When you don’t have kids, you get to design your life with a script that flexes over the years. Only in hindsight can I see how my younger self might have benefited had I given attention to several things earlier in life.

1. Befriend older childfree and childless women.

I’d always enjoyed close relationships with those older than me—teachers, work mentors, and women I met at various workshops and retreats. Building trust with these women was like having the big sisters I didn’t get growing up, and I loved their advice and support.

In my 20s and well into my 30s, I wasn’t sure motherhood was for me. My younger sisters started having kids. Friends, too. Pressure to follow their lead grew as I focused on building my career. Only when a dear friend decided to have kids did I pause to reflect on my own intentions.

After some reflection and discussion with my then-husband, we decided to go for it. I distinctly remember wondering aloud about what else we were going to do with the rest of our lives. A future without kids was nearly impossible to envision at the time.

I didn’t realize until years later how much my decision-making was influenced by friends’ choices and the value our culture places on having kids. Always a striver, steeped in career ambition, I got focused on having kids fast. Nothing happened.

Around me, most of my friends were having kids. I felt like a colossal failure on the fertility front. I lived a go-go work life punctuated by monthly reminders that I was falling short of motherhood. We kept my infertility efforts private. I didn’t know how to open up to the very women who could have been a source of support.

We stopped trying when IVF was our only hope. Enough already, we agreed. Years of counseling followed, me feeling I was less womanly than friends with growing families.

I found my feet in my 50s, when my otherhood became too much to handle alone. I started talking and went on a quest for women who, like me, didn’t have kids. That new ambition gradually met with success, and today my closest friends are largely childfree.

2. Open up about the challenges and joys of non-parenthood.

I spent so many years being secretive, confused, or ashamed about my reproductive situation, when being open would have offered options for fruitful connections. On reflection, there have always been childless and childfree people in my life—great-aunts, neighbors, acquaintances, even my best friend from high school days.

She always knew she didn’t want children and has designed a very fulfilling life for herself. She went to college in Spain. After developing an interest in metalworking, she opened a world-renowned gallery. At 40, she married a man who also wasn’t a parent, and they are leaving soon for several months abroad. They’ve done that for several years running, and I love hearing of their adventures.

Back in my days of infertility, she and I spoke very little about motherhood. She told me recently she didn’t really know how to approach me in my grief. That made sense to me. Once I mustered the gumption to be honest with my friend, I found her an inspiring collaborator about how to craft a fulfilling life myself.

Writing my book about not having kids opened my eyes to different ways of being a non-mom. The women I interviewed were aged from their 20s to their 90s. Most had never shared details of their non-mom lives before, and they readily opened up. Every encounter fed my soul; many said their experience was the same.

Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of guesting on many podcasts and webinars about childless and childfree living. I feel part of a web of multi-generational advocates for acceptance of the value we hold in the world, the contributions we make to the quality of life so many enjoy. We’re enhancements to the lives we touch, without the strings of dependency.

When I share my non-motherhood with parents, I have been astonished how frequently I hear stories of parental regret. I’m considered a “safe” person with whom they can be frank. Hearing their stories helps me see that mothers and non-mothers have much to share. I can empathize with many of the challenges they face from a different perspective. I have a more clear picture now of how fraught life as a parent can be.

3. Seriously consider long-term care insurance for a more secure future.

When I was in my 40s, several financial advisors recommended I consider buying long-term care insurance. They said premiums would skyrocket once I reached my 50s.

Then in the prime of my physical health, it was hard to picture a future time of infirmity and decline. I was much more focused on saving and investing for a healthy financial future and figured I’d amass enough to take care of myself without the burden of paying monthly premiums.

Now I know that care in our later years can often be prohibitively expensive. It’s a challenge to know how our future selves might age. Today I’m hale, hearty, and active. But several people close to me are starting to decline. We debate housing options and analyze the cost of each. It’s daunting.

Several of my friends are retired financial advisors. Every one has long-term care insurance. A young friend’s dad, a retired school administrator, moved with his wife to a swanky retirement community. Now on hospice, his long-term care policy makes it financially feasible to enjoy excellent care without breaking the bank.

The rest of us are left to weigh risks we might face and get ready to pay for what may come our way. There are so many variables. Had I listened to what the advisors were telling me years ago, I might now enjoy a cushion of safety. Albeit at a price I wasn’t willing to pay back then.

No one gets through life without second thoughts and regrets. Only by giving voice to our reflections on life can we help others design their own futures. May they be fulfilling.