Last summer, over a bottomless brunch on the outskirts of Alicante, three girlfriends and I sat with glasses of sangria, laughter bubbling louder than the waiter could keep pace with refills. The sun was hot, the food indulgent, and the conversation — as it so often does when women gather — shifted from light gossip to confessions of the heart.

One of the women, radiant and exhausted in equal measure, leaned in with a sigh. She had been blessed with twin girls after years of searching, years of prayers, and endless comments about when she would finally become a mother. On paper, she had everything she was supposed to want. But in that moment, she admitted something that felt dangerous to say aloud.

She loved her daughters fiercely — they were her joy, her heartbeat — yet she also resented them. Not for who they were, but for what she had lost along the way. A man she once believed to be her soulmate, who walked away because he did not want children. A version of herself who might have pursued different dreams. The freedom of not having to plan life around two small humans who demanded her every breath. And now, raising them largely alone, the toll weighed heavily. She smiled through it all, but her untold truth was this: maternal love and personal regret can exist side by side.

Her words gave the second woman food for thought. She had no children. Not by tragedy, but by chance and circumstance. Life had given her adventure instead — a passport full of stamps, a career she loved, a freedom that allowed her to follow whim and wonder. On most days, she felt fulfilled. Yet, as she listened, she felt an ache she rarely admitted: the sense of missing out on one of life’s greatest promises. People spoke of maternal love as incomparable, transcendent, the very purpose of existence. And though she never bowed to pressure, she sometimes wondered if she had denied herself the one experience that would make her complete.

The third woman sat back, smirked, and sipped her drink. She was the one everyone called “the weirdo.” She had declared, early and often, that she would never have children. Not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to. She loved her figure, her freedom, her selfishness — yes, she used the word without apology. She adored being a godmother, an aunty, the fun grown-up who could step in for cuddles and then step out when the chaos began. To her, it was simple: she was too honest with herself to take on a role she did not desire. And yet society looked at her sideways, as if choosing not to mother was the strangest choice of all.

Three women. Three truths. Each reflecting the complicated reality of womanhood.

It left me wondering: is the desire for motherhood truly a natural instinct in every woman, or is it the loudest script society has ever written for us? And if women thought through the sleepless nights, the sacrifices, the ways life bends under the weight of responsibility, would some make different choices? Or does the void of never knowing become its own kind of sacrifice?

The untold truth is that motherhood is not a one-size-fits-all calling. For some, it is joy beyond words, a purpose that completes them. For others, it is a duty laced with resentment — love wrapped in loss. And for others still, it is a path they never wished to walk, no matter how strange that may seem to outsiders.

What struck me that afternoon in Alicante was not which of them was right, but how brave each had been to admit her truth. Because motherhood is one of those things you cannot do halfway, you must go all in — or not at all. And yet even going all in does not silence the ache of what might have been.

So, who is the weirdo? The woman who resents her children yet loves them with her whole heart? The one who lives adventurously but still wonders what she is missing? Or the one who has chosen a childfree life and dares to say so aloud?

Perhaps none of them. Perhaps the bravest, most #Unshakable act is to own your choice, whatever it is, and to live it without apology. To say yes to motherhood with both eyes open. To say no with clarity and without shame. Or to admit, in the messiness of it all, that you can love your children deeply and still grieve the life you might have had.

Because at the end of the day, motherhood — like womanhood — is not a single story. It is many stories, many truths, some untold until the sangria flows on a hot afternoon in Alicante.

‘See’ you next week.

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