What If I’m Not Meant To Have A Baby Right Now?



A few weeks ago, late at night, I found myself under the covers scrolling through the internet, desperately looking for answers. A psychic had just told me I wouldn’t get pregnant for another two, maybe three years. She told me to stop worrying about whether or not my body was broken (it wasn’t), and to instead, focus on my career.


“The universe has big plans for you, and they’re setting you up to have an incredible career,” she continued. “But don’t worry, you will have the family you always dreamt of. Just not right now.”


I was surprised by my reaction to the news. It felt liberating. Really liberating. The complete opposite of how I’d ever imagine myself to feel after having a stranger tell me it would take another two years to have a baby. I was already 18 months into trying, and what I endured emotionally and psychically tested me in more ways than I can sum up in one article. The first 12 months was spent wrapping myself in an excruciating blanket of shame. I felt broken; my body felt broken. On the worst days, I thought I wasn’t worthy of becoming a mother, and the shame debilitated me.


When I left the psychic, I felt lighter and more connected to myself than I had in months, 18 to be exact. But I was still left with questions: What does it mean when things aren’t working out the way you had imagined or hoped they would? How do I trust? I mean really trust, trust that things are always working out for me? And so, I turned to Google.


I landed on some debatable psychology and spiritual websites, but nevertheless, I found a quote that intrigued me:


Your disappointment might be the best thing that has ever happened to you. It opens the door to opportunities for healing our past issues, changing how we’re living now, and creating a future based on who we are — not who we expected to be.


It was a lot to absorb. My disappointments are opportunities? For healing? Really?


I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. Similar to the Netflix hit show, Stranger Things, I felt stuck in the upside down world. I was half asleep, half awake, in a deep and meditative galaxy, recounting all of the moments that occurred over the last 18 months that I could potentially consider “opportunities for healing.”


I woke up the next morning unrested, while still experiencing a somewhat lasting effect of the liberating feeling I had felt the day before. As I went about my morning I had a deep desire to list all the ways in which I had potentially “healed” throughout this process of trying to create life inside my belly. I grabbed my notebook and my favorite pen:


I stopped looking outside of myself for answers, and developed a deeper, more intuitive connection with my body. Over the last 18 months, I’ve seen more healers, gone to more workshops, and read more articles on the internet than a college student who took 6 years to graduate. I was taking 20 supplements for conception, going to weekly yoga and acupuncture sessions, sitting through mind-warping fertility appointments, and spent $4,000 to be told something that should have felt reassuring but actually felt like thousands of tiny needles in my heart: You are fine.


It was never my intention to learn how to put my own needs first, but it was imperative that I did. It was the only way I could see myself getting out of the deep emotional hole I fell into.

Alexandra D’amour


The more I relied on other people for answers, the more anxious I became. Everything I read contradicted something I had read the day before. I was desperately trying to figure out what was “wrong” with my body. I knew what I was doing wasn’t working, and I had to change. And so I stopped taking supplements, including my prenatal pills. I stopped relying on other people to tell me how I should feel. And then, I started focusing on developing an intuitive relationship with my body, while learning how to appreciate it. I started thanking my uterus every time I got my period. I convinced myself that my body wasn’t broken. And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.


Out of a place of pure emotional exhaustion, I learned to put my own needs ahead of everyone else’s. As a recovering people-pleaser, putting my own needs ahead of others doesn’t come naturally to me. While trying to conceive, and also grieving the loss of my father, I experienced depression for the first time, with a side of daily debilitating anxiety. It was never my intention to learn how to put my own needs first, but it was imperative that I did. It was the only way I could see myself getting out of the deep emotional hole I fell into. I learned how to practice the power of saying no. I learned how to create a social calendar and live a life that was created with me in mind first and foremost. I learned to say, “I’m not okay,” and rely on others to help me.


I stopped comparing myself to others, and realized that their success has nothing to do with me. Eighteen times, I felt incredibly disappointed when I could feel cramps come on, or when I saw red stains on my underwear. During those months of shame-inducing moments, I had to emotionally deal with others’ pregnancy announcements. I won’t sugarcoat it; the visceral reaction my body and mind would have every time someone shared their exciting news was utter devastation. Their upcoming bundle of joy reminded me of the life-less uterus I had, and made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of that kind of joy. I wasn’t worthy of becoming a mother. It brought up old, deep childhood wounds of rejection and a very much divided, divorced family. When my best friend announced she had conceived on her first try, something inside me broke. I knew I could no longer tear myself apart each month. I could no longer refuse to celebrate the joy in the lives of the people that mattered to me the most. I learned my triggers and gave myself permission to process, and that other people’s successes have nothing to do with me, my worthiness, or my joy in life.


Disappointment and self-suffering allowed me to change the way I live my life. To start living one with more boundaries, less self-loathing, and more self-love than ever before.

Alexandra D’amour


I stopped relying on the stories I told myself about the timeline of my life. “I’m going to be a young mom and get pregnant before I turn 30,” I used to tell myself. Then, on my 30th birthday, I changed to, “I’m going to give birth to a baby in 2018.” When it was clear that wasn’t going to happen, I realized all the examples I’d made up in my mind about how my pregnancy and life into motherhood was supposed to play out. They were all elaborate and so often resulted in feelings of confusion and deep shame. A few months ago, I called a friend in pure resolve after I got my period and said, “That’s it, I’m all out of stories. I give up!” These stories emotionally crippled me, and when I ran out of them, I decided to stop creating them. Timelines are the most ridiculous human-made invention ever.



Like the advice Google has bestowed on me before, my disappointment truly was a door for healing my past issues. Writing down my list of lessons about the absence of life kicking inside of me allowed me to believe that things are working out, even when it doesn’t feel like it.


Disappointment and self-suffering allowed me to change the way I live my life. To start living one with more boundaries, less self-loathing, and more self-love than ever before.


Not having the thing I wanted most provided me with so many incredible opportunities to create a better and happier present and, ultimately, future. Somewhere, somehow, the gods above, the universe, or maybe the upside down world, know what’s best for me, my path, and my happiness. Instead of creating life inside of me, I’m meant to create life elsewhere. For the first time, in a very long time, it feels good to be believe that I’m just not meant to have a baby right now.


photography for onourmoon by Britney Gill 


1 Comment


  1. I wanted to get pregnant right after we got married when I was 27 and due to bumps in the road, did not get pregnant til 31. I look back on it and realize I wasn’t emotionally ready to be a mom then and now at 32 I have the tools to raise my sweet little guy. The universe does not work with timelines. You will be a great mom and I have faith that you will get pregnant at the right time.