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Turning 40: How I Found Peace, Love, and Confidence Without Having Children

Jan 14

6 min read

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A joyful woman enjoying the outdoors with her dog, embracing life at 40 with a radiant smile.
A joyful woman enjoying the outdoors with her dog, embracing life at 40 with a radiant smile.

I recently bought a new planner for 2025. I've always been the kind of person who thrives on structure, organizing my week with precision, and filling my days with intention. As I opened the front cover, my eyes landed on the page for personal information: "If found, please return to..." It felt almost ritualistic as I began to fill in my name, address, and phone number. In a flash, I found myself smiling, adding a heart over the “I” in my name, “Randi.” For a moment, I was transported back in time, imagining a little girl filling out the first page of her diary, full of excitement and possibility.

 

But then, the weight of reality hit me. I’m not that little girl anymore. I’m a woman about to turn 40, and in two weeks, I’ll be marking the milestone. It’s strange—sometimes, I still feel like I’m that child, full of wonder and curiosity, even as I stand on the cusp of middle age. I look at the women around me—my friends, many of whom are married with children—and I wonder, how the hell do they do it? How do they balance the demands of marriage, motherhood, and career, all while maintaining a sense of self?

 

I never imagined myself as a wife, never fantasized about the wedding dress or the life that came with it, unlike so many other women I know. I’ve never felt a strong maternal pull or a deep yearning to have children, and sometimes, that makes me question why?

 


A robin perched on a park bench beside a winding path, symbolizing moments of reflection and contemplating life's crossroads.
A robin perched on a park bench beside a winding path, symbolizing moments of reflection and contemplating life's crossroads.

At 40, my mother had already been married for years and had three children. I, on the other hand, can't even imagine waking up in the middle of the night to tend to a crying infant. I can’t fathom coming home after a long day of work and having the energy to care for another human being, let alone sustain a conversation with a partner. I wonder if it's my chosen profession—psychotherapist—that has shaped this aversion, or if I’m just inherently selfish.

 

I know I’m behind by society's standards. I didn’t graduate from college until I was 28, and I didn’t meet my “person” until 39. Sometimes, I carry a sense of shame about it, but I remind myself that everyone’s path is unique. This is not a race, and I’m proud of where I am now.

 

Occasionally, I wonder if my family’s trauma and my parents’ divorce delayed my journey, and I suspect there’s truth to that. I remember years ago, as I worked through You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay, identifying two core fears that shaped my life. One was the fear that I wouldn't recognize my worth and potential to achieve my career goals. The other was the fear that I wouldn't heal from my relational wounds in time to find a healthy partner. And by "in time," I always thought that meant before it was too late to have children. While I was never committed to the idea of motherhood, I assumed it was something that would simply happen—because that’s what people do, right?

 

But somehow, by grace or serendipity, I did find my worth. I gained the confidence to pursue my career, and eventually, I opened a successful private practice as a psychotherapist. It’s not only a dream come true but a blessing to guide others on their own paths to healing and self-actualization. As for love, I managed to meet my incredible partner just two weeks after my 39th birthday. We fell in love quickly and, understanding my age and its implications, we talked openly about marriage and children early on.


When I was 38, a few friends and patients casually brought up the idea of freezing their eggs. It was a topic I had always sidestepped, never considering it a priority in my life. But one day, after a routine visit to my gynecologist, I found myself accepting a referral to a fertility clinic. For the first time, I allowed myself to truly consider the possibility.

I reached out to the clinic for more information and quickly discovered that my insurance wouldn’t cover any of the expenses. The consultation alone cost several hundred dollars, and the additional costs for bloodwork, hormone treatments, and egg storage would amount to $10,000 to $15,000—funds I simply didn’t have. In a desperate attempt to find a way around this, I began researching egg donation programs, hoping that if I could donate some of my own eggs, I might be able to raise the money to freeze my own.

But that hope was short-lived. I soon learned that the cutoff age for egg donation was 35. I was too old.


