“‘If you make me choose, you won’t like seeing me walk out the door.’
Those words were part of a conversation I had with my now ex-husband during our marriage—a marriage shadowed by emotional manipulation and repeated arguments over having children. The topic was a constant rollercoaster, sparking hope one moment and despair the next. We would discuss taking the next steps toward a family, and sometimes he would give his approval. I would leave for a doctor’s appointment, blood tests in hand, anticipating the possibility of pregnancy. I never kept strict dates, but I kept a watchful eye on the calendar, always measuring hope against his unpredictability.
In those moments of waiting—wondering if my period would come that month—he would insist the timing wasn’t right due to work, or that he had simply changed his mind. On occasions when I was far along, waiting for blood test confirmation, he would tell me that if I were pregnant, he wanted me to get an abortion. Sometimes, he would threaten physical harm, reminding me of the stairs he could push me down if I tried to pursue motherhood without his consent.
It never occurred to me to trick him into pregnancy, and I was deeply offended by the accusation. After years of emotional turmoil and countless conversations about my yearning to become a mother, we reached a breaking point. I laid my heart bare, explaining that motherhood was the most important goal of my life, far more than any other achievement I had or could have. I told him that I would rather navigate parenting alone than miss this chance entirely. I warned him that if he forced me to choose between being his wife or fulfilling my dream of becoming a mother, he would see me walk out. One month later, he did.
Leaving a marriage full of abuse and emotional control was only the first step. I knew I needed to rebuild my life and regain stability before pursuing motherhood on my own terms. I began anew, seeking therapy to process the trauma and prepare mentally and emotionally for the journey ahead.
‘It’s a lot of hard work being a mom,’ people would warn me. I already knew that. I understood that it would be the most challenging, thankless, yet profoundly rewarding job of my life. I had always fought tirelessly for what mattered most to me, and this challenge was no different. Unsure of the official processes or even whether I could pursue them in Australia—or if I would need to travel abroad—I researched tirelessly. I learned about clinics, costs, legal requirements, and donor sperm options.
Once I formulated a plan, I booked my first consultation and began journaling every step. I wanted my future child to know every thought, every question, every decision that brought them into this world. Each entry captured my mindset, my fears, my excitement, and the careful deliberation that went into selecting donor sperm. I wanted them to know how deeply they were wanted, even before they existed as more than a faint hope.
My first journal entry, in June 2018, was clinical and detailed, almost like a report. Over time, I softened my approach, starting each entry with ‘My Dearest Darling,’ writing as if speaking to my future child directly. I completed all necessary genetic testing and prenatal requirements, attended counseling, and verified financial requirements. Then came the crucial task of choosing a donor. I opted for overseas donors, who provided more detailed medical histories and childhood photos. Reading personal notes from donors wishing their donations would bring happiness was deeply moving—it reinforced that I was on the right path. I had chosen my donor, scheduled injection dates, and was ready for the next step: IVF.
But life had other plans. During a routine follow-up for back surgery I’d had the year before, my specialist delivered shocking news: part of my disc had lapsed again, and I needed another surgery immediately. That meant canceling my IVF transfer scheduled for that Friday. My heart sank, but I knew it was the right decision—pushing forward would have risked serious complications for both me and a potential baby.
Surgery brought its own challenges. Complications required two additional procedures, leaving me hospitalized for four weeks and in intense rehabilitation. The medications alone could have endangered a pregnancy. Once cleared, I returned to my IVF journey, repeating tests and injections after the delays. Finally, transfer day arrived. It was quick, relatively painless, but the waiting two weeks for confirmation brought nerves and anticipation. The result? Negative. And while it stung, I reminded myself this was simply another obstacle, not a defeat.
Three more cycles brought the same result. Determined, I sought a new clinic and consulted an obstetrician-gynecologist, uncovering something crucial: long-term contraceptive injections had likely masked severe endometriosis. Laparoscopic surgery revealed stage four endo, causing significant damage to my ovaries, tubes, and bowels. Natural conception was no longer an option, and urgent intervention was needed. The doctors suggested I pursue pregnancy immediately, before a hysterectomy became necessary—a tight, high-pressure timeline.
With coordinated care between specialists, I began IVF again, this time using an Australian donor. The process was grueling, and I faced it with hard-earned resilience, aware of my physical and emotional limits. After years of surgeries, failed cycles, and setbacks, I finally took the at-home test on the day my period was due. Two lines. I confirmed it with a second, then a third test. My clinic blood results confirmed it later that day: I was pregnant. Overwhelmed with joy, I wrote to my future child in my journal, promising to protect, love, and guide them.
Seeing that tiny dot on the screen, hearing the heartbeat, watching the early movements—it was surreal and magical. I knew the journey ahead wouldn’t be easy. Questions about support networks and the absence of a father would arise, but I felt prepared. With determination, love, and support from family and friends, I was ready. I didn’t seek a partner; I didn’t need a white knight. My child would come first, always.
Today, I am in the UK with my daughter Scarlett, born March 2021, and another daughter expected June 2022. I write, travel, and raise my children with strength and joy, always cherishing the path that brought us together. I share my story for anyone considering this journey: it can be lonely, it can be challenging, but with resilience, love, and faith in yourself, it is possible to create a family on your own terms.”
