How Do You Get a Biological Clock to Stop Ticking?
For a long time I thought I was immune to maternal feelings and the mythical biological clock. It felt as if my body simply didn’t have the ‘mother-switch’ that we’re supposedly born with and, when I was younger, that felt like another reminder that I was abnormal in comparison to most of my friends and peers.
During my late teens and early twenties, I was in an eight-year relationship and, because of this, people just assumed that I would have children sooner rather than later. I suppose that I just nodded along in agreement because there’s nothing like complete dissociation from the truth to make you feel better.
The older I’ve gotten and the more people I’ve met, I’ve realised that there are a plethora of women who aren’t sure about starting a family and there are plenty of contributing social factors that mean women are choosing to have children later in life, and it’s helped make me felt better about my deciding not to have my own children.
Then that elusive biological clock started ticking and something I had assumed was, honestly, a little bit made-up, suddenly started to feel very, weirdly real.
I am furious at R. Kelly for being a massive nonce because now would have been an opportune moment for Bump N’ Grind lyrics to perfectly encapsulate the differing states of my mind and body.
We’ll have to make-do without. Fuck you, R. Kelly.
According to Healthline, your biological clock is actually just a term to used to refer to the fact that it’s harder to get pregnant as you age, with evidence suggesting that the quality of both eggs and sperm worsen the older you get, with women’s reproductive health being generally effected more than men’s
Can you believe that women are born with between 4-5 million eggs?
According to London IVF and Genetics, my being 35 means that my fertility has begun to decline and will keep doing so until I hit menopause, and while the psychological effects of the biological clock appear to be based on societal pressures and anxieties, I can’t help but feel like that’s exactly what my body is trying to tell me.
Frankly, I can’t believe my body has the audacity to demand children from me considering I am not actively looking for a relationship. If someone wants to come and sweep me off my feet then that’s great but in the meantime my focus is on other things.
Also, this body has watched me on enough rubbish first dates to know better!
Still, beyond not having found anyone I actually want to have a relationship with, I’m not sure even Prince Charming could convince me that having my own children would be the right choice.
In 2019, for Psychology Today, Catherine Aponte, Psy.D. wrote about ‘The Myth of the Biological Clock’ and argues that when Richard Cohen coined the term ‘biological clock’ in the 1970’s, it was less about educating people are fertility, and more about steering women towards motherhood and away from the blossoming sexual revolution.
I agree with what much of Aponte, Psy.D. writes and I don’t doubt that even recent cultural conversations around motherhood are being had to put the pressure back on women to be having and raising children instead of other, personal desires and despite economic barriers.
Still, that doesn’t feel like what I’m experiencing in my own body. I don’t feel the sudden urge to have children due to social expectations or pressure. It feels significantly different and, honestly, beyond even my own understanding.
So, how do I break it to my biological clock that I’ve decided not to have my own children and so can she please stop ticking?
Whether I describe this feeling as my biological clock, an influx in mega-hormones or, I don’t know, Bertha, I feel like I owe her an apology and maybe a gift basket because I can’t quite get her to accept our reality. She’s still pinning for pregnancy and to nurture a miniature me and I just don’t think that’s something I can give her.
In a way, the yearning for it all feels very separate from me. It feels completely out of my control and rises against any rational thought I have. I can feel the hormones fighting against my better judgement; my limbs aching to hold babies, my chest feeling tight with emotion around my niece, and my mind wondering about what kind of man I’d want to sire me a bloody child.
When I think about being a mother, of everything that it entails, I can feel a wild and fiercely burning want to experience it, all while being grateful and relieved that when I leave my niece after a few hours of soft-play I am able to go home alone for a nap.
These two states of mind have had to coexist for a couple of years now and I wish I could get my body to accept what my mind already knows. I can’t help but wonder whether I’m always going to feel such a sense of heaviness about this, the lingering question of potential regret, and whether I’m simply fated to always feel as if something is missing.
I too wonder whether this longing is less about motherhood and more about love in general. I watch my sister and her daughter, and the way this little human loves her mother so completely, so effortlessly, and question whether I long to fill a hole that has always been missing inside of myself; the longing to be loved, to love myself, without doubt or hesitation.
Still, I am a firm believer that just because you want something doesn’t mean you should have it, and a child shouldn’t be a replacement for another kind of love. In the same vein, my want for a baby does not mean that I should have one without questioning myself capable first. Working in both education and care services, I’ve seen enough parents who have children they’ve surely wanted but have been ill-equipped to raise.
I suppose that the saddest part for me is that, if it were not for the many ways my brain has been so thoroughly misunderstood and all the damage that has caused me, I think I would be a good mother. I think that I have an endless amount of love to give a child, I love to nurture and protect others and, ironically enough, so much of what has caused me great difficulty and pain in life has enabled me to develop an unwavering want to understand and help others.
Unfortunately, I think the parts of myself that would have made for great maternal attributes are better put to use as an aunty, a Godmother, a caregiver and a friend. I think that is something my body is just going to have to get used to, all while enjoying the benefits of a childless life - because there are so many benefits!
Of course there are. I am mothering myself more than I have ever allowed before. I am focused and dedicated to my health and my future; to family and friends, and, eventually, love. I couldn’t be so selfish if I had children and so how lovely to be able to fulfil just a fraction of that maternal want through the children in my present and future.
Maybe the best mothering decision I could ever make for my hypothetical children is not to have them. I’ll remember that while the clock keeps on ticking.
❤️