When I was in my late twenties, I attended six baby showers in the span of a few months. At each of them, I was the only single woman without kids. Over baby names and dirty-diaper games, I would inevitably field the question from the other women: 鈥淒o you want children?鈥 My response was always something like,听鈥淢aybe? I鈥檓 not sure. One day?鈥
That was听an easy thing to say in my听twenties. Children were an idea looming in the back of my mind, but it was an听abstract kind of thought. I had plenty of time to figure out if I wanted to be a mom. I suppose I assumed that I would have kids one day. I played by the rules when I was young;听career,听marriage, and children were the path set out for me by society.
As I entered my thirties, my close friends started to have babies. The notion of a ticking biological clock entered my head, and I became aware that my childbearing years were starting to dwindle. Yet it was just a niggle that would occasionally pop in听here and there. My thoughts and attention were elsewhere: surviving and grieving a broken engagement, switching career paths, and听competing at the highest level of my sport.
I would occasionally pay attention to that nagging voice in the back of my head, but my answer was still, always, I don鈥檛 know. It was odd for me.听I figured that I鈥檇 wake up one day and suddenly know definitively whether or not I wanted children. I envied friends of mine who were strong in their convictions one way or another. For me, the indecisiveness continued.
Two major factors heavily influenced my uncertainty around having children: my life as a competitive endurance athlete, and my ongoing recovery from an eating disorder.
Female athletes often face a difficult decision around motherhood, as听our prime athletic years generally also fall听within our prime childbearing years. While there are many stories of elite athletes who successfully take a break from their sport to have a child, it鈥檚听a risky calculation that could potentially mean the end of a competitive career.
I entered the height of my听athletic career in my early thirties, competing听year-round in obstacle-course racing, ultrarunning, and other endurance events. Having a child was not on the top of my priority list. I assumed I鈥檇 find a partner and end up turning my attention to that chapter of my life in my mid-thirties. By听then, I figured, I would be done with my most competitive years as an athlete and want to focus on something new.
During my early and mid-thirties, however, I was also in the throes of a twenty-year battle with anorexia nervosa, tiptoeing toward听recovery听but still very much in denial. I hadn鈥檛 had a period听in听over ten years, and there were so many incredibly loaded questions that came up for me when I thought about pregnancy and childbirth.听Was I even fertile anymore? Would my body changing during pregnancy trigger my eating disorder? What if I passed the eating disorder on to my children?
Factoring in the eating disorder weighed heavily on my mind. My ex-fianc茅 once told me he would never have kids with me until I 鈥済ot it under control.鈥 While those words stung, I have to admit, I agreed: If I couldn鈥檛 even take care of myself and my own body, how could I be expected to take care of a child? The last thing I ever wanted to do was to model an unhealthy relationship with food for听my child.
Like many other women, I decided to try and buy myself more time. In my mid-thirties,听I started to explore the option of freezing my eggs. It took several months to even get an appointment with a fertility doctor, and then he laid out the procedure and the chances that it would even work for me: one round would maybe yield听15 to 20 eggs听max, and the probability of successfully inseminating, implanting, and carrying one to term was around 5听percent. And one round would cost $20,000. Further complicating the whole process was the fact that I鈥檇 need to take at least a month off from running to avoid , a condition in which听the ovary听twists around the ligaments that holds it, cutting off blood flow.
I tried to schedule the egg-freezing procedure for听the off-season, but it proved difficult with the limited听availability of appointments. Still, I forged ahead, calling specialty pharmacies, getting quotes on medication costs, and setting up ultrasounds. The day before I was supposed to start, I attended a mandatory class on how to self-inject the multiple fertility drugs needed to prime ovaries for egg extraction. There were about 15 women in the room, and I was the only one there without a partner by her side. I left the class in tears, feeling utterly alone. With races coming up in the next few months, I called the clinic and canceled the entire procedure. I wasn鈥檛 sure exactly why at the time, but听I couldn鈥檛 go through with it.
Time ticked on. One relationship ended, another began. The longer my own indecision lasted, the more I realized that biology was going to end up making the decision for me.
It鈥檚 funny, most of the people in my life wouldn鈥檛 say I鈥檓 exactly the motherly听type. Frankly, I鈥檝e never really liked kids that much. I don鈥檛 coo at babies. I hated babysitting when I was a teen. I鈥檝e never even changed a diaper. I just don鈥檛 relate well to children鈥擨鈥檝e always been a bit uncomfortable around them.
So听a few months ago, when I found myself 37 years old and recently single again, I could not have anticipated or prepared myself for the sudden wave of grief that came over me when I finally confronted the fact that my time may have run out. That maybe I wouldn鈥檛 ever have biological children, and that I wouldn鈥檛 have a say in it anymore.
Why was I grieving something so hard that I was never even sure I wanted? How do you mourn a life path that you never took? So many questions raced through my head.听If I was truly indifferent or undecided about having children all these years, why did I now suddenly feel a massive hole?
I sat with that and the feelings that came up with it. Honestly, I鈥檓 still sitting with them. I鈥檓 not so sure I鈥檓 grieving the loss of not having children, so much as听the loss of it being my own choice. Perhaps听grief is what听happens when we transition from one life phase to another.
Because I know that if I really wanted children, there are ways to do that: I could try a sperm donor, or I could consider adoption, both of which are wonderful options. And I听may choose one of them at some point in the future.听Call me selfish or old-fashioned, but I always wanted to raise children with a partner. I wanted it to be our decision, together. I have zero interest in doing it another way. Perhaps that lack of interest signals to me that the grief isn鈥檛 so much about children per se听but the pervasive 鈥渨hat if鈥 that one day, 20 years down the road, I will regret not taking that life path. By then it will be too late.
Our society values women more when they are mothers than when they aren鈥檛. I鈥檝e always had great admiration for working mothers who 鈥渄o it all.鈥 We are听taught from a young age that an acceptable purpose in life is to raise听a family and leave a legacy in the form of our genetic material. While my parents have never pressured me to have kids, I am aware that my sister and I are the last two of the Boone line, and our lineage will die with us. (My sister is child-free by choice.)
Lying in bed at night, I鈥檝e started to ask myself questions like, Who will take care of me when I鈥檓 90 years old? Who will grieve when I die? Who will pass my stories through generations? Let me tell you, that does nothing to help you fall asleep.
I told myself that those weren鈥檛 the right reasons for having children. I also couldn鈥檛 articulate reasons why I would want to have kids, other than being afraid I would regret not having them. But who instills that regret in me? I realize that I鈥檝e internalized the overwhelming message from society that this is the life path I should take鈥攖hat raising children is how to lead a valuable life. But is that really what I want?
There are a few things I do know. I have a lot of love to give鈥擨听love hard, and I love fiercely. Once I learned to take care of myself, I learned that I really like taking care of others. While children may be one avenue for that, it鈥檚 not the only way. It鈥檚 just the way that our society has normalized. I鈥檓 slowly coming to terms with the fact that, like so many other things in my life, maybe the path that society has laid out is not the one for me. I鈥檓 sure that whichever path I take, and whether I decide to become a mother or not, there will be grief and loss. But there will also be joy and meaning, and that鈥檚 what I鈥檒l hold on to.