I froze my eggs. And now...I don't think I'll ever use them.

I froze my eggs. And I don't think I'm ever going to use them. That's not something we say out loud. But it's the truth I'm living.

In 2013, I made a decision that felt bold at the time.

Not trendy. Not widely understood. And definitely not covered by insurance.

I took a $25,000 consulting job and said, very clearly: "This is my egg-freezing job." Because I knew it would cost me about $17,500—tests, meds, procedures... all of it.

So I worked for it. And I paid for my possibility. I wasn't just freezing eggs. I was buying time. Buying space. Buying options. Options as a single woman.

Options so love came later (hopefully) so I wouldn't have to rush into it just to answer my biological clock.

And options in case it didn't. Options in case I chose motherhood on my own terms.

Because the truth is—I wasn't waiting. I was deciding.

And if I'm being even more honest now... I could have had a child. And from where I sit now, as I reflect in hindsight, I should have just had the child. Not just frozen my eggs.

I could have done it. With a donor. With a friend. With someone who would have been a great father—even if not then a "forever" partner.

There were real conversations. Real considerations with timelines, exploratory timelines...

Real moments where a different life was within reach. And I didn't choose it. I don't have regret. But I do now have awareness. And I have been having some honest reflections with myself as I wonder if I made the most thoughtful decision or the one that was easier and more convenient.

Because sometimes what we call "giving ourselves time"... is really postponing a decision we don't feel ready to make.

I am 48 now. And at this very moment, I can't imagine becoming a mom. And I know I don't want to carry a child. Because whew!... the thought of being peri-menopausal (with a very regular cycle), fibroids that need to be removed, and a knee replacement scheduled—I can't fathom being pregnant.

Not in this body.

Not in this season.

Not in this life I've built.

I don't want to wake up every few hours. I don't want the constant noise. I don't want the physical and emotional demands of early motherhood.

And even saying that... I feel the weight of what I'm releasing.

Because there was a time when I could have. And maybe even a time when I would have. So now I sit here... still paying $1,200 a year.

Still getting the bill.

Still occasionally ignoring it.

Paying to preserve something I may never use.

And asking:

What do I do with these eggs?

Because the truth is this: I didn't freeze my eggs to become a mother.

I froze my eggs to have the option to become one.

And now... I'm choosing something else.

But let me be clear about what I will always stand in:

I will always do something unconventional—and in doing so, help shift belief in the possibility for someone else. I will always empower women to make decisions that give them the most options.

The best options.

The most aligned options for them.

And I will always believe this:

If you have a deep desire to be a mother—do it.

Because if you wait long enough, if you fall deeply in love with your life, if you learn to love yourself over and over again, if you pour into the children around you— you may find peace.

But peace is not always the same as fulfillment.

And some desires deserve to be honored when they are alive.

Because everything we are given, every advancement, every option... comes with a question:

What are you choosing?

As for me, at 48, childless, not-yet-married but in a growing and thriving relationship, I'm choosing my life as it is. Fully. Honestly. My current truth?

I can't imagine having to wake up in the middle of the night to put an infant on my boob. It's a difficult reality to accept—but it's my truth. For now, I'm leaving the eggs where they are—frozen. But I don't know for how long., because after almost 13 years of paying annual storage fees, staying "in-the-middle" feels like its own kind of grief. I guess I'm grieving the fact that I didn't just do it then, while I was in my 30s, before middle age swept in and settled me anew.

But I want to hear from you—

Where are you, really, in your fertility journey?


The original article was posted on Substack April 9, 2026.

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