Single Motherhood by Choice—One Individual’s Journey

I first had to grieve my dream of having a baby with a partner.

The sun-kissed landscapes of northern California painted the backdrop for a transformative journey I embarked upon – a journey that would lead me to the threshold of motherhood as a single woman. An hour and a half from my home, nestled within the embrace of a more affordable fertility clinic, I stood poised on the precipice of a deeply personal odyssey. I was about to undergo the emotionally taxing and financially daunting medical procedures aimed at realizing my cherished dream of becoming a mother. However, as the receptionist delivered the disheartening news that my insurance might not cover these procedures unless I could demonstrate a medically diagnosed fertility problem, my resolve was put to the test. The question echoed within me: where was the insurance coverage for those of us daring to embark on this journey independently?

The Unyielding Desire for Motherhood

At the age of 39, I found myself among the countless women who had not encountered the right relationship at the right moment to embark on the path of motherhood. My 20s had been a time of adventure, exploration, and creativity, leaving me without the inclination to settle down. The pursuit of literary endeavors and wanderlust had taken precedence.

I had assumed that the art of falling in love in my 30s would mirror the ease of my earlier years. However, reality deviated from my expectations. Instead, I navigated a landscape of fleeting relationships that spanned six months to a year without the promise of a solid partnership.

But my single status did not extinguish the fervent desire to embrace motherhood, a yearning that coursed through every fiber of my being. Despite the discouragement that surrounded me – the admonitions that the world was already overpopulated, that the biological clock was a dispassionate evolutionary mechanism, that I would be sacrificing my independence, career, and romantic pursuits – the intense desire inside my heart refused to loosen its grip.

There were mornings when I would awaken with tears streaming down my face, unable to escape the longing that consumed me. I took circuitous routes to avoid the sight of children at play, for fear their joy would fracture my heart. The announcement of a pregnancy by a client in my psychotherapy practice or a student in my yoga class would ignite a painful pang of envy within me.

I felt like a solitary figure in a world filled with families. Throughout my mid-30s, I searched for answers through prayer, therapy, and self-examination. I questioned whether my predicament was a result of karma, a fractured psyche, or retribution for leaving good men behind.

The already limited dating pool seemed to shrink further with time. My judgment, it appeared, waned as my biological clock ticked away relentlessly. I found myself attracting men who were either unemployed, noncommittal, non-monogamous, vasectomized, or simply too rough around the edges for my comfort.

Desperation, too, played its role. In the initial months of a new relationship, I would prematurely inquire, “Do you envision a family in our future?” Predictably, men would flee, intuitively detecting the transactional nature of my interest in them as potential fathers.

In an attempt to manifest my longing, I acquired a statue of Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of wealth and abundance. I initiated daily rituals that included lighting a candle, burning incense, and offering gourmet jellybeans reminiscent of fetuses to Lakshmi. I prayed with such fervor that, on one occasion, I heard a response, a gentle assurance that my plea had been heard – “We have already granted your request. You can cease your supplications. Repetition serves no purpose.”

I understood the message; I, too, had grown weary of the relentless entreaties.

Embracing the Path of Solitary Motherhood

Upon reaching the age of 37, I resolved to become decisively proactive. A friend, returned from a conference dedicated to single mothers by choice, ignited a fire within me. “There’s a community of women doing this!” my friend declared, as though unveiling a clandestine sisterhood. It dawned on me that I, too, could partake in this journey.

While my intention had never been to divorce the concept of motherhood from the prospect of partnership, I could not afford to gamble my deepest aspirations on the unpredictable course of romantic fate. “People find love at all stages of life,” I reasoned, “but the window for childbirth is finite.”

I delved into the limited literature available on single motherhood by choice. While these resources offered valuable insights into the practical aspects of the journey, they seemed incomplete in addressing the emotional terrain of fear, solitude, shame, and vulnerability that such a path entailed.

I came to realize that I would have to chart my course through uncharted waters. I crafted a meticulous four-year plan, allotting three years for financial preparation and reserving the fourth year for the miraculous arrival of my child.

Hours upon hours were dedicated to research on adoption, foster parenting, fertility treatments, and the intricacies of single motherhood. Yet, amidst the pages of wisdom, I stumbled upon a profound revelation: to fully embrace the prospect of motherhood, I would first need to “grieve the dream” of how I had envisioned my path to parenthood.

Those words struck me with undeniable force. It became apparent that, at some juncture, I must release the grandiose vision that had sustained me throughout my life. I enlisted the assistance of my therapist to embark on this daunting journey of self-discovery.

