Photography by Devyn Galindo

Mary Schmich told us to enjoy the power and beauty of our youth in the Chicago Tribune graduation speech. You know, the one that Baz Luhrmann reappropriated into that late 90s Wear Sunscreen song. “Oh, never mind.” The advice continues. “You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now, how much possibility lay before you, and how fabulous you really looked.”

She was spot on. I didn't realise the power and beauty of youth while I had it, and minus the odd dodgy haircut and questionable sartorial choices, I looked alright. However absorbed with insecurities I was. I now look at youth as though it's an ex-lover. The edited memory of it rose-tinted. Faded. Feeling like another lifetime ago. I find myself mesmerised by the dewy skin and perfectly bushy eyebrows of women in their 20s when I'm in the queue at Zara. Youth is bewitching in a way I never saw it before. I realise I took it for granted.

Western society has long been hypnotised by youth. For decades fresh young faces have looked at us from magazine covers and billboards, they've been cast for lead roles on the big screen, and younger, more pert models have replaced wives. Youth is deemed superior. It's put on a pedestal. And it's constantly in your face when you work in some industries, like fashion, film, and advertising — rather than a field like medicine, where thankfully experience prevails. Imagine a junior doctor, fresh out of college, being referred to as the next big thing. Twenty-years-of-experience-Matt suddenly taken off the gastric bypass because he's considered a bit old, and fresh-faced Coco handed the scalpel instead. Experience has been replaced with relevance in some industries.

“mesmerised by the dewy skin and perfectly bushy eyebrows of women in their 20s”

We're so seduced by youth, even our fertility favours it. Age is one of the biggest causes of fertility problems, due to decreasing egg numbers and their quality. Even though society has advanced, the egg and the ovary haven’t caught up. But if I think back to when my body was at its optimal babymaking age, and what I was up to then, the two don't align. For a start, I was with a boyfriend who definitely didn't want children in his foreseeable future. His priorities were chasing his career, finding the next party, and looking for something he could snort up his nostrils. While drugs were never my thing, I too was often talking nonsense at an all-night party, drink in hand. I was enjoying my career and hopping on planes. My friend, James, used to introduce me as Shallow Nat — a joke between us, but it was based on some truth. I cared about the wrong things. I lived in a flat my parents owned, paying a very reasonable rent to help me save (I didn't), I spent my monthly salary on clothes, booze, dinners, taxis and holidays, and never opened bank statements. I definitely wasn't adult-enough to look after a small human. I didn't even own a houseplant.

Back then the conversation about egg freezing was only just beginning. Mums are often right, and mine suggested I freeze my eggs when, age 30, I found myself properly single for the first time since I was 18. I remember brushing it off, as a serial monogamist I was adamant that I'd create a brood with the next serious guy that came along. But you never know what or who's around the corner. You could land your dream job and decide to delay all that baby stuff, you could meet someone younger who doesn't want kids for a while, someone whose fertility isn't straightforward, or you could, like me, run into the arms of a guy who carries a gene you both want to eliminate, needing to go down the whole IVF route anyway. If I'd listened to my mum, I would have had 30-year-young eggs frozen in time, their quality far better than the eggs I used eight and nine years later.

“Even though society has advanced, the egg and the ovary haven’t caught up”

Egg freezing is a much more common conversation now. Some companies even offer it as part of their employment package. It's not seen as an insulting suggestion to a friend or something to be embarrassed about. Far from it, it's an empowering move to take control of your fertility. Teenagers should grow up being educated about the reality of a woman's fertility. It's important for guys to know that a woman's biological clock isn't just her getting a bit broody because her best mate's had a baby. It's important for them to know that she's born with a finite number of eggs that only decrease in numbers and quality as she ages. Women should know what their fertility prospects look like early on, so they can make informed decisions to protect their eggs, if they want to.

In Elizabeth Day's book How to Fail, she writes a chapter on failing to make babies. She says, "Our teachers should have taught us about the natural limits of our fertility, rather than treating us as a luscious field of endless bounty full of ovary-shaped flowers that one only has to graze accidentally with one's fingertips in order to fall pregnant with quadruplets." We were duped, led to believe that we'd get pregnant as soon as we came off the pill, or decided the time was right. Day continues with, "as if my fertility had been straining at the leash all these years, and was desperate to be set free to fill the cosmos with babies."

