What do you do when you know you’re meant to be a mom but haven’t find the person to raise the kids with? That was my life reality at the age of 38.
I grew au at a small suburban town in the 80s and 90s, in what many would call it a perfect family. My dad was the breadwinner; my mom stayed home with my sister and me. My childhood was full of happy memories, Barbie dolls, made-up families, and dreams of my own future family. I picture of a loving husband, three or four joyful kids and a happy life.
But reality wasn’t like that I planned for. Finding love turned out to be the hardest part I’d face. I had been dating since I was 13, 25 years of looking for the right person. I came close a few times, but something always told me, “No, he’s not the one.” Mistreatment, alcohol abuse, or simply not feeling like myself with someone kept me childless at 38.
At 34, I finally faced my fears and got my fertility tested. I always suspected it wouldn’t be easy, and I was right. The tests showed my capsules were aging faster than the rest of me. The doctor mentioned terms like AMH and FSH, which meant little to me then. Despite my fear, I decided to move forward with freezing my eggs. I had to do something extreme to reserve the chance of having my own child.
I was late for six months, hoping maybe the right person would come along. But no one did. At 35, I completed two rounds of egg freezing, creating 20 eggs. I felt like I’d accepted myself time, a backup plan while I continued dating and living my life in the city, weekends spent with friends Having mimosas and telling each other dating stories.
Then COVID hit. At 37, I was still single, and my friends had moved on, married, living with partners, or moved. Alone, I had to confront my future. I found an old journal entry where I’d written that if I were still single before turning 38, I would pursue motherhood on my own. I knew the time had come.
I started researching “Single Mother by Choice,” a term I didn’t fully because I didn’t choose to be single, it was just how life had turned out. Information was sparse. I wanted real, personal stories, insights into day-to-day life, and guidance from women who had walked this path. Questions ran through my head constantly: Can I do this? How will it affect my child’s life? What will people think?
Writing became my lifeline. Pouring out my fears and doubts helped me see things more clearly. It also sparked an idea: if my writing helped me, maybe it could help other women like me. I started my blog, Once Upon a Bebe, to encourage women to write their own fairy tales.
A month later, I created an Instagram account to share my story. Within a month, I had 1,000 followers, women thinking about single motherhood, actively trying, or already raising children. I was building a community and connecting with women who understood my struggles. Messages poured in: women thanked me for creating something they had been searching for, for making them feel seen and understood.
It’s been amazing to connect with others and realize I’m not alone. It’s also strengthened my confidence in my decision. Six months into this journey, I am not yet pregnant, but I remain hopeful. I continue sharing my story, inspired by the support of my growing community.
The path of motherhood turned out nothing that I pictured of. It’s been filled with doubts, questions, and unexpected challenges. But I know this: I would regret living a lifetime without being a mother. I am committed to making my dreams real, no matter what.
