Matched But Not Mine: What No One Tells You About Choosing a Donor

“Well, I think it would be a sensible decision to move forward with donor eggs.”

That’s what my doctor said. And just like that, the chapter turned.

It wasn’t a shock—I’ve seen the writing on the lab reports—but hearing it out loud hit different. It was like someone confirming the thing I’d been trying to both accept and outrun. That no matter how hard I pushed, my body might not be the vessel that gets us there.

And here’s the truth: it’s bittersweet.Like… really, truly, bittersweet.

🧬 A Strange Kind of Relief

I’m not going to lie—there was a part of me that exhaled.Because donor eggs mean I don’t have to put my body through another round of stim injections, bloating, daily monitoring, financial whiplash, and emotional free-fall. No more “grow, follicles, grow!” pep talks at 2am.

That part is… a relief.

But right next to that exhale is the hollow.The quiet grief of knowing my child won’t be biologically mine.

💔 The Grief No One Prepares You For

It’s not that I’ll love the baby any less—God, no. That kind of love is so much bigger than DNA.

But there’s a grief in knowing that I won’t look at them and see me. That my laugh won’t echo in theirs. That my eyes, my curls, my weird toe shape won’t get passed down.

And if I’m being brutally honest?Part of me already worries I’ll feel some weird resentment that Adam gets to see his genes continue. He’ll get to say “Oh, that’s my grandma’s chin” and I’ll smile… but quietly ache.

🖼 The Judgment, the Browsing, and the Weirdest Shopping Trip of My Life

Scrolling through donor profiles is like Tinder meets Ancestry.com meets existential crisis.

I’ve never judged women’s appearances this closely in my life. Eye shape, skin tone, height, hair texture, childhood photos—I was suddenly a picky, judgy, detail-obsessed woman on a mission.

Even the ones who “look like me” still don’t feel like me.It’s like trying to find a ghost version of yourself in someone else’s face.

And yet… somewhere between guilt and weird emotional whiplash, there’s also a spark of hope.

Because we found one.We were matched through CCRM’s donor database with no red flags. She’s smart, kind-eyed, and someone I could almost see myself knowing.

💸 What It Costs (Besides Money)

The financial toll is its own kind of grief.Our retirement savings? Burned up by the fourth egg retrieval.This next step? It’s basically our future on layaway.

And even after all that, I still worry it won’t work. That we’ll walk this long, painful road and end up exactly where we started: just us, exhausted and empty-handed.

But the only thing harder than trying again… is giving up.

🌱 What I’m Trying to Hold Onto

I never imagined this would be my path.I didn’t picture scrolling through donor profiles or making peace with someone else’s chromosomes in my child.

But I’m also trying—really trying—to find gratitude in the possibility.To sit in the weird, squishy, complicated middle of grief and hope.To let myself mourn what isn’t… while still making space for what might be.

Because maybe this isn’t the story I thought I’d write—But maybe it’s still one worth telling.