Unfortunately a lot of women learn about the limits of their fertility sat in front of a consultant, discovering that when they were busy dating the wrong guy with the motorbike and leather jacket in their 20s, they had the greatest fertility potential, with a 20 to 25 percent chance of becoming pregnant naturally each month. The risk of chromosomal abnormalities and the chance of miscarriage being pretty low. A woman’s fertility begins to decline in her 30s, with the sharpest dip after the age of 35. While women in their early 40s have less than a 5 percent chance of becoming pregnant naturally each month. Women can still get pregnant with their own eggs, but the chances of success decrease dramatically. They become more susceptible to chromosomal abnormalities that can prevent implantation or result in miscarriages. So using an egg donor — the eggs of a woman in her 20s or early 30s — or if a woman’s eggs were frozen at an earlier date, might be a more realistic option.

There's a definite feeling of missing the fertility boat as a women in her 40s. You feel like you're waving it off at the harbour. The boat that pretty much all of your friends managed to get on, and they’re saying “cheers” with a nice gin and tonic. We’ve been fed this one narrative about how our lives are suppose to unfold, and having mini yous by the time you’re 40 is a big part of that narrative. There can be a deep sense of failure if you don't comply. Some women I've spoken to say they grieved for the child they didn't have. Some women initially grieved not using their own eggs. Some said they struggled with the idea of using a younger woman's eggs as it made them feel like they’d expired their 'best by' date. Something a man is never made to feel.

As hard as it is being in this weird waiting room to motherhood, I'm pleased I didn't have children when my body was its most fertile in my 20s, because my mind wasn't ready, and my lifestyle and choice of boyfriend needed maturing (and let’s be honest, anyone whose moniker is Shallow Nat should not be raising a child). I've berated myself for wasting my early 30s. Even though I was broody as hell, I went for the wrong guys. But so many things are out of our control, finding the right person can be bloody hard. I wish I'd taken control of my fertility when my mum suggested it, instead of waiting to meet the right boyfriend, or waiting for a boyfriend to be ready to start 'trying'.

“WE’VE BEEN FED THIS ONE NARRATIVE ABOUT HOW OUR LIVES ARE SUPPOSE TO UNFOLD”

I've listened to guys talk about how they ended a relationship because their girlfriend was getting pushy about having kids. Or they didn’t go out on that first date because they thought her age meant she’d be desperate for a baby. I'd always defend said girl they had brushed off, so incensed that some guys belittle a woman's desire to be a mother, like it's a weakness or she's a killjoy for wanting to settle down and utilise her womb. I have firsthand experience of guys making me feel this way, and it’s taken me too long to learn that you don't need permission to use your eggs. They are yours, and you should feel empowered to protect them. I have many girlfriends, whose ages span a decade, who haven't met the person they want kids with yet. Amazing, intelligent, talented, beautiful women. And as I chose not to back then, they too have not frozen their eggs. Feeling like it’s an unnecessary waste of money or a drastic procedure to go through. (Neither of which I think are true, but that’s my opinion — oh hindsight.)

Listening back to Schmich's wise words, I'm left with a sting when I get to the part that says, “maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't,” something that went over my head hearing those words 20 years ago. Thinking it was about whether you wanted children, not whether you'd be able to have them. Schmich was recently asked if there's anything she'd add to her advice, she replied, “‘it will always look better in the morning' is something I continue to tell myself, and 'there’s more than one way to live.' To me, the whole piece comes down to that idea, that there’s more than one way to live." Likewise, there's more than one way to have a family.

When you're young you have no idea which way your life will go — who you'll meet, who you'll fall in and maybe out of love with. Finding out what's going on with your eggs is a good way of taking control of your fertility. Freezing them in time is liberating. It relieves the pressure of relying on finding the right time and person you want a family with. And who knows, you might decide to go ahead solo anyway. There's a lot of stuff that I'm happy to have left behind in my late 20s (mainly cheap vintage dresses and UGG boots) but having the luxury of not feeling the weight of time being against me is something I definitely miss. That, and the dewy skin.