Some people have that rare kind of energy; the kind that draws you in without trying. That’s Camille Lowry. I met her through my sister and was instantly struck by her presence: grounded, luminous, and quietly magnetic. So it didn’t surprise me to learn that she had a story as powerful as her spirit.

A successful event producer and writer, Camille decided at 51, to pursue motherhood on her own through private domestic adoption. She was told it could take years. That she was too old. That birth mothers wouldn’t choose a single parent. And for a long stretch, that all seemed true: Camille created a beautiful brochure filled with joyful images of her life, surrounded by friends and family, traveling, swimming, laughing with her nieces, and was passed over by 13 different mothers. She endured false starts, mounds of paperwork, and the deep emotional gamble of hoping for a child who might never come.

But then, just when she was about to give up, she received a call. Within an hour of speaking to Paloma’s birth mother, Camille was chosen. A week later, she was on a plane to meet the woman who would change her life. Paloma was born that September—on Labor Day, fittingly—just shy of Camille’s 52nd birthday.

This Q&A is about the path that led her there: one marked by hope, heartbreak, bureaucracy, grit, and something more powerful than all of it - unshakable love.

Q: What sparked your decision to pursue motherhood at this point in your life, and on your own?

A: I have always been clear that I wanted to be a mother. I’ve had this strong desire since childhood.

I recall several women my parents knew who didn’t have kids and seemed to have unresolved feelings about it. To be very clear, I certainly don’t think everyone needs to be a parent. We knew some very cool childfree women who seemed younger and more vibrant than my mom’s parent peers. But I had heard some of my parents’ friends had wanted a child but had not found a partner. Even as a kid, I sensed their melancholy. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let anything stop me from being a parent.

I declared this promise to my grandmother Camille at age seven. I was her namesake and youngest grandchild. We were close. I said, “I will have a baby, even if I don’t have a husband.”

Grandma looked like Fred Sanford grabbing his chest- shocked by little me shrugging off matrimony and societal expectations. This was around 1978, and single motherhood was looked at as something you fell into not chose. She reported my statement to my father later that evening. It was the only time I can recall hearing her raising concern about who I was becoming and what ideas were getting into my head.

My parents talked to me about shocking my grandma, but did not chastise me for what I’d said. The declared idea then felt sanctioned and solid.

I had no idea it would be so hard to fulfill, and would take me over a decade of earnest, hard effort. My mom had easily had three children, one at 43 at a time when women weren’t having kids much in their forties. I’d assumed fertility was in my favor.

I decided in my late thirties to stop waiting for that husband and embarked on a long, painful, unsuccessful IVF journey. Then I took a few years off to heal from the disappointment and focus on other areas of life. I was starting to think I’d missed the moment of motherhood as I approached and passed 50. However, emerging from the pandemic and all that solitude, I realized I still wanted very much to have a family. That I really wanted to focus on someone other than me. I knew I had a lot of love to give.

Q: Did you wrestle with any internal doubts or external pressures before making your decision, and how did you move through them?

A: My journey to becoming a single mother via IVF and adoption was a winding one. I had to take mental breaks from focusing on it. During those breaks I’d throw myself into all of the freedoms one has without kids—traveling, going dancing, flirting, buying impractical shoes. In those moments it was hard to imagine giving up the freedom longterm to have a child. But the desire of a child would win out and so I’d rejoin the IVF medical circus, battling through those doubts and potential FOMO.

I also wanted a love partner. Finding a lasting partner had not been easy as a single person. I assumed it would be twice as hard with a child. I had to meditate on whether to fight for finding a partner or a child. Again my desire for a child won out.

With adoption specifically, I worried whether it might be unfair to the child that I would be an older parent for them. I knew I had the strength and a very alive inner child to be a good, playful mom now, but would that child feel burdened by an elderly parent as a teenager or young adult? If I lived that long?

Four people in my life gently campaigned for me to dive back into having a child after my IVF struggle: two family members, my therapist and a dear old friend. The friend kept coming back to the idea over a weekend when she visited me. She asked me about the reasons that were giving me pause, and then in her gentle way, knocked them away with confidence that was catching. On her final day with name she said, “I think you should adopt. It’s not too late.”

Q: How has becoming a parent shifted your perspective on age, time, or what it means to start something new?

A: I don’t think shift is the word I would use. My perception of time changes daily as my child does. Time now is like an acid trip. It both brings clarity and morphs right when I think I have a handle on it.

You see time moving quickly in real life while raising a child, as they grow and change. It is both magical and bizarre. You put them to sleep and they wake up bigger. One day they are still on a rug. Then a few months later they are climbing onto counters. The shift they make from smiling for the first time, to saying a word, to making a joke themselves- is mind blowing. Every day you see them become a new version of themselves with growth that’s hard to see elsewhere in life.

Time reminds me of the bubble blown from chewing gum. Sometimes time stretches long, and other times when you think you have time, it pops and disappearance can be shocking and disorienting.

It is such a cliche, but I don’t have enough time as a parent as I need. Especially as a single mother. I think about time all the time. How much time do I have to clean, rest and reset for myself, to invest in my career, friends, and family? Do I have time to run to the store for her supplies? Or should I take that time to fit in a rare hike. Do I shower or respond to work emails?

I have found that multitasking, which used to be a great skill of mine, does not serve me. It does not compress time, because Paloma demands my full attention. She will bat at my phone or whine if I turn to my laptop. It’s stressful for me and miserable for her when I’m trying to cram a lot into a moment with a toddler protesting at my feet. I work better, we work better, when I surrender to her and mom time as possible. Without that power struggle, time feels more worthwhile and enjoyable. It flies by. Then I cram everything else into small blocks of time when she is asleep and or at daycare.

