Disclaimer: This is one woman’s experience and story navigating thoughts around fertility and starting a family. As with any part of this decision, it’s deeply personal and every choice is valid. Our thoughts are with those who have navigated loss, infertility or the judgement that can sometimes come with making this decision.
I always figured I’d be a mum. I just imagined it was something that would happen and I wouldn’t have to worry or really think about it. I’d find the right person to do it with, I’d pop out a couple, maintain my career (and of course my body!) and I’d be under 35.
When my long term partner and I dramatically split at 28, it was the first time I felt a tinge of worry. I was so scarred I couldn’t imagine getting to the point of finding someone to have a baby with, let alone go on a date to do the actual baby making.
I spent a good four years single. Mum was worried that I’d miss the boat. “I just worry that by the time you’ve recovered emotionally from this…” she trailed off. I told myself “if it’s meant to be, it will be”. I knew I didn’t want to do it on my own and in a way that was freeing. I felt like as long as I hadn’t met anyone the decision was out of my hands. Because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being indecisive. Ask me when I want to have a baby and what I want for dinner tonight, and I’ll tell you the same thing. “I don’t know”.
Meeting my current partner
I was 33 when I met Liam. Something about being in my first healthy, stable relationship, with a man who I loved and respected, and he, me – that really amped amped up the baby anxiety. We spoke about having kids on the first date- which was 11 hours long mind you (but I’ll leave that for another time).
We were on the same page. We wanted them, but we weren’t ready yet.
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I wondered what being ready would feel like. What did this magical recipe of readiness entail? Did I wait til my bank account reached a certain number? Would I feel ready if I moved out of my apartment and into a house with a fence and garden? Would I feel ready if I achieved my dream weight? If I had ticked more things off my career bucketlist? If I had a ring on my finger like the patriarchy expected me to? What about if more of my friends had babies?
A bigger conversation
We put a date in the diary to revisit the conversation in – poetically – 9 months time. I figured that was more than enough days and months for me to gather intel to come to some sort of concrete decision. The alarm went off one night in the middle of cooking dinner.
“It’s the baby alarm.”
“The what?”
“You know the alarm we made, reminding us to talk about when we’d be ready to have a baby.” I laughed. I’d just spent all of my savings renovating my apartment. I was on my third concoction of anxiety medication that year. The spare room, once uncluttered and empty (not unlike the current state of my womb) was now filled with guitars and recording equipment after Liam had moved in months prior.
I felt less ready than ever.
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Looking for clarity
I turned 34. I became obsessed with finding out the ages of when every single woman in my orbit had a baby or didn’t. A makeup artist on set had her first baby at 40. The unknown actress on the random tv show I just watched had kids in her 20s and went on to have a successful career (thanks Wikipedia!). Taylor Swift was my age and she hadn’t had a baby! My best friend’s Mum was 34.
Every morsel of information I gathered was twisted and moulded into a narrative that suited my feelings at the time. I either had heaps of time, or I was running out of it.
My mind had started going to dark places. I’d fantasise that I’d finally get that official endo diagnosis (a theory that was thrown around by my doctors for years and not unlikely) and that I’d be told it was either “now or never!”. I thought about how it must feel for those who had had decided to have children because their parents were ill. No part of me wanted that of course, but I so desperately wanted someone or something to make the decision for me.
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The thing is, as much as I was worried about not being ready I equally worried about being ready and it not happening. I was hyper aware of every story of infertility and loss. I’d shed tears for the women who were shattered and broken from years of IVF. I was terrified that could be me too. I felt the anxiety, but I wasn’t ready to act on it. I asked women around me, I turned to the internet.
“I worry that I’ll never feel ready and then maybe I’ll have to just do it even though I don’t feel ready. Will the feeling of being ready ever actually come?”
“If you’re worrying about it this much then maybe it’s not for you.”
“If it’s not a hell yes, it’s a hell no.”
“Sorry to be blunt, but you’re running out of time.”
I felt defensive. And exposed. And immediately had the ick. There were 400 comments in front of me, confronting every worry I had about this decision. I refused to respond. Anytime a notification came through I turned my phone on Do Not Disturb. How dare these strangers give me the advice I asked for. One comment slipped through.
“You’re never ready, you can never afford it, and it’s never the right time, and you do it anyway.” Would that be me?
Where we’re at
As I write this now, I’m 4 months away from my 35th birthday. The family I thought I’d have by now won’t be coming. I hate that I’m fighting a clock that I can’t wind back. I already mourn the years I may sacrifice. The years of just Liam and I. The Sunday sleep ins, the last minute trips, living in the moment and not having to plan everything in hourly blocks. I sometimes wish I was 5 years younger.
But this is not a unique experience. This is the story of many women who have come before me and will come after me. Maybe the stars will never align to how I imagined it.
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Maybe I will never truly feel ready. Maybe it won’t happen at all. No part of my life so far has worked out exactly how I imagined it. And maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to be.
I may not be ready, but as with everything that’s been thrown at me so far I’m determined to welcome and embrace every challenge with strength and perseverance.
That, I know I am ready for.
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Jess King is not only one of the country’s leading curve models, but also your everyday relatable girl in her 30s who has been through the all the highs and lows of dating, self love and being a full-time cat mum to ‘Draco Meowfoy’. Jess uses her growing digital platforms to speak on the importance of size inclusivity and body diversity, too.
