Choosing Solo: The Best Choice I Ever Made

So… I did a wild thing. I became a mom. Alone. On purpose.

Not “alone” as in sad. Not “on purpose” as in reckless. But alone as in by choice. And on purpose as in with every fiber of my being.

And if I could go back and do it all over again? I’d choose it a thousand times over.

The Whisper That Wouldn’t Go Away

For years, there was this quiet voice inside me that said: You’re meant to be a mom.

Not someday. Not if the right person comes along. Just… you. As you are.

I tried to negotiate with that voice.

“Let’s just focus on building the business.”

“Maybe in a few years.”

“Let’s wait and see who shows up.”

But the voice didn’t budge. If anything, it got louder. Not panicked — just steady. Persistent. A gentle nudge every time I held someone else’s baby or watched a mom and her kid walk hand in hand.

And one day, I stopped waiting for my life to look a certain way. I stopped putting my dream on hold for someone who might or might not show up.

I realized: I don’t need permission. I just need courage.

Choosing Myself, Choosing Her

Deciding to become a solo mom by choice isn’t a casual decision. It’s not something you wake up and wing. It’s layered with questions.

Will I be able to do this?

Will it affect my child negatively to grow up without a father?

Will people ask my child strange questions because of my choice?

Am I selfish… or brave?

But underneath the fear was something stronger: clarity.

I knew I had so much love to give.

I knew I was already showing up fully for my life — why not for a little one too?

I knew, deep down, I wouldn’t regret trying.

So I made the call. Booked the appointment. And began the process of becoming a mom — solo, but not alone.

I remember the day I told a close friend. She blinked twice and then said, “Honestly? That’s the most badass thing I’ve ever heard. And of course you are the one to do this!”

That moment stuck with me. Not because I needed validation — but because I realized how rare it still is for women to give themselves that kind of radical permission.

Science, Sperm Banks & So Many Thoughts

Let me tell you: choosing a sperm donor is not like choosing a juice cleanse or swiping on Tinder.

It’s intimate. Odd. Emotional.

You find yourself deep-diving into baby photos, family medical history, staff impressions, and voice recordings of men you’ll never meet — all to choose the person who will contribute to half of your child’s DNA.

There was one evening I remember clearly — I had a glass of wine, my laptop open, and way too many tabs. My heart was beating fast. I laughed at how weirdly intense it was. But I also cried. Because it hit me: this was real. This was happening. I was choosing someone not for me, but for her.

Eventually, I found the one that felt right. No “perfect profile” — just something instinctual. A feeling in my gut that said: this is him.

Then came the waiting game. I was happy I started the process before I was 100% sure of my decision. It was nice to grow along with the waiting list to get access to the fertility clinic. In Denmark fertility treatment for your first two children is free through our public health care system (well not free, but hidden in our very high taxes). It doesn’t matter if you’re a couple (gay or straightI or a single woman, all fertility treatment is a part of it. You get 6 try’s for insemination and if that doesn’t work they move you to IVF.

In my case insemination was the recommendation of the fertility doctor after seeing my blood test, scanning me etc. I was super excited but also realistic, because although I was “only” 34, we all know it only goes downhill in a woman’s 30’s, and so I had no expectations but was hopeful it would work within 3-4 tries.

The day I went in for my insemination appointment is so special to me. It was May 1st, a big day of celebration in Denmark. I walked to my spiritual mentor in the morning for a session and she did a healing session to prepare my body for a baby. I’m not normally into healing but that day it felt very special and when she mentioned my beloved grandmother was with me in spirit I broke down crying because I felt her presence with me that morning. She had passed away the year before and we were very close. She always knew I would be a mother some day, with or without a man.

After the session I walked in the beautiful morning sun through the Copenhagen park ‘Fælledparken’ where music and other festive elements were being put up to prepare for a busy and fun day! As I exited the park and reached Rigshospitalet, Copenhagen’s biggest hospital I spotted my sister. She had come to support and she immediately got emotional. It was like we both knew it was going to happen that day, even though there was only 15-20% chance of success.

Inside the hospital we found my best friend waiting. As you can see I had invited all my closest people to come watch me get pregnant, you can’t say that happens often that we watch our besties get pregnant (thank God, lol).

We took the elevator up to the fertility clinic and our spirits were high. Shortly after we entered a room and the nurse told me no time to waste, let’s get the sperm up there and we can chat after. The last thing we wanted was to risk waiting too long and the egg would be gone. So she double checked the donor name to make sure we were all aligned on the product that had been ordered for the occasion, and then proceeded to inseminate me. It wasn’t painful at all and shortly after I could get back up and put my clothes on.