A close-up of a shattered glass surface, reflecting the theme of disappointment and broken expectations.
A close-up of a shattered glass surface, reflecting the theme of disappointment and broken expectations.

The news hit me like a wave, and I crumpled to the floor in tears. It was as though everything I had avoided and ignored for years came rushing to the surface all at once. The reality of it was undeniable: it was too late for me. All the years I spent avoiding this conversation—this decision—had caught up to me.

 

About a year later, I recall a conversation I had with my therapist just before I met my new partner. She asked me, “If money weren’t an issue, would you want to have a child on your own?” I guess she meant adoption or a sperm donor. I laughed it off at first, thinking, How could I do that? I have a business to run, bills to pay. But when she asked me to imagine for a moment, I allowed myself to fantasize about the possibility. I could see myself raising a child, loving it fiercely, in a world I could create for it.

 

But that’s all it was—a fantasy. The reality is, I’m a single, self-employed woman with no financial support. I couldn’t take the time off to care for an infant, nor could I afford to hire help. I need my 8 hours of sleep, and a crying baby would throw my entire life into chaos. I couldn’t manage it.

 

Then came Ryan. He was divorced, with a 15-year-old child, and open to the idea of having more children with me if I wanted. We decided to let whatever would happen, happen. I was running out of time! If I got pregnant, we would raise the child together. But now, just two weeks shy of 40, I’m grateful I never got pregnant.

 

In September, we got a puppy—a decision that, in hindsight, feels almost absurd given my lifestyle. I’m overwhelmed. I don’t even live with him full-time, but on the weekends, when I’m with the dog, I often find myself stressed, impatient, and frustrated. I can’t help but think, How does anyone do this with children? As much as I love the puppy, his constant whining, his neediness, his tendency to chew anything in sight—it all feels intolerable.



I think back to the years I spent building my independence, the years it took to heal from childhood wounds. For so long, I filled my emptiness with alcohol, weed, and toxic love affairs that kept my nervous system at an all too familiar heightened state. I was terrified of being alone, afraid of abandonment. But through years of therapy, I learned to sit with myself, to not only tolerate but cherish my solitude. I created a home of peace, a place free from the chaos and addiction that once ruled my life. I found quiet. I found safety. I found myself.

 

And yet, here I am, about to turn 40, still not certain if I want to have children. I know I have found a wonderful partner who would be the most incredible father, and I know children can bring immense joy. But they also bring stress, disruption, and changes that I’m not sure I’m ready to face.


A woman enjoys a rejuvenating day at the spa, radiating relaxation and happiness in her cozy robe.
A woman enjoys a rejuvenating day at the spa, radiating relaxation and happiness in her cozy robe.

Call me selfish, but I want to hold on to the peace I’ve cultivated. I want to nurture the love and communication I finally found with a partner. I want to continue feeling vibrant, to keep the intimacy in our relationship alive, without the changes that pregnancy and parenthood would inevitably bring. I don’t want to resent him for things outside of our control, for the shifts in our dynamic that would arise from raising a child.

 

I’ve worked very hard to create the life I have now. I’m expanding my business and nurturing my creative outlets. At the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I want to curl up with a book or watch my favorite show in the peace of my own home, without the constant demands of another life. I cherish this peace and newly found calm nervous system.


A vibrant 40 year old woman rings in the New Year with elegance, radiating confidence and happiness in a chic black dress set against a glittering background 
A vibrant 40 year old woman rings in the New Year with elegance, radiating confidence and happiness in a chic black dress set against a glittering background 

Maybe I’ll want children in a few years. Maybe not. Ryan has reassured me that we could adopt if I changed my mind. That thought comforts me as I imagine us, years down the road, retired and content, with a quiet home and just the two of us.

 



Will I regret this decision? Will I miss out on motherhood? I don’t know. But maybe, just maybe, this isn’t my path in this lifetime—and that’s okay.

Jan 14

6 min read

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