I got high with a family. The kids lit grass on fire to join in. That’s when I knew I wasn’t meant to be a parent.

I love kids. Always have.

But this one moment stuck with me and made me realize, I’m probably not meant to be a parent.

Years ago, I was living with a family I was close to. They had two young kids. We’d cook together, eat together, laugh, play music. They were warm, earthy, eccentric. It felt like a second home.

One night, I was out back with the parents around the fire pit, and we were smoking a little weed (we were all adults). The kids came out, giggling, grabbed stalks of dried grass, stuck them in their mouths, lit the ends on fire and shouted, “We’re smoking the grass too!”

I laughed… and then I panicked.

They were just being goofy. I don’t think they even understood what we were doing. But that was the moment it hit me: I don’t want that kind of responsibility. I don’t want to carry the weight of being someone’s emotional North Star. I’d rather mess up quietly on my own, not risk shaping a whole human being with my bad decisions.

It’s weird. I still love kids. I have friends with kids. I love being around them. But that moment? That was clarity. Parenting requires a level of intention and grace I’m not sure I have.

I still think about that night.

Has anyone else had a moment like this?