As I left the room she said, “Now I don’t want to discourage you, but as you know there’s 15-20% chance of success. It’s like rolling a 6 in your first try when you play dice, which sometimes does happen!” In that moment I looked up and knew my grandmother was in the room looking out for me, because my grandma was the Queen of dice!

It Was Always Her

The day I saw the two lines on the test, I sat down and just breathed.

Not the dramatic movie sobs. Just stillness. And then the tiniest whisper to myself: She’s here. Somehow I just knew it was a girl. Well of course I didn’t know for a fact, but I always pictured myself having girls and I felt so strongly that it was a girl.

Pregnancy was wonderful. I didn’t have a partner rubbing my back or holding my hand during scans but I never missed it. I had the best support. My sister. My mom. My chosen family. And most importantly — I had me.

I made a diary form podcast talking about how I felt and my thoughts. I had done this since before I was pregnant to document my journey, and I released it for everyone to hear in the hopes of inspiring other women (it did).

I talked to her belly-to-heart. I kept telling her who she was coming to. I promised her laughter, safety, dancing in the kitchen, and love that didn’t depend on anyone else’s presence.

The day she was born, time stood still. After 47 hours of labor and one hour in the operating room to finally release her through emergency c-section, they placed her on my chest, and I knew instantly: it was always you. I cried so hard that the machine checking my pulse sounded like it was about to explode. It was the most magical moment of my life, finally locking eyes with my babygirl.

Just the Two of Us (and a Lot of Snacks)

Today, my daughter is full of fire and joy.

She dances as soon as I put on music. She greets every stranger like they’re a long-lost friend, even the card board people in the super markets. She must think they’re extremely rude not waving back. She already tries to brush her own hair and insists on doing most things on her own. 16 months old and already a strong and independent little lady.

Our life is loving, messy, and full of laughter. We have routines — our morning snuggles, our post-nap dance breaks, our 5 pm meltdown reset with walks. Her bedtime stories always end with a kiss and “Ninus,” her bunny, tucked under her arm.

There’s no one else to tap in when the nights are rough or the tantrums are loud.

But I don’t mind. Because there’s also no one between us when she curls into me at 3 a.m., whispering “moar” (mommy) into my ear.

A Radical Act of Self-Love

People often frame solo motherhood as a sacrifice.

As something you settle for when Plan A doesn’t plan out.

But what if it’s the opposite?

What if it’s an act of alignment?

In becoming a solo mom, I didn’t lose anything. I chose myself*.* I chose love. I chose joy. I chose the life I wanted, even when it didn’t follow the traditional script.

This journey has opened my eyes to something deeper: that choosing motherhood on your own terms can be one of the most profound acts of self-love.

It’s saying: My happiness matters. My timeline is valid. My version of family is enough.

And in a world where women are increasingly reclaiming their autonomy — in careers, in relationships, in identity — solo motherhood is simply another form of that truth.

It’s not about rejecting partnership. It’s about not waiting for one to start living fully.

How People Reacted

I’ve heard everything.

“You’re so brave!”

“I could never do that.”

“Won’t she miss having a father?”

And my personal favorite: “But what will you tell her?”

But what will you tell her?

Here’s what I’ll tell her:

That she was wanted.

That she was chosen.

That she was dreamed into being by a woman who didn’t wait for someone else to give her permission to live a full life.

And that families come in all shapes and forms — hers just happens to be filled to the brim with intention and love.

I’m Not Missing Anything

I don’t feel like I’m missing out on couple’s dinners or joint parenting decisions.

I don’t crave a co-parent because I don’t feel incomplete.

What I feel is whole.

Tired? Yes.

Stretched? Sometimes.

But missing something? Not even a little.

I feel grounded. Rooted. Joyful.

I feel like I built something beautiful from the inside out — a life that is mine and hers, intertwined.

This is My Version of a Love Story

People love to talk about soulmates.

But what if your soulmate isn’t a partner?

What if it’s a tiny human with yogurt on her face and a laugh that sounds so cute that you could cry of happiness?

My daughter is my greatest love story.

Not because it’s perfect. But because it’s ours.

I chose her before she was born. And every day, she chooses me back — in her sleepy hugs, her belly laughs, her tiny hand reaching for mine when we explore the big world outside our home. She may not have a father, but she is surrounded by love from her mother, grandparents, aunts, uncles and all of our self chosen family.

So yeah, I did a wild thing.

And it turned out to be the most beautiful, soul-filling, life-altering and best choice I ever made.