The Weight of Hope: My Personal Egg-Freezing Journey
The year was 2021, and I had recently moved to Florida. Just days away from turning 34, I gave myself a deadline. After being single for two years and deeply healing from a relationship that, at the time, felt like everything (emphasis on at the time—I should have left years earlier), I found myself questioning everything. I was reevaluating my life, redefining what mattered to me, not what society had told me should matter.
I vividly remember walking along the pier in St. Pete, phone in hand, as I called one of my closest friends. "I've thought about it," I told her. "I want a family. Not just a baby—a family." Then, with clarity, I added, "If I'm not married by 37, I’m going to freeze my eggs." The number 37 felt right, like an unshakable truth. So I leaned into it and made a commitment to myself, one that has guided me with unwavering clarity ever since.
In the years that followed, I poured everything into preparing myself—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. I invested in my wellness, focusing on healing my gut, losing weight, and leveling up my fitness routine. I worked with a herbalist, deepened my spirituality, and continually refined my vision for the future. All the while, I stacked my coins and built a foundation for the possibility of one day stepping into parenthood.
But this journey wasn’t just about physical preparation. It was also about emotional readiness. The decision to freeze my eggs wasn’t just practical—it was symbolic. It represented choosing myself, believing in my worth, and creating options for a future I deeply desire. While society often focuses on the ticking clock or the pressure of milestones, I chose to focus on taking ownership of my life in a way that felt empowering, not reactive (make no mistake—the weight of the clock STILL felt heavy!).
I couldn’t control when my soulmate would arrive, but I leaned into the hope that when he did, we would have the options to build our family.
People often talk about seasons of delay, but few truly dive into what it means to stay the course—controlling what you can, staying disciplined, and remaining resilient in what can often be a challenging, lonely, and exhausting waiting period. Resilience is not for the weak!
And that brings us to today. I’m 37. I’m unmarried and single. And it’s time to honor the promise I made to myself on that pier years ago. I’ve spent years preparing—researching egg freezing, educating myself, and ensuring I’m in the best health possible. And now, here I am: Day 1, November 30th, officially beginning my egg-freezing journey by taking my first dose of medication.
This is Day 1 of my journey, and here is what I feel compelled to share:
The emotional and financial weight of this decision is hard to describe. I know no one personally who has frozen their eggs. Everything I know is what I’ve researched, sought out, and learned on my own. This process is emotional, beautiful, frustrating, and yes—let’s be real—expensive! Choosing yourself and staying aligned with your divine purpose can feel like a heavy burden at times.
There’s a unique tension in simultaneously recognizing the abundance of life and pursuing the beauty and majesty you were born to experience, while still being in a season of waiting. Right now, I’m making the biggest financial investment of my life in the belief that one day, this manifestation will come to fruition.
My emotions are overflowing. I’m bursting at the seams—literally. I haven’t cried like this since my dad passed. In this space of uncertainty and optimism, I’m investing in a legacy, a bloodline, that may or may not ever come to exist. And while fear creeps in, I’m giving myself permission to express it honestly and authentically.
Of all the bold, daring, monumental things I’ve accomplished, this feels like the scariest.
In the sea of conversations about egg freezing, there are so few Black voices and even fewer in general that truly offer insight into what to expect. So here I am, sharing my story in the hope that it resonates with someone else.
Here’s what I’ve learned so far:
This is deeply emotional. And I’m not even an emotional person!
It’s an investment. Financially, physically, and mentally.
Not everyone will know how to support you. And that can be isolating. I’m learning to express my needs better and allow space for others to show up.
The time crunch is real. The anxiety of making this decision before “time runs out” adds another layer of pressure.
It’s all worth it. Despite the emotions, expense, frustration, and physical toll, I’d rather give it my all now than live with regret later.
To my beautiful Black women considering or embarking on this journey: You are not alone. I see you. I support you. I’ll be sharing more in the days and weeks to come, but for today, this is all I have the capacity to give.
Sending you love, comfort, and strength as we walk this path together. ❤️
