The Clock I Never Asked For

The following is a conversation many women know by heart.

It begins innocently enough.

"When are you getting married?"

"When are you having children?"

"You don't want to wait too long!"

Sometimes it comes from relatives. Sometimes from friends. Sometimes from complete strangers who seem oddly invested in our reproductive timelines. Over the years, the questions become background noise. Predictable, repetitive, easy to dismiss.

Or so we tell ourselves.

For much of my twenties, I was busy building a life. I studied across countries and continents. I earned degrees. I built a career. I made incredible friends. I learned new languages. I made mistakes, started over, reinvented myself more than once. I collected experiences instead of milestones.

And I do not regret it. Not for a second.

I am proud of the woman those years created. The resilience. The independence. The confidence that comes from navigating the world on my own terms. And sometimes fate’s terms.

The life I loved and continue to love.

Yet beneath all that, a different conversation has been taking place. Though it’s really more a monologue than a conversation because it does not listen. It just chatters.

It’s a conversation that does not come from family gatherings or social expectations; it comes from a woman’s own body. My own body.

That conditioned body that keeps count, changes, and notices birthdays even when the mind does not. Cycles that once passed unnoticed become more noticeable. Ovulation announces itself. Sometimes with great fanfare. Periods feel different. Surprise symptoms that make you run to Dr Google because “why am I wheezing on my first day of period”. Hormonal shifts become harder to ignore.

What was once a distant concept called "fertility" suddenly feels less abstract and more physical.

It is strange to realize that while society has been loudly reminding you of time for years, your body has also been quietly keeping its own calendar. That damn traitor…

If at this moment, you feel like jumping at me with comments along the lines of “that’s why a woman should give birth” and “not every woman wants a child”, I urge you to read until the end.

Because this is where the conversation becomes complicated.

This pressure, whether biological or societal, is often portrayed as a simple choice between career and family, ambition and motherhood, freedom and commitment. But it’s not that simple.

Many women are not delaying family because they are selfish or misguided. They are studying. Building financial stability. Caring for parents. Recovering from heartbreak. Searching for the right partner. Creating lives that are meaningful and secure.

Many are doing exactly what society told them to do as they grew up: become educated, independent, successful.

Until some day, along the way, another message emerges: “Hurry! Time is running out!”

The contradiction can be exhausting.

We are told to take our time finding ourselves (and the right partner), then reminded that we may be taking too much time.

We are encouraged to build careers, then questioned when those careers occupy our most fertile years.

We are told we can have it all, yet often left to figure out how and when entirely on our own.

And this pressure is particularly difficult because it does not always come from others. It also comes from within.

Not because we have suddenly changed our values or we regret our choices. But because our bodies have a way of making abstract timelines feel tangible. It’s their job. To maintain humanity and whatnot.

A birthday is just a number. A hormonal change is not.

A statistic can be ignored. A physical reminder cannot.

Try ignoring period cramps. Or ovulation pain. Or that feeling of nausea you get for 48 hours, and all you can eat are grapefruit and ice cubes.

No, you don’t get used to these things. At least I didn’t. Because these symptoms also change every two, three years. An upgrade in the membership you never asked for, if you may.

With all of this going on, so many women find themselves in this strange place: deeply grateful for the lives they have built while simultaneously feeling the weight of a clock they never asked for. Neither did they agree to follow.

And there is some grief in that.

Not grief for children not yet born or opportunities missed, but grief for the simplicity that once existed. For the years when time felt infinite. For the freedom of believing every path would remain available forever.

Yet there is also something beautiful in acknowledging this reality honestly.

The answer is not shame. It’s also not panic. And it is certainly not allowing society to make our choices for us.

As I see it, in my humble opinion, the answer can simply be compassion.

Compassion for women who choose motherhood early.

Compassion for women who choose it later.

Compassion for women who remain undecided.

Compassion for women who desperately want children.

Compassion for women who never do.

And perhaps most importantly, compassion for ourselves as we navigate a reality that is both biological and deeply personal.

For me, this question has also been made even more complicated by geography.

When you build a life out of suitcases, stability often arrives later than expected. The milestones many people take for granted (marriage, home, family) can feel perpetually one move, one contract, one opportunity away.

For years, I told myself there would be time later. And perhaps there will be. And perhaps there won’t.

But lately, I have come to understand that the pressure I feel is not simply the result of society's expectations. It is the collision between the life I have intentionally built and the reality I cannot entirely control.

I do not regret the years I spent traveling. Those years shaped me. They gave me experiences, friendships, and perspectives I would never trade.

Yet I can acknowledge that occasionally, beneath the confidence and certainty, there is a quiet awareness of time passing.

Not fear. Not regret. Just awareness.

Perhaps that is what growing older (and maybe also wiser) really is. Perhaps it is learning to hold conflicting truths at once.

Perhaps it’s not choosing between paths. It's confidently walking one, while allowing yourself to reflect on the others. To remain honest about the questions ahead.

And the clock I never asked for?

Tick Tock away, Miss Bio Clock~