When I do go on dates, my biological clock is no longer my plus-one to the party. I can enjoy hanging out with a man without constantly trying to ascertain whether or not he’s going to make a good father. I don’t feel the need to ask manipulative questions or pretend I don’t want a serious future with someone so they’ll perceive me as carefree and cool. I can now just be carefree and cool.
Even though freezing my eggs gave me a new sense of levity, I also try to be realistic about how few problems it actually solves. Here’s what egg freezing does not promise to do: make you happy, deliver your soul mate to your front door, ensure you’re a good mother when you do use the eggs for a kid. It doesn’t fix your shitty childhood, pay your bills, prevent cancer, or make you look younger. Guys, it doesn’t even promise to give you a freaking baby. In fact, most of the time, the process doesn’t even work. The statistics aren’t even on our side on this one. There’s apparently a 77 percent failure rate in IVF procedures with frozen eggs among women aged thirty and over and a 91 percent failure rate in women aged forty and over, which means most women have to do the procedure multiple times. I know, science can be a real asshole. Hopefully that statistic has improved by the time you read this, and continues to improve swiftly so we can all just start 3-D printing kids already.
Even if I did beat the odds and get a baby out of my chilly eggs, that isn’t a promise for happiness either. My vagina could tear during childbirth, the kid I have could be weird, or when it gets older, it could become an addict or make me take it to water parks. The point is, I’m not saying egg freezing solves your problems, but what it can do is help us all step in the right direction toward extending our fertility. What I needed at that point in my life was to change my paradigm from feeling like a puppet of my biology to being somewhat in control of my future. Even if the chances are small, I needed some relief from the panic of the bleak fertility timeline. What we all need is for this procedure to be viable. The more we do this procedure and show interest in fertility extension, the harder scientists are going to work at perfecting it and getting the percentages to a promising place so we can all be wrinkled old ladies in nursing homes having babies well after menopause, changing diapers while we’re wearing diapers.
It’s our responsibility to invest in what we want and fight for our future selves and our (possibly IVF-conceived) kids’ future selves. Whether it’s quitting smoking, not texting our exes, or freezing our eggs. If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that it’s short and the line of people dedicated to making your dreams come true is even shorter. We have to champion ourselves, and sometimes that means saving lots of money to impale ourselves in the stomach with needles. Maybe it means cutting out lattes, maybe it means launching a kickstarter campaign, or campaigning for the procedure to be covered by insurance. Whatever it is, your time won’t be wasted because girl, you’re worth it.
I have a history of passively sitting on the bench when I want something, so when it didn’t work out the way I hoped, I could find solace in telling myself that I didn’t try that hard anyway. I used to avoid taking risks because I was so scared of rejection and failure. If I got anything out of the egg-freezing debacle, it’s that I finally started accepting what is instead of what I think should be. Unfortunately, idealism and ambition don’t change biology. I’m the first person to tell you to challenge the social norm, to defend yourself against a shitty boss or abusive boyfriend, but when it comes to our bodies, for the most part I think it may behoove us to be a doormat.
Women may have fewer and fewer social and professional limitations, but we still have very real biological ones. To pretend we don’t isn’t feminist, it’s just misinformed, delusional, and unfair to your future self. I’m not saying I think it’s fair, but I’ve had to accept a lot of biological annoyances: I have to floss, I can’t eat more than three pieces of cheese without a gastrointestinal revolt, I can’t change a guy’s values over dinner, and I can’t magically be attracted to a man who’s a foot shorter than me.
Look, after this ordeal, I still may never even have kids. I may sell the eggs I froze on eBay. Or I may have kids from my eggs, then sell the kids on eBay. Who knows? The point is, I did something to increase my chances of having choices. If you can increase your chances of not getting leveled by your primal biology by even 20 percent, I believe you owe that to yourself. And if you’re now thinking about freezing your eggs, good for you. Just take it easy. You’ll be fine.
THE EATING DISORDER CHAPTER
I know, an actress with an eating disorder—how original.
To be fair, I did have an eating disorder long before I thought about acting in case that makes me seem any less derivative.
A myriad of things conspired to give me an eating disorder. I say give as if it was some kind of generous present from Santa or a surprise hit to my PayPal account, but I’m not sure how else to say it. I developed an eating disorder? I caught an eating disorder? I downloaded an eating disorder? I think for the most part my eating disorder was cued up the day I was born, so I think of it as being a latent beast inside me waiting patiently to take over and ruin my adolescence and bone density. So maybe I was possessed by an eating disorder is the more accurate way to go? Nope, that sounds weird too.
Weight was a concept in my purview way too early in life. My mom was very thin, but every time someone complimented her, she would always respond with “No, no, I need to lose five pounds.” But she did not need to lose five pounds. She was tiny. That was confusing to my nascent, very literal brain. I mean, this was back when I thought McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets were actually made of chicken.
I remember drinking a lot of diet soda as a kid. I don’t blame my parents for this; it was the late eighties, way before we knew a lot of important information. We didn’t know yet that artificial sweetener is bad for you, that Bill Cosby is a sociopath, and that denim shouldn’t be bedazzled.
My stepmother was also very body conscious and had thighs that didn’t touch each other, which I now know is not possible without excessive dieting or liposuction. I don’t remember ever seeing her eat, but I do remember her smoking Virginia Slims. Even the cigarettes in my house were diet.