I was never meant to have a child

I was never meant to have a child.

Look, I know, don’t worry—my brain is going to battle alongside yours like we’re slapping away our combined upbringings, values, culture, and societal pressures for this entire fucking piece of writing. I would have apologized, and I still do, because I’m also a woman.

I’m not supposed to say this.

I’m not supposed to HAVE a child and say, “I never wanted kids. I never imagined it. I wasn’t prepared for it.”

I’m supposed to immediately respond, “But I love her so much and regret nothing.”

I do love her so much, and I don’t regret her for a moment. I have never felt regret for having her. Today we’re going to the beach, and she’ll probably throw sand at me, and then I’ll tilt my head, smile, and give her the look, and she’ll smile and laugh and go “sorrrryyyy, Momma.” Then she’ll pause and add, “It was an accident.” And we’ll both laugh.

She has three different ways she says Mama. She calls her dad “Dad” sometimes. I’m not sure when that transition happened.

It used to be Dada, then Daddy lasted for maybe a couple of months, now it’s sometimes Dad.

I am still Mama. I hope it never changes. Until I’m a shrivelled up old woman with white hairs poking out of my nose. I want to be Mama forever.

Growing up I played with baby dolls a bit. They weren’t my main jam like Lego or Barbies. I never had a specific one that I liked or loved or can remember. We had these insanely realistic ones with vulvas and penises, and I always found that funny and a bit strange. Like WHAT? giggle, giggle

My mom always told us how happy she was that she never had a boy. That boys suck. This was because her brother bullied her and her mom didn’t do anything. My mom celebrated when my sister and I had girls, not babies, or children. I apologize, men, but my mom has spoken. All men. Especially you as fucking babies. Assholes.

I talk a fair bit about this, and this writing is shit; I don’t care. I just need to get something out of my head, and right now this feels the least volatile, the most accessible, the most approachable. This is easy for me.

Someone may not like that I am a mom who says I never wanted to have children. I am a great mom, and my daughter isn’t a burden to me. If anything, her birth and her upbringing saved me from a life of living under someone else’s beliefs until I died younger than I will now. I won’t stand silently by and pretend to emulate something I don’t feel. In fact, I’m really fucking bad at it. Most of the time when I try to pretend to be something, I put on such a good show that people believe me anyway. This is because I convince myself, and when I make a decision, like I did to pour all of myself into my daughter so I wouldn’t kill myself, I did. I am not suicidal, but I knew if I didn’t choose, I would die. There wasn’t enough energy for both of us.

Often when I tell other mothers that I never wanted to have kids, they think I mean I don’t want to be a mom. No, not right now. I didn’t, and yet I want to be the very best mom I can be for my daughter, and her friends, and any kid I see who isn’t being treated well. Having a child didn’t just save me; it woke me up to a part of the world you cannot see unless you have experienced it. Having a kid is a fucking Wild West rollercoaster you cannot step off of.

You cannot understand childbirth if you haven’t birthed a child. You can still be a fucking good mom and dad. One doesn’t negate the other; it’s just experience.

You cannot understand what it’s like to be inside a relationship (container) that can’t hold all of you after having a child. Many, many women can. Most just file the imbalance into the “this is how it is” folder, with the submark of “this is what I signed up for, I guess” and pretend it’s okay. It’s not okay. You didn’t fuck yourself and promise to raise a child together on your lonesome, now did ya? A lot of moms raise children alone in relationships and are amazing at it, but it isn’t right.

I also cannot understand what it’s like to be a dad. I cannot understand what it must be like to love your wife or partner and then suddenly have this screaming puddle, a destroyed wife, and no support emotionally or physically, inside a system that says you’re constantly failing.

The experience I do have is that I never gave up. Even now. Even separated.

My internal organs are screaming this incessant pulse of “Fight me. Fight me. Fight me.” I want to hear someone try to explain to me why my experience is wrong.

Tell me.

Show me.

You can’t.

I was never meant to have children, and I think it was not only the psychological choice of someone protective of others, but as someone who saw early on that I never wanted to make someone feel the way I did growing up without the words to say, this is wrong. I never wanted to live in a household where my partner drank himself into a stupor to survive, and his kind eyes turned glassy. I watched my dad collapse one night. I called 911. I was twelve. I remember passing my friend a note the next day, and she didn’t know what to do. I didn’t hug. I still don’t like it very much, because I can’t trust that the person holding me won’t turn around the next day and tell me I’m wrong.

Twelve years after that, my dad collapsed again, alone, only saved by his kind heart, which went into failure, as a neighbour came to check on him.

My dad never wanted to have children, my mom told me. I was shocked. She convinced him. My dad kept me as safe as he could.

You cannot express what you don’t see as wrong. You cannot express something is wrong when wrongness is your normal. And what we are exposed to is the root of our seeing. I was never hit with hands, but psychological damage on a young and perceptive mind is something that can cause deep wounds that may not have words. It also leaves a lot of self-doubt. “Is this okay? Is this acceptable? Am I allowed?”

I never wanted to have kids. I did anyway.

I could see it happening in my relationship after having my daughter, and I stepped back.

My ex now shows other dad’s how to breathe and pause and bring themselves back into their relationships (mostly with) their daughters. He did it yesterday at our daughter’s birthday party. I told him I was proud of him.

He doesn’t say, “You showed me this.” ← And I doubt he ever will, or he even knows. I am okay with him believing this is his natural state, that it’s some conclusion he came to on his own. That it didn’t cost massive amounts of my energy to learn. It’s not okay, and it’s okay. “It’s how it is. This is what I signed up for,” right? I’m done proving myself there. If he is growing, I am happy enough. I just want my daughter to feel it. And it’ll never be done. I will never not have him in my life. I will never not hear his tone shift, the words he chooses, or the way he can’t (always) be corrected without taking it as some sort of hit on his ego. And it’s not only him. It’s (almost) everyone. We are human, after all.

The thing is: I can only know what my intentions are. I can only know that the words I choose are not meant to hurt, and they’re never intentionally unkind.

I won’t be around unkindness. That comes from my dad, the small (big) gift he gave me from his heart. He protected me as best as he could. He showed me what kindness looks like consistently. My dad was never unkind to me.

I could easily destroy people if I wanted to be an asshole.

I am not an asshole:

Give me a kiss.

sigh

I am not exactly sure what else to say, except everything is fucking connected. It all matters, and ultimately, nothing does.

I am tired.

I need to sleep more.

I don’t care if this makes someone upset. Honestly, at this point, I am so fucking tired of people feeling something and assuming I’m up to something which will then explain their feelings being validated. I am in survival mode, most of the time, pushed down and crammed into a body that is already carrying a lot. And I have a now-five-year-old, and we’re going to the beach, and she will likely throw sand at me and say it was an accident.

That is what matters. Those moments where I don’t get mad at her. Where I don’t make her wrong for testing, for seeing me as someone safe, for the fact that we can go to the beach on a Monday in July, because we are safe. She is safe. I am safe.

I was never meant to be a mother, and I am. And I’ll continue to look at myself, my actions, my behaviour, and take responsibility for the moments in which I can understand why I may have hurt someone, even if there was no ill intent.

What I will no longer do is carry someone else’s emotions as if they are my responsibility, because that is a curse. It causes sickness. I will carry what is mine. I’ll help her carry hers until she can on her own. THAT is what I signed up for. That is what I never had. It’s what she’ll hopefully never know. My scars are not hers to carry. And I’ll take no more from others, thanks.

xoxo,

GG.