The Architecture of Egg Freezing

I Froze My Eggs in the Philippines—and Designed My Freedom

Oocyte cryopreservation is like packing a backup lipstick and a piece of mint gum before a long meeting. I might never use them. But I could.

The Decision

I was visiting the Philippines when I decided to freeze my eggs. Not during some life crisis or tear-streaked moment of panic, but while booking a facial appointment.

I was already at St. Luke’s—one of the best hospitals in the country—so I thought, Why not ask about fertility too? My friends were starting to have kids. My feed was full of babies and sonograms. And yet, I was across the world, walking through humid Manila streets, designing homes by day and journaling about joy, not urgency, by night.

Egg freezing didn’t feel like a desperate move.

It felt like a design choice.

Designing the Unknown

As an architect, I spend my life shaping physical spaces: light, lines, thresholds. But emotional spaces? That’s taken longer. For years, I thought I had to be sure before acting—sure I wanted kids, sure I was with the right partner, sure the timing was “right.” I saw egg freezing as a last resort, something you did only if things hadn’t gone to plan.

What no one told me is this: You can freeze your eggs even if you don’t know.

Especially if you don’t know.

To me, it’s like packing a backup lipstick and some mint before a long meeting. You might not need them, but if the moment calls for it, you’re glad you came prepared.

The Process

The process itself is strange and intimate. You take hormone shots at the same time every night. Your ovaries swell. You go in for scans where they count follicles—those small sacs holding potential. It feels technical, clinical even, until one day you realize: this is me, creating a future I might never choose, but want the right to choose anyway.

That’s when the identity shift kicks in.

Not because the hormones make you emotional (they do), but because something inside you reorients. You’re no longer living under pressure. You’re living with intention. You’re not waiting to be chosen—you’re choosing. Not just partners or careers—but your timeline, your peace, your priorities.

Freezing my eggs wasn’t about pausing time.

It was about creating space to breathe, to love, to change.

I wasn’t preparing for motherhood. I was preserving my right to keep evolving.

The Architecture of Choice

We talk about egg freezing like it’s a safety net. A backup plan. But what if it’s actually a form of emotional architecture?

A room you quietly build in your future—not because you’re certain you’ll live there, but because you want to know it’s there, just in case the light falls through the window one day and everything inside you says YES.

In architectural terms: freezing my eggs was like drawing an entire blueprint—oocyte cryopreservation as a form of design, not delay.

To build or not is my freedom.

But I can.

I love my time. My rituals. My silence. The smell of matcha in the morning. The feeling of writing with no one watching. Some days, the thought of kids feels like an embrace. Other days, like a distant echo. That duality used to scare me. Now, I hold it with ease.

My eggs are frozen in a lab, across the ocean. I may never use them. But they exist—tucked away, like a beautifully designed option. Like a door I don’t have to walk through, but one I’m glad I built.

And that’s the power no one talks about.

Before You’re Certain

You don’t have to be sure to act. You don’t need panic to prepare. You can honor your freedom now and still leave space for change later.

If you’re thinking about egg freezing, I hope this story makes you feel less alone. More powerful. More spacious inside.

🟢 Share this with someone quietly considering it.

Need an architect?

I might be fully booked, but I’ll see what I can do—blueprints, lipstick, and all.