Fertile, Nearly Forty, + FOMO
How I took my power back from my ticking biological clock
Over five years ago, I found myself in an unhappy marriage, yet spending month after month (8 to be exact) trying to conceive. I’ve always known I was meant to be a mother, and the truth is, I was ignoring all the signs of a dysfunctional relationship in an effort to follow my bodies deepest desires.
I know I’m not the first person to do this.
Fast forward four years, I find myself single and betraying a friend to begin a connection with a man who had shown an interest in being a father one day — a rare specimen not often found in the heavily polyamorous circles in which I inhabited.
After deeply hurting this friend (and colleague) I sat in reflection on my ‘Why’. Why was I feeling such urgency to dive into connection, friendships be damned? It was obvious, I didn’t need much pondering.
As a 35 year old female (at the time), I felt the time pressures start to weigh on me.
“I’ve got on average, 5-6 years left of good eggs, relationships usually take 3-4 years before the male partner is willing to consider children, which doesn’t leave me much time to fuck around with dating”.
Original artwork I created before I started my fertility journey. Inspired by the feeling of grief that came with every moon cycle. Notice the dying eggs mid-right, and looming biological clock top-left.
The urgency from my biological clock deeply affected my ability to ease into relationships, looking to ‘lock it down’ way sooner than either of us were ready. The decision to finally freeze my eggs came shortly after this realization.
I won’t say the decision was an easy one to make though, with a price tag upwards of $10k and an invasive procedure that punctures the vaginal wall. Little did I know it was actually the grapefruit-sized ovaries (usually walnut-sized), and the 3-months-pregnant size bloating, that were the real kickers.
Thankfully it was all worth it in the end, with a highly successful retrieval of 24 mature eggs at 37 years old, and the peace of mind to boot.
Through this journey, I learned a few other powerful lessons about vulnerability, redefining intimacy, and the importance of community.
This shit is vulnerable
I recall a memory from almost two decades ago, watching a friend start her IVF journey, crying as she injected herself with hormones on her living room floor. At the time I had no concept of the challenges women faced when undergoing this journey. I’d all but forgotten this memory, until I found myself in the exact same situation. Belly, needle, tears, living room floor.
Though I wanted to “stay strong” (a side affect of first-born daughter syndrome), the process was physically and mentally exhausting and brought me face-to-face with my vulnerability.
Breaking down in front of my partner when I spilt some of my meds
Calling a friend in panic when I had an allergic reaction to said meds
Self-consciousness over my weight gain and stomach covered in bruises
In Somatic work, we know that suppressing feelings can create lasting harm. Embracing my vulnerability by crying, sharing, asking for help, and expressing my journey through art, helped release the fear and anxiety held in my body.
When we allow ourselves to fully feel, we connect more deeply with others and ourselves.
Don’t hold it in, friend. Let that shit go.
Sex is more than just penetration
When told to abstain from sex for two weeks post-procedure, I was initially disappointed. Yet, this was about penetrative sex specifically, and I quickly discovered that everything else was still “fair game.” This limitation brought creativity—heightened nipple sensitivity and playful dry-humping brought deep intimacy and connection, not to mention solo time with my vibrator.
For many couples, temporarily taking penetrative sex off the table can rekindle creativity and connection. If you’re feeling stagnant in your intimate life, try shifting the focus and exploring new forms of touch and play.
It takes a village
I attended almost every appointment alone, sitting across from hopeful couples who had come together. Yet, I wasn’t truly alone—friends, family, and my community rallied to support me. A friend stepped in when my partner’s aversion to needles kept him from helping with injections. Another friend organized a calming weekend before my procedure, offering the kind of support often expected only from a romantic partner.
Our lives become so much richer when we lean on our larger support networks. Too often, couples expect each other to be our “everything,” but opening ourselves to support from friends, family, and community lightens the load and strengthens all our bonds.
Original artwork I created during my fertility journey. Inspired by the feeling of hope that came with every Ultrasound monitoring the progress of my follicular growth.
Freezing my eggs has been a deep act of self love. A way to honour my body’s knowing, preserving the possibility of motherhood without feeling rushed in love or connection.
When we listen to our bodies, we can create space for connection without the pressure of locking things down. It’s about trusting that your body knows what it needs—and embracing the freedom of choice.
I feel grateful to live in a country that provides me with that freedom of choice.
