The hype surrounding parenthood often feels like a commodified illusion—an industry built on products, advice, and societal pressures. The narrative has become clear: find a partner, have a child, and lose yourself in the process. The thought of that fate sends shivers down my spine. After all the self-discovery and wisdom I’ve gained, why would I want to surrender my identity to motherhood? How does a child benefit from a parent who has abandoned their own sense of self?
Growing up, I faced cultural shame surrounding sexuality. Words like "slut" and "whore" were commonly used to describe girls who had barely begun their periods. These terms became synonymous with being female, regardless of whether we were engaging in any sexual act. The shame for existing in a female body was instilled in many girls, including myself, at a very young age. Layer on the actual act of getting your period; if it happened at school, we were cast off to the nurse, told to hide the blood if it leaked through our clothing, and given the option to go home depending on how bad the cramps were. This was the norm. The very act of casting off young girls to hide and cry during this monumental moment of womanhood was yet another accepted form of shaming the female body—the cycle that allows us to procreate and create life, treated as something that needs to be contained and silently dealt with, ridiculed, or hidden from others because periods are deemed "nasty."
In a Catholic household, I was taught that sex is bad and should be avoided. This was the extent of my sexual education. With barely any formal instruction in school, I had to learn about sex on the fly. Being an avid reader and science enthusiast, I understood the mechanics of reproduction, yet the hypocrisy was glaring. I was told that the very act that brought me into this world—a child, a blessing, a gift of God—was inherently bad. The celebration of sex leading to motherhood stood in stark contrast to the shame I felt about exploring my own sexuality. Everywhere I looked, the hypocrisy surrounding sex, my body, and societal norms conflicted.
As I grew older, this hypocrisy and shame were further heightened by questioning basic female rights, like the overturning of Roe v. Wade. The lack of protection for victims of sexual assault sends a glaring message: speaking up is tedious, painful, and shaming, leading many of us to remain silent, convincing ourselves it wasn't that bad, myself included. I swallowed my trauma, internalizing it in my body, with no safe place to speak about my experiences.
Toxic masculinity and the notion that men are entitled to my body compounded these feelings. This was highlighted in how women bore the brunt of men’s bad behavior and were shamed for simply being female and sexual; an environment breeding entitlement from some men. The evolution of the men deeply entrenched in patriarchy and toxic masculinity was impressively explored by
, When Men Fail in a World Optimized for Them, They Don’t Blame Patriarchy—They Blame Women.Having experienced sexual trauma that left deep scars, I carry multiple layers of shame related to my sexuality and desires. Now, as I stand in a loving marriage, I feel the weight of societal and familial expectations to bear a child from the same body. It feels like the most profound gaslighting I have encountered, especially after escaping an emotionally abusive marriage. How can it make sense that I can be shamed for my entire female experience and my reproductive system, silenced when I wish to discuss this hypocrisy, and then expected to joyfully embrace motherhood—a role that demands compassion, empathy, love, and alignment with one’s body?
The need for fertility treatment has surged dramatically over the last two decades, and while it may seem like a leap, this essay encapsulates its root causes. It's not merely about women prioritizing careers and education; it’s about the time, effort, and dedication required to unlearn the shame embedded in us. In this society, I was not taught the importance of balance; I had to teach myself. Instead, I got married and was inundated with messages suggesting my worth was tied to my ability to bear children, rendering any achievements outside of that secondary or less valuable. This notion is not only outdated but dangerous. It places an enormous burden on children, who deserve parents who are fully realized individuals, not shadowy figures who have sacrificed their dreams and desires.
How can society expect me to embrace motherhood when I and countless other women have been taught to feel shame about our own bodies and sexual desires? How can society expect me to feel joy about motherhood when it has shown me that it offers no support in helping me unlearn their false narratives? How can I be excited about motherhood when I don’t trust the medical system that is supposed to care for me during this delicate time?
wrote Neo-Nazis Rally in Historic Black Neighborhood and receive police protection. Although this article is about the police this same behavior is embedded in our medical institutions. As a Black woman, I have suffered from poor medical care, leading to the loss of my fallopian tubes at ‘top’ hospitals in Boston, MA. To put it plainly, I distrust the entire system that now insists I should be a mother.Until I can untangle myself from the chains of sexual shame and trauma, bringing a child into this world feels like a trap set by the patriarchy. I refuse to pass on the burdens of my past to an innocent soul. Instead, I choose to focus on healing, self-love, and self-awareness. I want to ensure that if and when I decide to become a mother, I am the healthiest version of myself, ready to nurture a child without passing on my unresolved issues. If and when I decide to have a child, I aim to equip this soul with the love and tools they need to ferociously love themselves amidst a society filled with people who loathe themselves so deeply that they need to oppress others to feel something.
Motherhood is not a requirement; it’s a choice. And it’s a choice that should come from a place of empowerment, not societal pressure. I am starting this conversation because I will not be silent. I am openly questioning and embracing the complexity of womanhood, one that recognizes that our worth is not measured by our ability to reproduce. I am reclaiming my narrative and prioritizing my own journey of self-discovery and healing.
So, to all the women out there grappling with similar feelings: you are not alone. You don’t have to conform to societal expectations. Your life, your body, and your choices are yours to define. Let’s celebrate the beauty of self-love and the courage to carve our own paths, whether that includes motherhood or not. The world needs more women who are unapologetically themselves—because that’s where true love and growth begin.
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This was a heavy one for me. I would love to start a dialogue below in the comments.
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