'I broke up with a man for not wanting kids. I'm not even sure I want them either.'

I remember sitting across the table from the tall, handsome man and thinking to myself, 'This is living'. Dating in the city. Beer in hand. Tall, handsome man.

I tapped my heeled boot against the bar stool and figured he probably didn't want children from a few things he said to me, and I greeted the realisation with a shrug. It didn't matter to me. This was casual dating, and children were the last thing on my mind.

I walked into that bar wholeheartedly open-minded, and I was simply excited to meet a new person. To approach dating as a fun, almost empowering, activity. But I didn't know that I was taking the first step towards a man I would start to fall in love with, or that I was opening myself up to the immediate pain of wrestling with one of life's big decisions.

Do I want children? Do I want children?

Watch: One woman's experience being child-free. Post continues below.

The next few months passed in a blur of mindless enjoyment. We spent time together when we could, going out for meals and drinking coffee and dancing at that one jazz bar we finally managed to get tickets for. It was just plain old lovely dating. I would see him and enjoy his company, but then I'd say goodbye without considering when I would see him next. The future wasn't a priority because this is living, right? This is dating in your twenties.

But of course, a connection was being built. Little by little. He started to share stories that he later admitted he hadn't told anyone else and I let my mask slip too. We had in-jokes and silly anecdotes and we learnt where to tread carefully with one another, mindful of sensitivities etched there by other people.

We started to truly know one another, and we could see the things we liked about ourselves being reflected back by the other. I felt understood. I felt cared for.

I felt all of this while knowing he didn't want children. The thing was, I just had no idea what I wanted. It didn't feel like a decision I needed to make now, until I watched my feelings truck past on their way to that place where 'return to sender' isn't optional.

I looked beside me just long enough to remember that my travel companion had checked luggage for a different destination. He was flying a flag I was far from ready to pick up yet. He didn't want kids, and it terrified me.

But do I want kids? I have no idea if I want kids. It feels like such a loaded question that for years I have squirmed when someone has asked me; the existential dread palpable when I quickly decipher what the implications of having children would mean for my career, or where in the world I would want to raise them, or if I would ever be in a place financially to afford one.

And that's all before I consider what it would mean for me as a person, my identity, my life. Oh, and of course – tick, tick. It wasn't something I necessarily agonised over because it felt like a future problem and one I was very, very happy to ride the wave of time with while I could.

But now any illusive sense of time was disappearing. I was tiptoeing ever closer towards a free fall and I knew I had to face the decision before it all ran away from me and I did myself a disservice. But to cut ties with someone making me feel this way? A way I hadn't felt in so long? To forsake myself of joy right now, only for an intangible potential desire later? It was cruel. It was heartbreaking.

I didn't want to break my own heart.

I decided to do it anyway.

Because even though the tall, handsome man was giving me everything I wanted in life right now, he may not in the future. I decided I still needed the option. I decided I didn't want to put future me in an even more difficult position than I already found myself in.

Amongst the chaos inflicted by one unanswered question, I ultimately decided to choose myself. And as I continue to tap my heeled boot against the bar stool, it's now out of impatience. Impatience at wanting this gnawing feeling to leave me alone, and worried it never actually will.

Feature Image: Supplied.