Mourning Motherhood
A three-part story on the conscious decision not to freeze my eggs and making peace with what that means for me and my future of becoming a mom.
Yes, I’d always imagined I’d be a mom – that I’d get married and have babies – but the truth was I’d never felt a strong urge to make it happen with my previous partners and I didn’t want to do it alone. That part I knew for sure.
To listen to this story, tap below:
PART 1 | Exploring freezing my eggs and my reasons for ultimately deciding not to
I was 34 when my gynecologist first asked me about my plans for motherhood.
“Have you considered freezing your eggs?” she said. Followed by, “Because you’ll want to do it sooner, than later.”
“Given your age” wasn’t stated, but it was implied, as was the fact that I was without a male counterpart to seal the deal.
Thirty four. Single. No romantic prospects in sight…But I have time, right? Freezing my eggs now seems unnecessary, not to mention very expensive. I mean seriously, who has $15,000 (plus) just lying around?!!!
“No, I’m not there yet.” I replied. “I mean, yes, I want to have kids someday, but I feel like it’ll happen if it’s meant to.” Someday.
A slight raise of her eyebrows was the only response I got before she proceeded with performing the pap smear.
Well that felt awkward and slightly judgmental.
At 37, still single, I started considering it.
I talked to friends and acquaintances who had done it. I looked into local facilities that perform it, as well as the money and prep that go into it. I even had a generous offer to help cover some of the cost.
And then I sat with it, asking myself if I was doing this because I thought I had to (or should) or because I actually wanted it?
Yes, I’d always imagined I’d be a mom – that I’d get married and have babies – but the truth was I’d never felt a strong urge to make it happen with my previous partners and I didn’t want to do it alone. That part I knew for sure.
I think it’s amazing that we live in a country where you can secure your chances of becoming a mother – at a cost, of course – and that so many women choose to do it on their own.
That’s just not me, though.
…I made the conscious decision that I wasn’t going to freeze my eggs. Part of me still believing that if it was meant to be it would be, the other part slowly accepting a different reality: the one where I don’t have kids.
Maybe it’s because I was raised by a single mom, so I’m personally aware of how hard that route is, or because despite my spiritual dreamer tendencies (thank you, Pisces moon), I’m still a grounded realist at heart (hello, Virgo sun) who understands that sometimes, you can’t have it all.
Being a single mother on a freelancer’s salary, without any kind of paid maternity leave, paying for health insurance out-of-pocket, and with no nearby family or support system to help? That reality just didn’t appeal to me.
As I neared 38 – still on my own, still with no romantic prospects and still in the midst of a global pandemic that made dating even harder than it already is – I made the conscious decision that I wasn’t going to freeze my eggs. Part of me still believing that if it was meant to be it would be, the other part slowly accepting a different reality: the one where I don’t have kids. The one where I’m the “cool aunt” who travels, writes and makes art and continues to learn new skills as a way to fill the void.
That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done – letting go of the life I thought I’d have and surrendering to whatever will be without scientific intervention or romantic settling in an attempt to secure my chances of potential conception.
Enter the grief…
PART 2 | The grieving process
It’s a strange thing to feel grief over something I’ve lost, but never actually had, yet I’ve spent the past two years mourning motherhood and getting used to the idea of never experiencing it firsthand.
Never feeling the excitement over finding out I was pregnant and sharing that with my love, my partner, my husband.
Never feeling the changes in my body as I grow a tiny human. The flutters I might mistake for gas, the sore boobs, the growing belly. The chance to be without a period and crippling cramps for nine whole months!
Never experiencing morning sickness in the beginning or the aching back and swollen feet toward the end – although I can’t say I’m too sad about missing out on those things.
Not being able to wear cute, form-fitting dresses to show off the bump or come up with a clever way to announce “we’re having a baby” to the world.
Never having people touch my belly or celebrate me for this major life milestone in the form of showers, gifts, warm embraces and happy tears.
