I took a really long time to decide if I wanted to be a mum.

That might sound strange coming from the writer of a motherhood blog who is unashamedly obsessed with her two young children.

But I’ve come to appreciate that motherhood isn’t one size fits all.

I understand that having children isn’t always a conscious decision that’s made, or one that always eventuates even when it’s wanted.

But for me, deciding to have a family was the biggest decision of my life.

It’s not that my children weren’t wanted or dreamed of. Being an only child – and the baby cousin on both sides of my family – I actually always envisioned a big family; a loud, crazy crew of my own.

But as the deadline of that ‘one day’ sentiment drew closer, the anxiety I experienced was crippling. It felt like my heart’s desire was on the other side of a bridge – and I honestly didn’t know if I was brave enough to cross it.

For many years, the decision to become a mum felt like a large question mark hovering over my head. Picture Jim Carey as ‘The Riddler’ in Batman Forever, circa 1995. I couldn’t shake the looming question mark and as time went on, people noticed it and started to point it out. It became their go-to icebreaker.

It was as though many were trying to solve the riddle for me. I found the situation strange; to be personally faced with the life upheaval that comes with growing, birthing and raising another human, and others so adamant that I should do so.

Motherhood, in my opinion, is often misunderstood as a trophy for womanhood.

My husband and I were becoming ninjas in deflecting the constant hounding from well-meaning family and friends. They weren’t to know, but behind closed doors we were having some heart-to-hearts.

I’ll never forget the look on my husband’s face when I told him that I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to have kids.

We’d been married for four years and he had been ready to start a family for some time. Even thinking back to that raw conversation makes my heart heavy (even though I know the result).

I admitted that I was scared. After all, I was the one that would be putting my hand up to share my body, breastfeed and inevitably interrupt my career. Plus, having episodes of ‘One Born Every Minute’ etched into my soul weren’t doing anything for my fear of birth.

He listened and responded with love. His response left me feeling empowered, not pressured. In our marriage, those are the moments that matter the most to me. Although we weren’t sure if we were on the same page on such a big life decision, somehow the transparency from that conversation brought us closer.

Determined to find my answer, I took to reaching a verdict like a research project. I probed friends over brunch; those with kids and without. I soaked in self-help books such as Lean In, which promised to unlock the keys on how women could achieve it all – the elusive balance between a career and motherhood.

I found my answer when I prayed and purposefully guarded my heart. It wasn’t until further along in my journey that I couldn’t shake an undeniable peace. My battle with anxiety was almost instantly eclipsed – and I haven’t experienced it since.

In hindsight, there were many reasons why it took me so long to decide whether I wanted to be a mum.

Was I fearful of losing myself in motherhood? I think so.

I was almost too aware that in many ways, having a child would be a two-fold birth; the beginning of a new life, and the re-birth of my own.

I am learning that motherhood is deeply personal. It’s intimately between a mother and child; no-one else. It doesn’t conform to a motherhood mould. The only mum I need to be is mum to my own kids. It seems so obvious now, but that took me so long to wrap my head around.

I still smile at the memory of my husband picking me up and running around our house when we learnt that we were going to be parents. It was real joy.

It is undeniable that there are times where I miss my former life. Sometimes I miss the pace of life that my husband and I shared, just the two of us. I miss slow brunch dates and uninterrupted conversations. I miss carefree travel and leaving the house without taking half of it with me.

But I also look into the eyes of my kids and know that without a doubt, I will be eternally grateful that it’s not them that I miss.

By Erin Marie