This past weekend was Mother’s Day in North America. And these days while we show some MUCH deserved extra love to our Mother’s, Step-Mothers and Grandmothers a movement has started where that love is shown to other “mother type” figures too.
If you’ve read the first couple posts you know that by the time I was 25 I had been told it was highly unlikely I would be able to have children and while I have been very lucky over the last 9 years to receive love on Mothers Day as a Godmother and Auntie, Mothers Day held a sting for a long time for me. A little nagging reminder of my lack of choice.
I want to be clear here that I never was a real “kid” person. I never “played” much as a kid myself (my Mom always said I was two going on 22), so I was never too sure what to do with little kids past when they were babies. I didn’t enjoy babysitting and never really felt connected to many young children. I did think I wanted children of my own though and figured that when it came to my kids it would just click. At one point I was convinced I wanted at least four actually, (maybe I believed that adage that more made it easier because they entertained each other?) I was used to busy and loud houses with lots of activity and I couldn’t imagine not having that in my own home someday.
When my reproductive roller coaster started at 18 years old the immediate focus of any doctor I saw was to preserve any chance I had to have children. This was the absolute most important thing to them; if it could be avoided they wouldn’t do any treatment that might jeopardize my future fertility. And I was on board with that. That seemed like the most important thing. There was a sense of panic about whether or not I was losing any opportunity I may have to have kids. Should I just go for it at 22 even though my life was an absolute mess? (This was a real thing I considered.) Don’t get me wrong, I know why that was the focus; I was young and if they could have helped me without permanently removing an option for me to carry my own children then that was the right choice, BUT in hindsight, I wish that we hadn’t talked so much about fertility and instead had talked more about health – my physical health and my mental health. Was it worth all the added treatments and the stress and side-effects they carried with them?
When I was told that with current medical science I would never be able to carry a child, the first thing I felt was a sense of failure. What was I if the “ONE THING” that made me a woman didn’t work? I had “ONE JOB” and couldn’t even do it. I felt broken, yet again. I felt like I’d failed – myself, my future partner (if anyone would even want me), my parents…hell, in my mind, I was such a failure, I’d failed my species.
After failure, I actually felt justifiably punished. I reasoned that OF COURSE I couldn’t procreate…I was a defective person. I’d spent the majority of my teens an absolute train wreck, and nature was just doing it’s job and ensuring my genes weren’t replicated; the world did not need more of that. It would be cruel for me to have kids that would likely turn out like I did.
Yet, even at this point, they wouldn’t do a hysterectomy. Because maybe in 10 years science would be different…if I could still function at all with my uterus somewhat intact, then I should. Protect the potential to have children at all costs. Pretty hard to process this and get closure when one door is always being left open.
And again, I get it. Many, many women want children more than anything else in the world, and I was young so who knew how I would feel in another 10 years. But the message that I got that it is expected that I should have kids and protecting my ability to do that as the most important thing, was damaging. And I know I am not the only one who received that message – women receive it every single day from the media or fairy tales or our parents/grandparents/aunts/uncles/etc or religion or cultural beliefs or ourselves…in my case it was/is also from doctors. Not a year ago I went to a new OBGYN to have my IUD changed and when he asked why I use an IUD and I told him because I became extremely ill for multiple weeks during menstruation and this stopped that. His response was to tell me I should just get pregnant instead. I have been pregnant three times in my life. Two ended in painful miscarriages that required medical intervention and one was medically terminated due to the risks. I know that doctor didn’t know that, but as a medical professional you would think that MAYBE you’d know pregnancy isn’t the answer for everyone and that that could be upsetting for some people? That kind of thing doesn’t bother me anymore, but at one point I would have been devastated by it for weeks.
And it isn’t just doctors, people are overly comfortable with this topic. When you’re young it’s about whether or not you’ve met someone, then when you have it’s about when you’re getting married, and as soon as you’re married it moves to when you’ll have children…not if, when. No one bats an eyelash about asking and nudging you about it…having absolutely no clue what your feelings are on the subject. And in fact sometimes even contradicting you if you say you’re not interested. One time an old lady in line at a store noted my engagement and wedding ring and commented how beautiful they were, somehow that conversation veered and went something like this:
Store Lady: Any children yet?
Me: Nope, no plans for that.
Store Lady: Oh children are just wonderful, trust me, don’t wait too long.
Me: We actually aren’t having children.
Store Lady: You’ll change your mind.
Me: *very tight smile* I REALLY don’t think so.
Store Lady: *knowing smile* Oh trust me, you will.
Me: *big smile* Well you might want to tell that to my defective uterus.
Store Lady: Oh...well...I guess it’s not for everyone....*turns around and stares directly ahead*
The ironic part? I felt bad for making her feel awkward even though she pushed at a very personal and private matter. At that time I was 29 and had largely come to terms with my situation and the decisions I’d made as a result but what if I hadn’t?
I know we could adopt, or use a surrogate – another couple suggestions complete strangers have offered me. My husband and I considered those options thoroughly. But those options are also very difficult; you don’t just fill out a form and Bam! Here’s a baby. It’s not just the easy thing people like to suggest, “Sorry you can’t have kids! But hey, you can adopt!” Like problem solved, why didn’t I think of that? There’s a lot of testing and approval and ups and downs and after the decades of up and down, treatment after treatment, getting my hopes up that THIS TIME will be different only to have it not be and have it all end in can’t have kids AND the health problem is still a problem too; I just don’t want kids bad enough to go through another roller coaster like that.
None of this means that I don’t ever think about it or that I don’t second guess not trying another option from time to time. I still get a twinge now and then and wonder, but it feels more like fear of regret because most people have kids…not out of any real desire to do it myself anymore, and fear of not doing isn’t really a good enough reason to do it. It wasn’t just an easy choice to make; it was a huge decision with life-altering implications that we considered fully. It’s the lack of choice that really messed me up; once I could accept that that is the part that was hard, it made it easier to move past it. It isn’t really about whether or not I would have kids if I could, it’s about the fact that I don’t have the choice.
I am in reverence of women everywhere growing and birthing children. Some people take it for granted as just something the body does, but as someone whose body does not, I think it’s a miracle unmatched in the world. And I think seeing it for the massive and amazing feat that it is actually helps me to accept that of course not everyone can do it, and that that is ok. I am also infinitely grateful to be a part of a group of people who have as much as possible shared that miracle with me – given me titles of honour with their children and included me in so many both big and important and small and important moments.
What I learned from all of this is that there is no ONE THING that makes someone a woman. I do not have ONE JOB here. I am not a “Mother” but I am a LOT of other valuable and wonderful things to a lot of people – daughter, sister, wife, auntie, godmother, friend – but not a single one of those things alone defines me. My life is no less purposeful because I am not growing and birthing children.
We do not need to do any specific thing to fit the image of what people expect from us – you don’t need to get married, graduate from university or college, have kids, buy a house, work a certain type of job – you don’t have to do any of it. None of that defines you. None of that decides your worth. None of it is a prerequisite for being loved and respected and valued. Spread your love and magic into the world in the way that is real for you – the world needs your authentic self much more than it needs you to do what anyone else expects.
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