Growing up, it was hammered into my conscious and subconscious that my sole purpose was to reproduce. I never really put much thought to it, aside from when I saw cute babies and wondered what mine would look like and how much like me he or she would be. I couldn’t fathom the thought of having a human that I was permanently responsible for and I didn’t particularly like the feelings of restriction such thoughts brought.
When I was 22 I got pregnant. It was unplanned and at that moment, I realised that I wasn’t sure that motherhood was truly for me. The father of the child didn’t want it and begged me to have an abortion, but I decided I couldn’t go through with it. The pregnancy eventually ended in a miscarriage and I was both broken and relieved.
Fast forward to 28, I was pregnant again. This time, I was in a stable relationship and more open to the idea of having a child. Both experiences made me think about motherhood in a way I hadn’t before and question why I wanted children to begin with.