2025 was a big year. Things were accomplished. Things were not. There were detours along the way.
But as a Childfree Not by Choice (CFNBC) woman, this was the first year that felt truly different.
What follows is not a checklist or a success story. It’s a reflection on what helped me survive, heal, and move forward — and how these same lessons might help you, too.
Things I did in 2025
- I stopped starting the year by asking myself whether I would continue pursuing parenthood.
2025 was the first year I didn’t open January with that question.
I had made the decision the year before that it was over. I was done. The path of pursuing parenthood had ended. And as hard as that decision was, it brought an unexpected relief.
There was something freeing about knowing the choice had already been made.
No more re-deciding. No more mental negotiations. No more “maybe this year.”
It was over — and that certainty gave me peace.
- I still grieved — but it moved through me more easily.
Even with that clarity, grief didn’t disappear.
While I was back in Paris during the 2025 Christmas season, I saw baby dishes I had once wanted to buy for my hypothetical child. I longed for these dishes for 10 years or more.
I never got to buy those dishes.
And I wanted them almost as much as I wanted the child I imagined using them.
The grief showed up again — quietly, unexpectedly.
But this time, I could move through it more easily. It didn’t knock me over. It didn’t take me out.
It came, it stayed for a moment, and then it softened.
- I healed through therapy, reading, writing, and the Miracle Morning.
I’ve been in therapy at many stages of this journey — during IVF, fostering, and adoption. But not every therapist was the right one for me.
In 2025, I finally found healing through a combination of things that worked for me: therapy that felt safe, reading, writing, and practicing the Miracle Morning.
This wasn’t about fixing myself.
It was about creating daily anchors that moved me forward in my new pathway.
- I traveled and explored what still brings me joy.
I traveled a lot in 2025 — Rome, Milan, Lake Como, Paris, and different parts of Portugal.
I love exploring. I love nature. I love seeing how other people live.
For New Year’s Eve, I went somewhere I’d never been before: São Martinho do Porto. I was lucky enough to spend it with friends, and it was joyful in a way I hadn’t expected.
We had a traditional Portuguese dinner in a small, intimate restaurant.
We rang in the New Year on the beach, surrounded by fireworks and a light show splashed across the cliffs. Later, there were outdoor concerts, and the party felt like it lasted all night.
It was pure pleasure — and it mattered.
- I slowed down — because my body forced me to.
On the last day of May, my health took an unexpected turn.
I didn’t gently ease into slowing down. I skidded into it.
But that crisis led me to reflection, trust, and an undeniable reliance on my husband’s support.
I’m grateful to say that I’m better today. The doctors told me I would be okay — and now I can feel it, too.
Slowing down became an act of faith.
Things I did not do in 2025
- I did not work full-time after May 31.
I was forced to return slowly — something I’m only just beginning to do now.
Yes, our income dropped significantly.
But we made it.
That mattered more than I expected.
- I did not feel shame when I told my story publicly.
When my HuffPost article was published, I expected vulnerability hangover. Instead, I felt whole.
Telling the truth showed me something simple: shame can’t survive in the light.
That confidence carried me forward — even when I shared my story with strangers who did have children. I wasn’t hiding anymore. I wasn’t apologizing.
I was at peace.
- I did not have the in-depth conversation I wanted with my stepchildren — yet.
When the article came out, they reached out to congratulate me. They were supportive and kind. But we didn’t have the deeper conversation I had hoped for.
Time, distance, and living in two different countries played a role.
I also know fear played a role — then and now.
We only spoke openly about infertility when their input was required for the adoption home study. I regret that. I was trying to protect them. I was hiding.
Even when your children are adults, telling them the hard things feels impossibly heavy. You want to protect them from pain.
But I’m ready to grow up here.
And I hope one day soon, we’ll talk.
How these lessons can help you
1. Making a final decision can bring relief, not defeat
When I stopped reopening the question of parenthood every year, something shifted. Not because it stopped hurting — but because I wasn’t reopening the wound over and over again. You don’t have to keep deciding the same thing forever.
2. Grief can still show up without meaning you’re going backward
Seeing baby dishes in Paris reminded me that grief doesn’t disappear just because you’ve “moved on.” It shows up in objects and moments. The difference is learning how to let it pass through instead of letting it take over.
3. Joy doesn’t cancel grief — it can exist alongside it
Celebrating New Year’s Eve on a Portuguese beach didn’t erase my losses. It simply reminded me that joy is still allowed, even in a life that didn’t turn out the way I imagined.
4. Slowing down isn’t quitting — sometimes it’s survival
When my health forced me to stop, I learned that rest isn’t weakness. It’s often the only way forward when your body and heart have carried too much for too long.
5. Endings can feel like beginnings, even when they hurt
Letting go of the pursuit of parenthood didn’t break me. It freed me from decades of anxiety and opened space for peace I didn’t know was possible.
6. Telling the truth can dissolve shame
Sharing my story publicly showed me that shame can’t survive in the light. When you stop hiding, you may discover there was nothing wrong with you all along.
If your life didn’t unfold the way you imagined, that doesn’t make it smaller — it makes it real. You are not less — and you never were.
