The pang.
There it is again… that pang.
I’m sitting on a park bench, the winter sun on my face and I’m momentarily torn from the pages I am reading by the sound of a child laughing. That involuntarily giggle that children have when they’re experiencing a moment of pure carefree joy.
Ahead of me is a family - mother, father, and child. The little girl giggling away as her father chases her in circles. Mother looking on, as she rocks the pram next to her. Her other hand clutching the lead of their goldendoodle.
And there it is… that pang.
I feel it somewhere deep within me, I feel the prickle behind my eyes as the emotion rises, the momentary tightening of my chest. The tiny faint whisper…
“That was supposed to be me”.
No one talks about how to navigate life when the moment comes, as a step parent, where you lose everything. When the family that was once yours, now belongs to someone else. No one talks about the grief that comes from realising that the people you put your very being into loving, nurturing, protecting… were never yours. Not really. They were only ever borrowed.
And despite something primal kicking in, my body simply couldn’t do the thing I so desperately wanted for so long… produce a child of my own.
So here I am, 38 years old and sitting on a park bench, alone and lost in my book.
It’s funny really, for I know beyond doubt, that I am not meant for that life. I have so many dreams that are yet to be realised, dreams that require freedom, space, solitude. My life is so full - of experiences, opportunities, romanticised moments that make me grateful for my everyday. So I can’t really imagine myself in that other alternative now, where I have to make sacrifices (because, let’s face it, women still can’t really have it all).
Society may think me selfish.
But I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
And yet, sometimes, I still get the pang.