and respect to be a functioning human. If I act a fool, people will look at me and ask what is wrong with me, because they assume I am responsible for my own actions.

I am free. 

I have responsibilities.

And I prefer that.