Thirty-five.
It's the number I've been quietly dreading.
It's the age my fertility doctor flagged as the tipping point.
I remember attending an egg freezing event with her a couple of years ago and her saying: "If you're not actively trying for a baby by 35, you should consider freezing another round of eggs."
That conversation stuck with me. It's echoed louder as the years have passed.
I froze 12 of my eggs when I was 28.
That number felt safe at the time. It was. Empowering, even. I was proud of myself for being proactive.
But I also remember her saying these would be the best quality eggs I'd ever freeze, because I'd never have 28-year-old eggs again.
And now I know - even 12 eggs might only give me one viable embryo - or none - if I ever need to use them.
So if I want more than one baby, I need to be prepared.
I know too much now to pretend otherwise.
At 35, things start to shift - quietly but significantly.
Egg quantity and quality both decline more noticeably.
The chances of chromosomal abnormalities rise. The risk of miscarriage increases.
And while it's absolutely still possible to conceive naturally and have healthy pregnancies after 35 (many women do), the window narrows.
It doesn't fall off a cliff at 35 - but the slope becomes steeper.
More unpredictable. More emotionally-loaded.
That's what this age represents for so many of us.
Not just a milestone birthday, but a biological marker.
A reminder that time matters.
I don't feel 35.
I don't feel like I'm "behind".
I'm incredibly grateful for the career I've build, the experiences I've had, for the friendships that feel like family, and a partner I care about deeply.
I've worked hard. I've made brave choices. I've built things I'm proud of.
But this birthday, this number, carries something else with it.
There's a stigma attached to 35.
This number has been drilled into us.
The messaging we get from doctors, from well-meaning relatives, and even strangers is 'your time is running out'.
Tick. Tock.
It's so loaded. And it's painful. Especially when you're doing everything you can to prepare.
A big reason I do what I do in the egg freezing space is to break down taboos and inform women of their choices before it's too late.
Unfortunately, you can't have it all at once in your 20s - marriage, children and climbing the career ladder.
I chose my career in my 20s and that's perfectly okay.
It just means I'm on a different timeline. My timeline.
And I've equipped myself the best way I can.
So today, I'm 35 and childless.
And writing that down stings more than I expected it to.
I've wanted to be a mum for as long as I can remember.
It's a deep, visceral longing.
I'd try for a baby tomorrow if I could.
However, life is about partnership, timing, and emotional readiness.
And those things don’t always line up perfectly.
That’s part of what makes 35 so confronting.
Because for women, fertility is not a flexible thing we can reschedule.
It moves forward, whether or not the rest of our lives are ready.
Sometimes, I wish I could stop the clock - pause this moment until everything feels aligned.
But that's not how this works.
We're told "age is just a number", and in some parts of life, maybe it is.
But when it comes to fertility - it's not.
It's real. It's finite. It's everything.
I've watched people close to me go through this.
I've seen the strength, the heartbreak, the silence, the resilience.
I've seen how quietly it can consume you, and how bravely people keep going.
They're not alone.
So many of us are navigating this quietly.
I wanted to write this because I don't think we talk about it enough - the invisible pressure, the quiet grief, and the strange relationship we develop with time.
We celebrate engagements and baby announcements, but we don't always give space to the in-between.
The waiting. The fear. The not yet. The maybe never.
This isn't a pity post. It's not a cry for advice or answers.
It's just where I am.
It's me, being raw, open, and honest about the ache.
The ache that comes with turning 35.
