This was a post I needed to get out. My poor womb has become the hot topic of this post.
As you will know, my relationship ended.
This post isn’t solely about that.
It’s about one part of it.
One of the reasons (and I’m still not sure if it’s the only reason) that it ended was because of children.
Will* has two. Two wonderful children who I grew to love very much over my relationship with him. Children I never even got to say goodbye to.
Having grown up without a Father and how I’ve been effected by it so much, I always knew and was happy that the kids needed to come first. I always made sure I never tried to take away from that. Will had to prioritise them, and I was more than happy to find my space in their unit.
My Daddy issues help in the respect that I know those girls needed Will to be there for them and I’m adult enough to know when to step back for their benefit.
Will made it clear early on he probably wouldn’t want more kids.
I sat with it.
I took my time with it.
Even my counsellor has it written down that right at the beginning I said I could compromise on kids.
I love my job. I love my lifestyle. My life with Will was all I ever needed. I never needed or desperately wanted kids of my own to make me feel happy or fulfilled. I didn’t have that urge that so many wonderful Mother figures have.
We are lucky in the UK. People with a womb have reproductive rights.
We have bodily autonomy.
One of very few countries in the entire World where we have a right to choose what happens to our bodies.
And yet.
I have learned that this isn’t true.
My relationship broke down because even at 31 years old, I’m not allowed to make the decision to not have a child.
Other peoples’ unsolicited opinions dripped into Will’s thoughts like poison. They made him feel guilty.
“Of course she’ll want kids”
“She’ll regret not having them”
They made him feel like he was holding me back from something.
Turns out, the female body is still only worth how many children it has. My body is only worth how many children my uterus can carry. Because I’m a young woman, I HAVE to produce children.
I would never approach someone with kids and say
“Oh what a shame”
“I bet you regret them”
“Do you feel like you could have had more in life?”
Nobody has any right to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my body and my life.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew once my decision; my choice was out in the open, I’d be met with judgement.
Met with watching eyes.
Nobody sees a normality in choosing a life that is different to what society expects.
I’d always be asked “but don’t you want more in life?” because apparently having children is the only way life can move forward for people.
In this country, where I have bodily autonomy, I’m still not allowed to decide whether or not I have children of my own.
“But you’d make a great Mum”
I’d also make a great fucking astronaut, but that doesn’t mean I’m running off to join a NASA space program.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware that this reason to end things is a cop out. It feels cowardly.
Equally, maybe it’s not.
Maybe he cared so much for me that he wanted to make sure I had a chance at everything. It’s not his decision to make for me, but I suppose I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter.
Now the opinions since are
“He’s done you a favour because you probably will change your mind and want kids”
GET IN THE SEA.
I didn’t want your opinions on the worth of my womb then and I certainly don’t want them now.
I was happy. Unbelievably happy.
For the first time in my entire life I wasn’t worrying about the future. I was living in the blissfully happy here and now. I wasn’t searching desperately for happiness elsewhere because I had it. I was clutching to it.
I had two beautiful children and I loved their Dad. I loved their Mum like family and her partner. I have two gorgeous nephews. So many of my friends have children that I love. My life is full of children.
I am not without.
Then all of those opinions took it away from me. They started as an itch and then continued to grow to a black hole that I never even knew was there for him.
They took my happiness away from me.
Unsolicited opinions are like unsolicited dick pics. Nobody wants them and they’re ugly.
The opinions though; don’t get deleted. They fester. They destroy the life you thought you had.
They poison the good.
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