Nell Frizzell

Without universal childcare, equal pay, and equal opportunity, it was impossible for me to approach my career, my fertility, and my future like a man.

“Ah well, you know, it’s only because we count in a decimal system. If we counted around a factor of eight, you’d all just be freaking out about turning twenty-four, or thirty-two.”

My stomach was wet mud.

the grit and girth,

that most of the people around me were also in flux, whether they were in relationships or not

This is a problem if women are then made to feel that everything that happens during this time is somehow only our responsibility, ours to confront, carry, and resolve, alone. By adjusting women’s bodies with contraception and allowing men to live as eternal teenagers—uncertain jobs, short-term flings, adolescent hobbies—we have placed the burden of whether to try for a baby almost entirely at women’s feet. We shield men from the reality of fertility, family, and female desire, because we have been conditioned to consider them uninteresting or unattractive. Throughout my twenties and into my thirties, I tried desperately to appear casual and carefree, believing that any hint at my true, complicated desires—in my case, for love, commitment, independence, a successful career, and ultimately a baby too—would render me single forever. I silenced myself, because I thought it made me more attractive. I tucked my weaknesses, my wants, and my womb out of sight.

The people I loved most were slipping away from me, while I was left behind, staggering in their wake.

wanted a man who smelled of woodsmoke, who owned a decent sweater, and who could order a train ticket in advance.

Why was I drawn to people whose age, geographical location, lifestyle, and beliefs made it impossible for me to ever become their girlfriend?

And when you feel unworthy of love—either as a result of rejection, trauma, a tricky childhood, whatever—it is amazing how forensically you can sniff out people who will not love you back.