Living in my baby’s world also reminds me of when I was a child. It brings back a lot of memories from the past with greater understanding. And I now remind myself of my mother in the ‘70s, and have greater empathy for her.

Q: What kind of community or support system did you lean on, or build, through this journey?

A: My biggest supporter has always been my sister. She is also a mother of two girls, so she has lived through this motherhood journey. She flew to be there when I met and gathered my baby from the hospital on the day she was born. We were out of state and had to stay there for 10 bureaucratic days. A friend from high school lived there and took us in, also a mother of two girls. Then a dear friend, and mother of two girls, relieved my sister and flew to help me bring tiny Paloma home. I feel like my first two weeks of motherhood was an amazing mom camp filled with love led by the best counselors.

Leading up to getting Paloma, I also leaned on my therapist, another friend seeking adoption, two friends who had successfully adopted, a childhood friend who’d been adopted, and a few other girlfriends. I had a powerful village of wise women.

“Living in my baby’s world also reminds me of when I was a child. It brings back a lot of memories from the past with greater understanding. And I now remind myself of my mother in the ‘70s, and have greater empathy for her.”

Q: What would you say to someone who feels the window for a dream has closed?

A: My greatest wish for anyone facing this quandary of whether or not to have children is that they make the decision actively. That they really ask themselves if they want kids and meditate on the answer. I feel for the people who found the question too overwhelming and turned away from it and let life make the decision for them. I don’t know if that results in much peace.

By actively, I would say go for the consultation with your doctor to find out your true chances of having a biological child. Listen to that doctor if they say your odds are not great. Try to have a child this way, if you want to. But do not waste years trying and fighting against medical advice. I think a lot of people in IVF want to win. They invest so much into the process that it’s hard to walk away and try a new path. The child you get to raise is the most amazing gift, whether it came from your genes or not. Focus on the goal- getting and raising a child, and be open to different paths.

If adoption is even remotely an option for you, attend a seminar on adoption sooner than later. Even better, if the desire is there- start the adoption process. Don’t wait for the perfect time. It is a long process and it will force you to think and answer for the people who facilitate adoption, and more importantly yourself, whether or not you still have the will, resources and energy for it. Action can bring clarity.

If you discover along the way, that it does not feel right- you will have given yourself the chance. If the adoption process proves to be too long for you - you can walk away knowing you tried. In the end, you will either have a child to love or hopefully have answered one of the biggest questions in life for yourself.

Q: What unexpected turn or choice has shaped who you are today?

A: My answer to this question is timely for Los Angeles readers. My family lost our house in a brushfire in the Bay Area in the ‘90s on my 20th birthday. One of the few intact things Mom found on the charred grounds when she came to survey the damage was a singed title page of a book that read: The Question of Survival. She framed it and put it up in our next home as a symbol of resilience. That fire shook me out of a youthful naivete that everything would always turn out ok, that made me more watchful. On the other hand I learned one can rebuild and move forward through unimaginable pain.

Q: How has your definition of success evolved over time?

A: I regard the most successful person as the person who was able to pinpoint and hone their natural talents to create and sustain a happy life. They are embodying the best version of themselves. They are the most successful in my book, if the life they create on their own terms can also have a positive impact for others.

Q: What’s the one misconception about women in their 50s (or beyond) that you wish society would rethink?

A: First, I would ask if society is really thinking about us. I am at the age where I have started to feel more invisible in a room. We are no longer considered the shiny cool, or romantically the ripe peaches to be plucked and savored. I have had my doctor’s shrug off a question about a physical complaint or two, and say that the world has just not invested in finding solutions for women my age. I wish that society could appreciate that we are worthy of your attention, in all ways. We are far more interesting now, in my opinion, than when we were young.

Q: What lesson has taken you the longest to learn, but has made the biggest impact?

A: It’s taken me a long time to learn how to trust my gut. When I asked for advice for years people would say, trust your gut. I was forever trying to make decisions, big and small, by committee, asking everyone else what they thought. The problem was I didn’t think I had a gut or rather gut wisdom. I would listen for it to speak to me and I heard silence. I eventually realized I couldn’t hear my intuition because I’d invited so many outside voices and values into my head. When I went through IVF for years, I just had this instinct to tell only a few people. I found a surprising strength in the quiet of that bubble. Since then I have continued to turn inward, train my intuition to speak loudly and listen to it. I can’t imagine how I would have been able to be a mother without strengthening that skill.

Q: If you could give your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be?

A: Take more chances. I’ve taken a lot of chances in my life. I’ve tried different professions, I moved to Rome alone without speaking Italian, and adopted a child in my 50s. So this might sound strange advice for me to give myself. But I do wish I’d taken more chances professionally and romantically. Part two of this advice is stop overthinking things; do the things. I truly believe action brings clarity. I spent way too much time, especially in my 30s, trying to imagine every possible outcome before I would embark on some new adventure, explore an opportunity, or face a challenge. That imagining does not give control or save you from disappointment or pain. It just stalls life.

Q: Your one word to describe what’s next?

A: Balance. I’m seeking a balance between giving my all as a single parent to a small child and keeping space for the passions and pleasures that made me feel steady and whole before I got her. A happy child has a happy mother. It’s hard in these early years to make my needs a priority, but I’m realizing it’s imperative, for the both of us.

Thirteen Nos, One Life-changing Yes

“Living in my baby’s world also reminds me of when I was a child. It brings back a lot of memories from the past with greater understanding. And I now remind myself of my mother in the ‘70s, and have greater empathy for her.”

The Year I Stopped Waiting and Started Over