I recently underwent a procedure called uterine fibroid embolisation. It’s where they inject teeny tiny microbeads into your artery via your wrist, and this cuts off the blood supply to your fibroid, effectively shrinking it by up to 90%. Don’t let them fool you, though- the procedure is 40 minutes, but the recovery can be QUITE painful. For a while.

One of the (rare) side effects is early-onset menopause (although recent studies show that surgery may carry an even bigger risk), which, thankfully, did not happen to me. But, in the days and weeks leading up to the procedure, the risk made me wonder: Am I ready to have the option of being pregnant taken away from me?

Let’s be real, though. I am 41. Healthy, but I have suffered from some issues when it came to my reproductive health from the time I was 14. Whether it was endometriosis or PCOS, every month was a nightmare for me. As I have realised, it is for many women. Still, when the time came, most were able to conceive quite easily. So that was never really a concern for me. My latest gynaecologist visit also showed that, although my ovarian health has decreased slightly, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to fall pregnant once this fibroid has decreased in size.

And yet, here we are. Still ambivalent about having children and still battling with societal expectations in my head. Who will take care of me when I am older? Who will I be able to nurture and guide into becoming a kind and generous member of society? What legacy will I leave?

Two Sides of the Fallopian Tube

I can’t remember a time growing up when I ever yearned to be a mom. I wanted to be an actor and an entertainer, and, for some strange reason, it snuck into my psyche at a young age that you couldn’t be both. Kids are, after all, a huge sacrifice and require constant care and attention, even when they’re older (or so I believed, having looked at how my grandmother and mother raised us). Even my mom had to give up on her creative dreams of wanting to be a fashion designer because she married young and had two kids shortly after. Apart from the fact that opportunities like that were not given to people of colour in her days, it just wasn’t sustainable to pursue a career that had no guarantee of success or stability.

So she became a teacher of English, a job she absolutely adored and one that touched people even to this day. I can’t explain the sense of pride she feels when an old student reaches out and tells her how she changed the trajectory of their lives, just by being herself and caring.

Still, it made me wonder. Can we truly pursue what is deep in our hearts, our passion and purpose, while juggling the enormous task of raising a human being? Early evidence in my life would suggest “no.” And so, I focused on being a creative. Honing my skills. Developing my talent and manifesting all the incredible opportunities I have had. Children didn’t even play the smallest role in my life path.

When I met my first (and only) boyfriend, he seemed to be on a similar path. Granted, his reasons for not wanting kids were very different from mine, but it felt like fate. We were not meant to be parents, and I was ok with that.

Call it getting older or just being an actor interested in the human condition, but these days, I find myself wondering a lot more about what it would be like to be pregnant. To have life grow inside of you. To witness the miracle that is a female’s body, and then to give birth, and experience that can only be described by those who have gone through it.

I wonder what I am missing out on, both in experience and the deeply feminine urge that makes me want to have kids…but also not. I wonder if I am being pressured by society, or am I competing with a biological need that cannot be explained? There are a lot of questions in this article because, well, there are a lot of questions in my head.

Throwback to my gynae appointment: taking my age into account and knowing that fibroids can decrease chances of falling pregnant or contribute massively to miscarriages, and I won’t lie, I felt a mild panic. It’s all well and good to have a firm stance on something, but when that option is no longer available, one is left feeling quite bereft. Uncertain. Mourning something, although you’re not quite sure what exactly you are grieving.

Older, But Not Wiser

My partner has done the necessary healing and is quite ready to be a dad, even if it’s through other channels that are available to us, thanks to medical technology and the world being so small these days. I truly believe we are overpopulated, and giving a child (already born) a much-needed home and love is something we could easily do at any stage of our lives. But the truth is, it’s always the mother who bears the greatest responsibility. Whether you are birthing a baby or adopting one, you cannot deny your urges versus the male approach.

We are nurturers, whether by nature or from what we have observed in the female generations before us, and it is we who will do the majority of raising and looking after (although my husband would argue that he will definitely do the majority of diaper changes because…eeeuw).

How does one even prepare for that? Can you even prepare for that? I am a certain age that’s considered an adult- like a proper, fully grown adult. I pay bills and make choices every day that show you I am a grown woman. I also think I am still 21. My nieces and nephews go to festivals and clubs, and I am down for that too. Some days I sleep until 10, just because I can (and, let’s face it, LIFE.) I am easily overwhelmed and often have to talk myself through my “big feelings.” Now you’re asking me to do that, but also do it for a human being? One that relies on me in a way I can’t even fathom? And then I must do it until I DIE?

I Did It My Way…I Think

I believe this article clearly shows you how ambivalent I am about having children. When I was younger, I thought they were annoying (mostly because I myself was quite annoying). Demanding, petulant, needy, and whiny. As I have grown up, I see the beauty in their innocence. Their childish enthusiasm for every small thing, and how the world is such an incredible adventure for them every single day. I can appreciate it because, as we grow up, we lose all of that.

Children show us the deepest parts of ourselves that we have long forgotten or buried in the noise of becoming an adult. They show us hope and a future, even if we are not a part of it. I love that. I am also scared of that. Will having a child force me to heal the parts I would prefer to keep hidden?

If you’re a woman in your late 30s or early 40s quietly whispering “what if?” at 2 a.m. while Googling “chances of pregnancy after fibroid embolisation,” then welcome, friend. Pull up a heating pad and stay a while. You are not alone in this mental ping-pong match between “Do I really want kids?” and “Wait…what if I can’t have them anymore?” It’s wild how your uterus can double as both a biological clock and a ticking time bomb. One minute you’re certain your purpose lies in pursuing passion projects and sleeping in on Sundays, and the next you’re crying in the car because a baby smiled at you in the cereal aisle.

This space between “I think I’m okay not being a mum” and “What if I regret it later?” is dense. Like, emotionally chewy. There’s grief for something that hasn’t even happened, guilt for not wanting it enough, and societal noise constantly asking, “So when are you having kids?” as if that decision isn’t the emotional equivalent of climbing Everest in Crocs.

But if you’re here, reading this, I want to say: it's okay to question everything. It’s okay to feel deep ambivalence. You can love kids and still not be sure you want your own. You can be nurturing and whole without ever giving birth. And you can be terrified of the choice being taken away—even if you’re not sure you ever wanted to choose it.

Whatever decision you make, it won’t define your worth or your womanhood. You’re already whole. And hey, if nothing else, at least we know we’re not alone on this confusing, hormonal, occasionally hilarious ride.

I thought I was beautiful-until the world told me I was not.
I thought I was worthy-until the world showed me I was not.
I thought I could achieve anything and everything I wanted- until the world crushed me with its fist.

But from that crushing, a seed was planted. Not tended to or watered daily, but still it grew. Sprouted leaves and dug into the world with strong roots.
Roots to stick and leaves to shine; growing and going where the sun is forever ablaze with my glory.

Now, I know I am beautiful- and the world shows me that I am.

I know I am worthy because I was born.
I can achieve everything and anything I want- the world is an open hand, waiting to give it all to me.