Becoming a single mom by choice isn’t just a decision—it’s a declaration. It’s saying yes to a path that’s equal parts strength and surrender, joy and exhaustion. It’s means rejecting the script society hands us—the one that says motherhood must wait for a partner, that success must come first, that we must always choose between one or the other.

For me, the decision to have my daughter was less about rejecting convention and more about claiming my own agency. It was a leap into a new world—one defined by courage, self-trust, and resilience.

More women are stepping into this role today, choosing motherhood on their own terms. Whether it’s through IVF, adoption, or other pathways, this choice represents something bigger: a shift in how we define family and a refusal to let outdated norms dictate our lives.

It’s not easy. It’s not without heartbreak. But it is powerful—and it’s proof that women can carve out their own paths to fulfillment.

The Pain That Shapes Us

The journey to motherhood is rarely linear, and mine was no exception. Before having my daughter, I faced setbacks that were both devastating and unexpected. It started with IUI—Intrauterine Insemination, using donor sperm. IUI felt like a natural first step—a relatively simple and straightforward fertility treatment.

The first round didn’t work. Okay, no big deal, I thought. Let’s try again.

But the second attempt turned into a nightmare I couldn’t have prepared for. It was the first week of 2020. (You remember that year, don’t you?) What started as hope ended with an ectopic pregnancy. I didn’t know how dangerous it was until I found myself on my bedroom floor, clutching my stomach in unbearable pain, calling a friend to take me to the hospital.

The surgery to remove one of my fallopian tubes saved my life but left me in a very dark place mentally. The physical pain was one thing; the emotional toll was far heavier. I felt betrayed by my body, robbed of the dream I’d held so tightly. For weeks, I spiraled into depression, questioning if I could or should keep going.

But just as I began to see the horizon of hope, the COVID-19 Pandemic hit. My medical leave ended, and I returned to work, only to be assigned to Apple’s Global COVID Response Team. My role was to manage their PPE (think masks, gloves, sanitizers) supply chain and distribution across all stores, offices, and time zones.

It was a high-pressure, logistical nightmare with the stakes feeling impossibly high. One day, I was crawling out of my own personal crisis, and the next, I was responsible for ensuring the safety of thousands of employees and our customers. There was no time to breathe, let alone process my grief.

Then the all the fertility clinics shut down. The pandemic put my path to motherhood on hold indefinitely. It was a frustrating, helpless time, but when the clinics reopened, I knew I had one last shot. With only one fallopian tube, another IUI would be medically risky, so I turned to IVF.

It was my final attempt, and it worked. I was a mom.

Her First Fight, My First Lesson

Thankfully, even at the ‘geriatric’ age of 41, my pregnancy was smooth—until it wasn’t. At 33 weeks, my daughter was diagnosed with Intrauterine Growth Restriction (IUGR)—her growth had slowed significantly. At the same time, my blood pressure was climbing rapidly due to severe preeclampsia. By 35 weeks, it was clear we couldn’t wait any longer and the decision was made to deliver early by C-Section.

She was so small—just 3 pounds, 12 ounces—yet her tiny fingers gripping mine held more strength than I could have imagined. She spent the first 2 weeks of her life in the NICU which, for any parent who knows, is an experience that blurs the lines of fear, exhaustion, and gratitude for life.

Every day, I watched her fight to grow stronger, proving that she was every bit as resilient as the journey it took to bring her here.

My recovery was its own battle. Preeclampsia doesn’t vanish after delivery, and I spent a week in the hospital under constant monitoring. The hardest part wasn’t the physical pain—it was the helplessness of not being able to care for my own child and not being able to take her home. I had to rely on the NICU nurses to care for her while I focused on healing.

I felt like failure. But it taught me my first lesson of solo motherhood:

Strength means knowing when to let others step in, so you can recover and be ready to fight another day.

Redefining Strength and Priorities

This past year brought its own unexpected challenges. A week after my daughter turned three, she was diagnosed with hip dysplasia. X-rays revealed a dislocated hip that may been there from birth, yet she had somehow managed to adapt—walking, taking ballet, and even playing soccer.

Despite her resilience, the condition required a 6-hour surgery—an open reduction procedure to not only reposition the hip but shorten her leg.

My daughter woke up from anesthesia immobilized in a spica cast, from her belly button down one entire leg and halfway down the other. She spent 6 weeks in the cast, followed by months of rehabilitation.

Caring for her demanded every ounce of focus, patience, and love I had. I couldn’t market or grow my business, and selling became the least of my priorities. Everything else had to pause as I dedicated myself to her health, her recovery, and helping her learn to walk again.

It wasn’t easy—there were days when I felt completely depleted of energy and sometimes my sanity. But those 4 months of intense caregiving also gave me space to reflect. I thought deeply about the kind of mother I wanted to be and the kind of lifestyle I wanted for our small family.

When Charlie returned to daycare, I thought I’d jump right back into life—my business, my work, everything. But I couldn’t. My mind and body wouldn’t let me.

I truly believe resilience isn’t built in chaos but in rest, so I gave myself space to rejuvenate and find my joy again. Instead of rushing back to the “money chase”, I focused on self-reflection, reconnecting with my community, and realigning my priorities.

That pause wasn’t a setback—it was a mind and body reset.

Lessons in Resilience

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this journey, it’s that resilience isn’t a fixed trait—it’s a muscle. It grows with every challenge, every heartbreak, every leap of faith.

Here’s what I know now:

• Resilience starts with self-trust. The moment I stopped waiting for a partner and decided to pursue motherhood on my own terms, everything changed. It wasn’t easy, but it was freeing.
• Strength is in accepting help. Resilience is as much about connection as it is about determination—leaning on those who love and support you makes all the difference.
• Rest is part of the process. True resilience isn’t built in survival mode—it’s built when we give ourselves space to heal and recharge.
• Joy is a foundational building block. Every small moment of joy—Charlie’s laughter, quiet mornings, shared milestones—becomes a puzzle piece in the larger picture of resilience.

A New Kind of Future

What excites me most about being a single mom by choice isn’t just the life I’m building with my daughter—it’s the possibility it represents. This path has taught me that the constraints we’re handed aren’t real. We can push back. We can create new ways of living, loving, and thriving that center our values instead of someone else’s expectations.

To the women considering this path, know this: it’s not about perfection, and it’s not about having all the answers. It’s about trusting that you have the strength to figure it out along the way.

My life is proof that family doesn’t have to follow traditional norms to be full of love, resilience, and possibility.