Never feeling the kicks and somersaults from within by my future soccer player or dancer.
No tiny clothes and blankets, little bows and bibs.
No decorating the nursery.
No finding out the sex, which I totally would’ve done, because #virgo and #planner, but then again, maybe not. Maybe I’d surprise myself and want to be surprised. I might never know.
Not seeing the love of my life become a father. This one still gets me. I don’t even have a “love of my life,” but I’m still crushed over not getting to witness my hypothetical husband as a dad and when I see other loving, doting fathers – in movies, on TV, in books, on social media or in real life – my heart breaks a little more and I almost always cry.
That last one likely hits especially hard, because my own father wasn’t really doting or even around much, but we’ll unpack that another time.
Back to motherhood and what I’ll miss…
Never going through labor and holding my baby for the first time.
Never breastfeeding, or at least trying to breastfeed – from what I hear, that one’s a real mindfuck.
Never bathing my little one in the kitchen sink or freaking out a little when the weird umbilical cord nub thingy finally falls off. Gross, but also, awww.
No late night feedings or sweet cooing sounds.
No first birthday, first steps, first words.
Not seeing who my baby would become and how they’d be in the world or how they’d interact with my nephews – all seven of them.
So many things I’d need to let go of, make peace with, mourn.
And that’s what I’ve been doing – slowly, tenderly – while also gradually opening myself up to other possibilities for this life.
My life – not the one I thought I’d have…
PART 3 | Embracing life without kids
And slowly, something else – another feeling – has moved in: relief.
So here we are, present day.
I’m 40, still single and doing okay. Pretty good, actually! And happy. Most of the time.
I still get sad every now and then and expect those waves of grief will continue to wash over me, probably for a very long time, but they’re becoming less frequent, less overwhelming.
And slowly, something else – another feeling – has moved in: relief.
Relief for what I don’t have to endure or go through because I’m not a parent.
The tantrums at Target or countless sleepless nights – first, when they’re a baby and then later when they’re older and I’d worry over them dating, being on social media, driving, or worse: school shootings.
Relief that now that I’m 40, the question of having kids has stopped being asked of me and “the clock is ticking” pressure I felt for so long has finally released.
Relief that I feel good about my decision and have no regrets over not freezing my eggs, even if it means I’ll never be a mother.
Over the past two years I’ve come to accept that while I’ve already been and will become a lot of things in this lifetime, being a mom likely won’t be one of them – and that’s okay.
Because today, I’m mostly at peace with it and still believe in trusting the timing of my life and that whatever will be, will be.
That, and I kinda love being the cool aunt.
And sleeping in.
But as with any grief, I’m moving through it, taking it day by day and doing my best to be patient and kind with myself when it sneaks up on me, usually in the most unsuspecting of moments and awkward of ways.
Like last week when my server walked up to my table just as I my eyes welled up while watching a cute little family interacting nearby. The tears spilled over before I could reign them in and she was officially stuck there, eyes wide, mouth open, visibly struggling to find the right words to say. I simply shrugged, wiped my cheeks and said, “they’re just so cute,” tilting my head toward the dad with his baby. And then I got on with the business of ordering my dinner for one.
It wasn’t the first time I was moved to tears in public and it certainly won’t be the last, likely to my future servers' chagrin.
…mourning motherhood isn’t something I’ve done – a box to be checked or an item crossed off my to-do list – it’s something I’m continuing to do, while also moving forward with my life…
Grief is a process and one that’s taken me two years to realize this very important thing: that mourning motherhood isn’t something I’ve done – a box to be checked or an item crossed off my to-do list – it’s something I’m continuing to do, while also moving forward with my life and learning to embrace the “and”...
Being sad about not having kids and at the same time relieved, excited even, at what it might mean for me instead.
And so, dear reader – without promise or expectation, as life continues to unfold – this story, my story, is ongoing and its outcome…to be continued…
xx
Sadye