'Not having children is not only my biggest regret, it has broken me'

As I stood in the middle of the room, I felt a gaping sense of loss. I was not at the funeral of a loved one, but at my friend’s son’s 18th birthday party, and I was the only person there without an army of fun loving teens to call my own.

My friends were a medley of middle-aged couples or lone parents, sat around the kitchen table, content and relaxed as they swapped in-jokes about moody teenagers and the fact that they had better look after us when we’re old and infirm (haha). Being single, I laughed and joked about yet another terrible date, wondering out loud who would look after me, but my laughter was empty; a well-rehearsed way to cover up the loneliness I felt.

As a childless woman of 56 it is difficult to admit how I still suffer the pain of being childless. Yes, I may have avoided years of sleep deprivation, nappy changing and standing on a rugby pitch in the freezing rain. Yes, I have had unparalleled freedom to do what I want, whenever I want – but as pleasurable as all this may be, I would swap it in a nanosecond for the chance to have that feeling of unconditional love for a child.

Like so many NOMOs (not mothers), it is not as if I planned on a life without offspring. I often wake up in the middle of the night wondering where it all went wrong.

Looking back at my mid-20s, I lived a glamorous life. I had a great job, went to constant parties in Chelsea and had a dating diary full of eligible bachelors. Not for me a life of marriage, children and the never-ending drudgery of putting fish fingers in the oven. I wanted adventure, the novelty of new experiences.

Yet as the landscape changed in my late-thirties, so did my feelings. That broody yearning to smell the top of a baby's head, hold the little bundle in my arms, started to make itself felt.

But I had left it all too late. I was 38 and suffered two miscarriages.

I found myself the wrong side of 40, single and childless. The truth is, not having children is not only my biggest regret, it has broken me. In my case, the miscarriages took their toll, and whilst the mechanics were a piece of cake, it has taken me a long time to get over it.

Years ago, I used to avoid contact with anybody who had children, including my sisters. When I did see a friend once and held her tiny baby and inhaled its scent, the years of grief and sadness that I had squished so far down came welling up, and I can describe what I felt only as a sort of breaking-down.

That said, through those years I have come to a sort of peace. I am not bitter, but the pain is still there. Now it resides somewhere tucked away in my subconscious, only rearing its head at occasions like my friend's party. Those are the times when I realise the love of a child is something that I will never have.

Many women today think we can have it all. Those like me, who have the freedom to pay exorbitant sums on pushing back the ravages of time; we can jet off to Paris on a whim or buy that floaty dress we saw in the shop window. But the one thing we can't have is a child to call us mummy. Someone we look after and who can look after us. The bond with your child is about fierce love, the most fulfilling thing there is.

And as I get older this bond that I don’t have wears more and more heavily on me. The silent commitment of children looking after parents who devoted their years to us, does not factor in  lonestars like me. I find it devastating to imagine ending my days alone or worse going ga-ga and incontinent in a care home.

My widowed father, 78, relies heavily on his three daughters to book-end his day with a cheery call. To accompany him on walks, holiday in Spain together, in short to make him feel relevant and cared for.

Whilst my nephews and niece are still happy to see their auntie Kate as I regale them with my drunken days at uni, in fifteen years time with maybe families of their own, a trip to mad auntie Kate's may not be on their to-do list. But then you never know.

Read more: 'Childless women like me would rather pay for care than rely on resentful family when we get old'