Shruti Gopinathan reflects on her experience raising an only child in the Bay Area.
As an only child, I’ve lived a life filled with freedom, self-discovery and quiet reflection. Now, raising an only child in the Bay Area, I often feel like an outlier. In a region where Uppababy double strollers crowd our sidewalks and parks, our family of three stands
out.
Coming from a culture where larger families are often seen as a sign of stability and tradition, our choice invites endless curiosity and well-meaning concern. At gatherings, even in the progressive Bay Area society, we field questions about our child’s potential
loneliness or assumptions about our career priorities. These reactions reveal a surprising blind spot in a region that prides itself on embracing diversity.
The truth is, our decision isn’t about scarcity or selfishness. It’s a choice that allows us to fully engage with our child, foster her independence and teach her that family isn’t defined by numbers.
For me, being an only child was a gift. Growing up, I mastered the art of solitude. My time alone wasn’t lonely; it was fertile ground for imagination. I built worlds with books, explored my identity without comparison and cultivated empathy by closely observing others.