Not yet a mother

A FrankWinkler photo

I wrote the text below to try to express how I feel regarding the fact that I am not yet a mother. When people ask me about it, they are usually less concerned about listening to me, and more preoccupied with giving me tips on how to *get there*. I know my options. I know all there is to know about fertility treatments, including freezing eggs and surrogacy. I've read enough about getting pregnant while suffering from autoimmune diseases. I am very acquainted with the reality of adoption, as it's quite common in my family. Although I'm quite aware of what I need to do in order to become a mother, I cannot afford to be one, yet. So I wrote the following lines to try to make sense of how my emotions play out.


I carry my childlessness like a big bundle of heavy rocks on my back. The amount of rationalization I put into it doesn’t really matter. My whole being has failed on the most primal level, and that’s the shadow I strive to hide from everyone — in vain. The rocks, they press against each other while I move, yielding the weird sound, child-less, child-less. As long as I’m awake, the sound remains monotonous, contiguous, the same. Child-less. Child-less. Child-less. Sometimes I sleep more than I need, just so I can dream of bats and forget about the rocks, forget about the song. I wasn’t always keen on those bats, but now they’re friendly, unlike the rocks. I’d rather bats.

I can say I’m quite used to the noise now. I’m a bit resigned into the fact that it’s probably not going away. Sometimes I just sing louder than the stones, and it’s a funny experience. Sometimes I strive to keep myself as busy as possible, but the flip side is this: the rocks will get louder and louder, so even when I’m highly occupied, they are pressing against my back: CHILD-LESS! When that happens, all I need to do is calm down. I think they go to sleep when I’m cool. If only I could be permanently relaxing.

I kinda arrange my life around applying the techniques to stay as tranquil as possible, so the stones don’t get too disruptive. Unfortunately, the most effective thing is still sleeping, though there’s only so much sleep one can possibly do. Sometimes, slumber feels I’m using it to forget about the stones on my back, so it refuses to show up. That’s when I have to apply the other strategies. Breathing works. So does yoga. I’m not a very disciplined yogini. While I’m moving, the annoying rocks keep on crying, but when I lie down in savasana they give me a break. It’s a wonderful pause.

I live for those pauses.

I also live with the hope that the rocks will one day leave my body. Big bundles of rocks don’t belong in bodies, after all. Just imagine if I fall into a river, I’d drown in a matter of minutes. There’s one advantage to carrying the bundle, though: I can face the strongest gale, it won’t sweep me away. I think when I finally set myself free, the wind will blow me and I’ll just fly, and fly, and fly. To unknown lands, I’ll fly. Maybe then I’ll just realize that I can ditch the -less and embrace the -free. That’s in a way scarier than carrying rocks forever.

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