I would’ve been a great mom
When your health forces you to choose the impossible.
I didn’t always want to be a mom.
In my early twenties, I don’t think I had the emotional capacity to picture my life wrapped around the pinkie of a tiny version of myself. I had dreams and they were big — and, if I’m being totally honest, they didn’t always take into consideration the needs of other people.
Then, somewhere along the way, my dreams changed; and that sharp transition to craving motherhood coincided with my health taking a steep nosedive. As my body became less and less reliable, I quickly realized just how much being a parent meant to me. I wanted it. Badly. And the cruelty of it all? Motherhood will never be in the cards for me.
Societally the conversations around infertility have grown substantially over the past decade — and it’s an experience and emotional gut punch that deserves that conversation. But the quieter conversation, the one that chronically ill people like me have a stake in, is one that goes largely unnoticed: Just because I might have the physical ability to carry a child, it doesn’t mean I should. Or that I’d survive it.
⏸️ This is where I pause for a well-intentioned PSA: If your initial thought to my last paragraph was, “But you could adopt! Use a surrogate! Fostering children is a blessing!“, then I’m not sure the rest of this essay is for you.
The choice to not have any children of my own is, hands down, the hardest self-reckoning I’ve ever had to navigate — and I’m not just talking about carrying a baby myself, I truly mean parenting in all of its forms. I’ve had to messily peel back all of my layers like an accordion of tissue paper, dissect my day-to-day existence, and really see if there was space for a little family of my own. Would I be able to get off of all of my medications to make room for a viable pregnancy? (The answer is absolutely not.) Where would I magically source the energy I needed to take care of a baby, no matter how they came into this world? What about a stumbling toddler? A tender yet hormonal tween? (The answer, for me at least, is it would be an impossible feat. Washing my own hair is a weekly struggle in and of itself!)
I will forever grieve this choice — because, yes, while it’s a choice I made of my own free will, it’s one that my health forced my hand on; so in the end it doesn’t really feel like a choice at all. It feels like a stolen dream. A life under-lived. A home that I crafted a fucking tapestry for with no place to hang it. Cue the miniature violins, friends. I want a Sad Girl Orchestra™️ for this moment I’m having in front of you.
So my home and my heart will always feel a little empty, I think. My partner (who is quite possibly the grade-A prototype for caregiving) and I can fill it with dogs, we can invite over hoards of people to fill the silence… but that little “what if” will always, always be there. Because the bittersweet truth of it all is that I think I’d be a great mom. I’m thoughtful and a patient listener. I write top-notch birthday cards. I love to read (or be read to). I’ve been practicing some accents… always a kid-approved secret skill.
But ultimately, I want to live — and a life fully sacrificed for someone else (for any reason!) is not a life I want or can truly have. I’m learning that parenthood is one path. Motherhood is one direction. But it’s not the only way to exist in this world. It’s not the sole marker of worth. I’m slowly realizing that my capacity to exist has unique limits, and my health tests mine in ways other people write cathartic memoirs about. Hell, maybe I’ll do that instead? Thanks for listening.
All the things I could say, you already know (but I'm a yapper, so...)
Yes, you'd be an excellent mom. This is a beautiful and courageous and necessary piece of writing. I can't thank you enough for sharing it. I won't ever stop being angry on your behalf.
Thank you so much for this. I know it’s a bit different but the past year has been a really similar journey re: having more than 1 child. It’s really hard to make a choice you know you’ll grieve every time you think about it (daily?) for the rest of your life. Sending so much love.