I’m scared of becoming a mum.
I’m scared of being pregnant.
Of my body expanding and stretching, and not being able to fit into any of my clothes. Of feeling tired and drained all the time, and having to nap when I’ve got other things I’d much rather be doing. I’m scared of craving fish or meat, because I’ve not eaten it for the past 12 years; but what if that’s what my body and my baby needs and wants? And I’m terrified of losing my baby, before they’ve even made it out into the world.
I’m scared of giving birth.
Of passing out from the pain. Or literally shitting myself. I’m scared of the ripping and the bleeding and the knowing your body will never be the same again; inside or out. And I’m scared that the nurses and doctors will be having an off day, make a mistake, and I’ll pay the price for the rest of my life. I’m scared of the idea of giving birth, let alone actually giving birth. What if I have a still birth? What if I die? Or what if something happens that leaves my baby disabled for the rest of their life? I wish I didn’t have these thoughts filling my mind, but I do. Because there are just countless things that can go wrong.
Birth takes a woman’s deepest fears about herself and show her that she is stronger than them.
I’m scared of becoming a mum.
What if I’m too selfish to be a mum? What if I resent not being able to spend my time the way I want to anymore? And I blame them for all the dreams that now feel out of reach? I saw my own mother give up her own life, and her own needs and wants, to raise us. And I’m terrified of repeating the cycle. I’m terrified of becoming her.
What if I just wasn’t meant to be a mother?
I’m scared of losing my shit with my child. Of my impatience rising to the surface, and shouting and snapping at this innocent little being who just wants to be taken care of and loved. And I’m scared of slipping into a period of depression, because I just don’t know how to cope with my new life.
I’m scared they won’t be able to talk or walk, or they’ll end up with an incurable terminal illness. I’m worried they won’t sleep or eat. And I’m scared I’ll do my best to protect them from pain and trauma, but it somehow finds them anyway. And I won’t be able to fix it.
Then there’s a part of me, deep in my shadows, that’s afraid I’ll end up raising a child who grows up to be a murderer or a rapist. And I’ll carry that guilt with me for lifetimes. Maybe that sounds outrageous, but how do you know? How do you know what will happen when you decide to bring a new life into the world; a child you are entirely responsible for?
What if I fuck my child’s head up? What if I fail to teach them all they need to know, and teach them a bunch of useless stuff that isn’t worth a dime? And what if they grow up to hate me, because of everything I did or did not do? I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing out of frustration, or do the wrong thing in a fit of rage.
I’m scared of becoming a mum, only to realise it wasn’t meant for me. And it’ll be too late to go back.
Because my child will need me. They will need me to show up for them every day, to nourish them, and to guide them, and to love them unconditionally.
I know they say you’ll never truly feel ready to be a parent. And I think that’s about right. I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready, and I don’t think there’ll ever be the perfect time. Part of me wonders if being a mum isn’t for me.
Then the other part wonders, but what if it is?
I believe the choice to become a mother is the choice to become one of the greatest spiritual teachers there is.
What if all my fears, worries, and reservations, are no more than my mind playing games with me?
What if motherhood is this beautiful, rewarding experience that I end up falling in love with?
And what if being a mother changes me, and every inch of my life, for the better?
What if I’m worlds better at it then I think I will be?
What if being a mum was exactly what I came here to be?