I was afraid of losing my ex because I didn't want kids. I realized I'd be losing myself if I compromised.

• I loved my ex almost immediately, but he wanted kids, and I didn't. 
• We avoided talking about the issue for a while, but finally, it put a strain on our relationship. 
• We both hoped the other would change their mind, but it didn't happen. 

The first time I looked into my ex's eyes, I felt a zing — a tiny electrical current that zapped up my torso and tingled my chest. There was no slow, gradual beginning to us; this was it. He was so right for me, I thought, that if something were to ever happen to him, I would just be single for the rest of my life.

By the end of date number two, we were officially dating and had already touched on the subject of kids, even though we knew it felt too early for a serious conversation about the topic. He wanted to start a family someday, and I didn't. But still, we committed to each other.

Our conversations about the future became more frequent as we approached our first anniversary. We'd met in the fall of 2019, and the pandemic had put our relationship on the fast track; we were living together and running a business together. Then, in the subsequent years, the question of a family took a more urgent tone. The gap in our desires crystallized, prompting the question: What are we working toward?

I was in denial and dodged the topic for as long as I could

At first, I wasn't concerned about this at all. Thinking that wanting different things couldn't contribute to a breakup wasn't rational thinking, and it was easier for me to ignore the problem because I wasn't up against any clock, being the one who didn't want kids. Even though men have a longer fertility window than women, the clock was ticking loudly for my ex because he didn't want to be an older parent.

My days of blissful denial were over once I realized how important having a family was to him. He said he didn't want a rudderless life, and I understood that his sense of purpose resided there. He wanted a partner he could have kids with. Deep down, I knew that partner wouldn't be me, so anxiety and a fear of losing him crept in.

I began to wonder if my love for my partner could overcome my desire to be child-free, or if it was possible that I wasn't sure about my decision yet. I wondered how much doubt about having kids was normal. All of these questions swirled in my head every day. And while they did, I avoided the topic. I wasn't yet ready to face the issue with him head-on.

I started negotiating with both him and myself

At times, we both took turns flirting with the possibility that we might change our minds. It was a valid exercise and a noble attempt to save our relationship. However, it only made me notice the relief I would feel whenever my ex entertained the idea of not having kids.

There was a moment when I came close to agreeing, and then I said, "Not now, but later." I turned it into a negotiation: "If I can have at least two more years, accomplish this and that," or, "If our relationship is doing better." I was either being extraordinarily strategic or performing a lot of mental gymnastics to persuade myself of something I didn't want.

I remember telling someone I might "just do it" because I couldn't bear the thought of a life without my partner. These were fleeting thoughts, but they kept intruding into my day-to-day life and weighing heavily on me. This person advised that having a baby isn't like having a second cupcake, something you "just do." Of course, I knew this, so why were these words coming out of my mouth?

In retrospect, I wasn't wrestling with whether I wanted to be a parent or not; I was wrestling with whether I was prepared to lose my partner.

My fear of losing him was replaced with a fear of losing myself

At one point, when I met up with a close friend I hadn't seen in a while and told her about my to-bear or not-to-bear woes, she said, "You used to be so bubbly." I pushed back, saying I had grown and changed. But I knew what she meant — I had started to lose myself.

Our relationship was in a heightened state of stress, especially during its final year. Running a business together had added another layer of complexity, and the quality of our time together withered away. There was no escape valve for us except for the time we spent apart.

I wanted to protect who I was as an individual and pursue my writing, so I started focusing more on my personal projects. My ex felt I was over-indexing on my alone time. Whether that was true or not, my fear of losing him receded as I embraced the parts of myself that I wanted to preserve and nurture and that I felt were at risk.

I quit the company, hoping that would alleviate our fighting, but also in preparation for a potential breakup. Slowly, I let go of the idea of forever.

After parting ways, I regained clarity

In our darkest hour, as our relationship crumbled, all of our problems were reduced to this single, pressing question: Did I want kids? In the end, I stood my ground. I knew I had been trying to force myself into wanting a life I didn't desire. A therapist told us that I shouldn't be put in the hot seat and that he shouldn't have to wait.

The parenthood issue wasn't the only source of our ailments, but it had become central to our narrative. Ultimately, there was no point in trying to work things out when we had such different visions of the future and ideas about what would bring us contentment and meaning.

Once the pressure was off, I felt light and clearheaded again. I was no longer trying to make up my mind when I already had it made, nor trying to convince myself of something that didn't feel true to me. Now, I have renewed energy and more mental and emotional space for the things that truly matter to me. The relationship ended, but I don't see it as a loss because I gained (or recovered) so much more.