Lately I’ve been sitting with this mix of longing and exhaustion that’s hard to put into words. I’m divorced, raising my son, and grateful every single day that I get to be his mom. But there’s this quiet ache in me too, the desire to have at least one more child, maybe even two, to grow my little family and give him siblings. That dream hasn’t gone away, no matter how much life has shifted.

But the truth is, I don’t have a partner. And when I look back at the relationships I’ve had, it feels like a series of doors gently closing. One relationship was abusive, and leaving it took everything I had. Another partner moved back to our home country, and the distance made us feel like strangers again. And someone I cared about deeply moved away for work, slipping into a different chapter without me. It’s strange that all of them are gone in different ways, but the result is the same: I’m here, rebuilding, trying to keep faith in something I can’t see yet.

I’ve thought about IVF. I’ve researched it quietly, late at night, imagining what it would be like to have another baby on my own if love doesn’t arrive in time. But the idea of going through motherhood alone again, the sleepless nights, the financial stress, the emotional weight, it scares me. I did it once. I was strong enough for that version of my life. But I’m not sure I want to choose that path again, not if there’s another way.

Some days it feels like hope is slipping through my fingers, and other days I remind myself that life is unpredictable, that love has a way of appearing when you’ve stopped scanning the horizon for it. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if I’ll meet someone who wants the same things, or if motherhood will take another shape for me.

And now that I’m in my 30s, a new fear is creeping in: what if my body can’t handle pregnancy as well as before? What if conceiving becomes harder? Time feels heavier now, like it’s moving faster than I’m ready for.

I don’t have a neat ending or a hopeful takeaway right now. I’m just… exhausted.