Releasing the Unattained Dream

“What was this dream?” my therapist inquired.

“It was to meet my life partner around the age of 32, following a period of globe-trotting and creative accomplishment,” I replied. “We would welcome our first child two years hence, followed by the arrival of a second child a few years later. We would be financially secure, with a backdrop of literary achievements. My husband and I would share a lifetime of love, enlightenment, and the pursuit of truth.”

While this idyllic scenario had remained elusive, my life had not been devoid of extraordinary experiences. I had acquired degrees, penned books, explored distant lands, cherished profound friendships, and nurtured a deep spiritual connection. Nonetheless, each of these accomplishments seemed like meandering detours, missed opportunities on the path toward a traditional family life.

I was ensnared in this yearning, and to extricate myself, I needed to traverse the labyrinthine passages of grief. During countless sleepless nights, I confronted each facet of this dream and surrendered them to waves of sorrow and lamentation. It was through this process that I truly accepted that my child would not be conceived in the romantic embrace of a husband who would accompany me through the journey of labor, childbirth, and the subsequent decades of child-rearing.

A Shift in Destiny

The decision to release these dreams was a transformative juncture in my life. Through the lens of my profession as a psychologist, I had discovered the profound alchemy that occurs when one fully acknowledges and embraces their emotions. Emotions, I realized, possess a natural rhythm – a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Even the terror that had plagued me throughout this journey, when approached with gentleness and patience, metamorphosed into an unwavering resolve, laser-focused determination, and an unshakable belief in the inevitability of my child’s arrival.

It might involve greater financial investment or span a more extended period than I had initially envisaged, but my child was an absolute certainty.

With newfound clarity, I envisioned an alternative dream. It entailed financial stability, professional fulfillment, the birth of a healthy and joyous child, and the prospect of discovering enduring love after the arrival of my little one. As I vocalized this revised dream, I garnered increasing support from friends and family. A profound shift had transpired – I had transitioned from a realm of shame to one of empowerment, from paralyzing panic to resolute assurance. I was going to welcome my child into this world; I could feel it deep within my being.

The Path to Motherhood Unfolds

My journey led me through five inseminations with donor sperm and one arduous attempt at IVF, accompanied by a nightmarish 36-hour amnesia episode precipitated by the vagaries of fertility medications. It was amidst this tumultuous terrain that fate introduced me to a man, a friend of a friend, who expressed an extraordinary offer.

“You should reconsider that,” I cautioned him when he asked me out on a blind date. “I’m 40, in the midst of pursuing pregnancy, and have no intention of deviating from this path.” He was a captivating figure – an accomplished author and public personality – the type of man who would have invariably piqued my romantic interest under different circumstances. However, I was entrenched in my mission to become a mother.

A few days later, he made a call that would forever alter the course of my journey. “I am willing to assist you in conceiving a child,” he declared, “and if our romantic connection is not destined to endure, you may retain custody of the child.” This offer resonated with me in ways that previous propositions had not. It was sincere and born of genuine emotion.

After contributing his sperm for my second IVF attempt, we ventured to embrace the more conventional route of conception – one steeped in romance, wine, and the gentle orchestration of fertility medications.

One month later, he relocated to my home. In a miraculous twist of fate, at the age of 40, I received the ultimate gift from the universe – I was finally pregnant.

Our romantic relationship did not stand the test of time. However, my son, Zion, embodies the precise child meant for me. Zion has a father who extends love, emotional support, and financial stability.

After enduring years of yearning and navigating a labyrinth of medical procedures, at an overall cost of $50,000, it seems almost amusing to contemplate that my tow-headed Zion, now seven years old, was ultimately conceived in a manner that echoes the traditional narrative.

However, had I not demonstrated unwavering commitment to my pursuit of motherhood – explicitly communicating my intent to every man who entered my life – I would never have welcomed him into my arms. I would never have experienced the boundless love that now envelops me day and night.

The Path of the Solo Mother

Becoming a single mother by choice is not a journey for the faint-hearted. It entails unique challenges, ones that I have navigated with a steadfast heart. Yet, my decision to embark on this path has never been tinged with ambiguity or regret. Choosing to embark on motherhood as a single woman does not signify a lifetime destined for single parenthood; it simply reflects that life may not unfold according to conventional timelines.

Whether one attributes it to fate, karma, or faith, the moment my child rested in my arms, I felt an unwavering assurance that my life had unfurled precisely as it was meant to. Every twist and turn along the way had culminated in this transcendent moment. I am exactly where I am meant to be.