On Making Big Decisions
Tapping into inner wisdom and choosing love over fear
I’ve made a big life decision recently, and I’m feeling good about it. I made the decision in a calm, rational manner. I took the time to sit with it, to sleep on it, and when it still felt like the right decision, I stuck with it.
This may not sound like a particularly groundbreaking achievement. But for me, it is massive.
I have never been good at making decisions. Naturally a people pleaser, I find it much more comfortable to defer to the choices, opinions, and preferences of others. Typically, when I had to make decisions for myself, I would swing between two extreme approaches. Either diving headfirst into one course of action without giving it too much thought, allowing myself to sink or swim, or turning something over in my head for so long that I became mired in decision-paralysis and did nothing at all.
But two years ago, I embarked on a lengthy fertility treatment journey and, whether I liked it or not, I was forced to make big decision after big decision: What type of fertility treatment should we have? How soon should we try again after a failure? Should we do genetic testing? Should we do a natural or medicated cycle? What do we do if this next round doesn’t work? How many will we do before we try a new path?
At thought I had made all these big, extremely adult decisions in a rational way at the point I made them, but when I look back at our treatment journey so far, I see a clear pattern. They weren’t really decisions, they were foregone conclusions. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. What type of fertility treatment should we have? Well, whatever we’re told is the best thing to get pregnant as quickly as possible! How soon should we try again? As soon as we physically can, obviously. Should we do genetic testing? Well yes, if it improves our potential treatment outcome. Natural or medicated? Whichever has the best chance of success! And on, and on. No matter the emotional, mental, or physical toll it would take on me, my choices were always dictated by one thing - my fear that if I didn’t keep moving relentlessly forward, I would never become a mum.
This fear had become the defining context of my life.
But things had started to change. During our last round of treatment, I found out I had won a short story competition. This good news gave me something positive to focus on when the treatment failed, and since then, I had used it to propel me forward in my writing journey. With this new focus and momentum, something miraculous happened; I was no longer so fixated on what had long been my primary goal. Me and my husband, Sam, had even managed to go on a week-long holiday in which IVF didn’t come up once. For this brief, blissful window of time, I felt like me again. We felt like us again. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t spending every day striving. I felt content, and genuinely excited about the future.
And then, after an incredible trip to Geneva where I read my prize-winning story to a room full of strangers, I came back home to… my period. Which only one thing: we would be starting another round of treatment soon.
Over the next few days, as I arranged appointments with the clinic, contacted our nutritionist, planned the next week of fertility-friendly meals, and swallowed down mouthfuls of supplements, I felt a deep heaviness set into my bones. I no longer felt excited about the future. I became irritable and lethargic. At first, I put it down to a combination of hormones and post-holiday blues, but as it continued through the rest of the week, I realised it was more than that.
One evening, after snapping at Sam over something completely inconsequential, I apologised and told him that I was feeling depressed about starting treatment again. I told him that I felt, in my core, that I just didn’t want to do it, and that I felt resentful that I had to.
And then he said something I wasn’t expecting: Well, we don’t have to do it now, or even soon. We can push it back to the end of the year if you want.
Almost the instant that possibility was presented to me, I felt as though a weight had been lifted. I felt the fog clearing and my mood shifting. The idea that I could choose to delay treatment, not because I wanted to spend months getting myself in the ‘best shape’ for it, or because we were getting tests done or waiting for my cycles to regulate, but because I wanted a break for myself, felt almost rebellious. Instinctively, it felt like the right thing to do. But the idea was also terrifying. I had just turned 35. The age at which, according to the fertility industry, the media, and society at large, your fertility is on a rapid decline. When we first began trying to conceive, I was 32, and this scary age that hangs over women felt distant enough. I was sure that we were bound to be successful before then. But alas. Time had already slipped away so easily while I’d been desperately trying to beat the ticking clock. What if I stopped moving forward now, and this was the reason I never became a mum?
A while ago, I listened to a podcast that starts every episode with a famous parable*, and it stuck with me. In this parable, a grandfather tells his grandson that we all have two wolves inside of us that are constantly at battle. One is a bad wolf, and it represents emotions like greed, hatred, and fear, and the other is a good wolf, and it represents emotions like kindness, bravery, and love. The grandson asks his grandfather which one wins, and the grandfather replies, “The one you feed.”
For a long time, I had been feeding my fearful, bad wolf. It was the champion of my psyche, and I had made the majority of my decisions based on its fearful narrative. But now, my good wolf was much stronger, and it was fighting to be heard and taken seriously. I asked myself what I would do if I weren’t afraid, and the answer was clear. I would take this much-needed break from treatment. I would use the time to put all my focus and energy into writing my novel. I would enjoy having my body be truly mine and not a medicalised space to be poked, prodded, and ‘optimised’. I would have fun with Sam – the kind of fun we used to have before trying to conceive became such a dominating force in our relationship. I would make plans for the near future without the caveat depending on treatment.
Delaying treatment was the good choice, the one based on kindness and love towards myself, and so it’s the choice I made. I don’t know if this decision will hurt our chances of becoming parents in the future, but I do know that it’s already helping me in the present. So, whenever my bad wolf pipes up with panic and fear, I pause, take a deep breath, and remind myself: I trust that I am on the right path.
Journal prompts:
If I wasn’t afraid of falling behind, what choice would I make for myself right now?
What does my “good wolf” want me to hear — and how can I honour it in my everyday life?
Where in my life am I pushing forward out of fear, and what might change if I allowed myself to pause?
💭 I'd love to hear from you.
Have you ever made a big decision that felt scary—but ultimately kind? Are you learning to listen to your own voice after a season of fear or striving?
Share your thoughts in the comments, or simply reply to this email if you’d prefer to connect more privately.
*The podcast is called ‘The One You Feed’, and it’s great.
Hey Jess! Thanks so much for sharing your story with this. It made me smile, although I don't envy the journey and the emotional toll it must take on you, I'm so glad for your little joys along the way, that have managed to give something else to focus on.
I must admit, part of my quest for my own creativity, career, and identity, I guess, is because I am so desperate to not put it all on the prospect of becoming a mother. I think I subconsciously did this a few years back, when I became aware of the difficulties people can have, and even, to be honest, the difficulties when pregnancy comes easily (as in, just raising kids lol). I didn't want to start that journey and have it take over me, so, ironically, I threw my entire being into creating many other decisions that also took over me. Lol.
Like desperately trying to jump into jobs, throwing everything into a new hobby, or fiercely pursuing the 'art of becoming more me'. I now wonder whether it's because in not wanting to rush motherhood, I've tried to rush everything else. Because I actually do want to get to the motherhood part.
Who knows! Anyway that was my essay, I might actually write a full one now so thank you for inspiring me hahaha!
I love this piece Jess! The good wolf and bad wolf analogy is great, kinda like an inner critic vs inner mentor? I can relate so much to how hard making these decisions around treatment are. It take a lot of strength and resolve to quiet those fear based voices, and the noise of society, so well done. Sounds like you made the right choice! Or as dr Ellen Langer says, make a decision and make the decision right! Definitely sounds like you’re making the decision right x