How I Chose Myself and Came out of Depression by Saying NO to Motherhood
A lesson to all women struggling with the decision
I feel it’s better to not have and regret than have and regret because in the latter case other lives are already involved. — Unknown
I had another panic attack.
It was the 8th or 9th of this month, and there were still seven more days to go. What triggered it? A neighbour’s kid was bawling its eyes out. Somehow, every time I heard the kid, I was reminded of my own impending doom.
It sucked. It was horrible. I couldn’t explain what I was feeling to anyone. My feelings had no ‘logical reason’, according to society, at least. I was stuck in this horrible phase of “Fuck, I don’t want my relationship to go down the hill later”, and “Why the hell do I NOT want this?”.
Wait, wait, wait.
Before I continue in my infinite ramblings, let me give you context.
The Beginning of Doom
My husband, father, and I were sitting with an astrologer my family respected. I have never felt more uncomfortable in my entire life.
The guy kept dropping bombs. I had already wanted to become a writer and started to hate my job by then passionately. The conversation went something like this (or it felt so in my head):
Him: “Wait in this career path for 5 more years, then switch. You’ll have a bright life ahead.”
Me (in my head): “5 years! Are you fucking kidding me?! No way!”Him (looking at me and not my husband, as though the decision was only upon my head): “You need to have a child within a year. Otheriwse you might never have one. Plus it’s already been three years since marriage. What are you waiting for?”
Me: My heart stopped beating. My lips started trembling. And my brain just shut down, unable to give even a mental response.
To be honest, I have always respected the science of astrology since my grandfather was an astrologer. Most critical life decisions, including education and marriage, were based on that science. And my granddad had already informed me of the second point, but hearing it directly from this guy suddenly made it too real.
I had avoided the topic with family or just pushed it to the back of my head for as long as I can remember. Never discussed it with my husband either, not realizing that I was running away. From the topic, feeling it, or doing anything about it.
I felt numb. And I never could explain why.
I panicked. I panicked hard.
Everything seemed right during the discussions with my parents and grandfather (about the decision from an astrological perspective). We were in a good financial position, had no debts, had completed three years of marriage, and most importantly, my parents were in a situation to support my child and both of our career paths.
Everything was perfect on paper. But why did it feel so wrong?
Initially, I said no.
I didn’t want to have a kid now. I was too young (24) and had so much to achieve. My husband wasn’t for having the child too, but he left everything to me. His only condition was that I needed to be comfortable with whatever decision I was taking.
But as days passed, all sorts of horrible situations started crawling into my head:
“What if the situation comes true, and I truly cannot have a child later?”, “What if my husband wants one later in life, and I can’t give him one?”, “What if it affects our relationship horribly?”, “How will we be perceived in this society?”.
My mom tried to logically sit and decode the situation with me, asking questions like, “Why do you not want children? Is there any specific reason?” or “What is bothering or stopping you?”.
The answer was, “No, I don’t have anything specific against them, but I just don’t like them”, or something stupid like, “Do you force yourself to buy things when you don’t need them? I don’t need a kid now, so why are you forcing me to have them?”
But unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.
For a woman who had purely dealt with most of the things in her life with logic, I had no clue how to deal with this avalanche of emotions. I kept crying during the night, not knowing how to figure things out. How could I explain anything to others when I couldn’t explain things to myself?
But the ONE question that kept repeating in my head was, “Am I ready to take the risk?”.
After days and days of struggling and pondering, I finally decided — No.
The worst six months of my life
It was my choice then. But in my head, I felt like I was pushed against the wall and made to decide.
We started trying. We tried for six months, and thank god, without any results.
As days passed, my emotions raged up and down like humungous sinusoidal waves, crashing down as hard as they lept up. My mother and grandmother kept telling me that everything would be fine once I saw the “little bundle of joy” in my hands.
My life was changing in ways I never wanted it to. I decided to stay at my job for the six months of paid maternity leave, insurance, and the 30 days of accumulated paid leaves I already had.
I hated everything. I blamed everyone else for every minor incident at home and blew it up. It was too much drama that my body hadn’t gone through until then.
I bloated up like Aunt Marge in Harry Potter in those six months, putting on more than 10 kgs. My three tiny white hairs expanded to; I don’t know, thousands at the age of 24 because of stress. I ordered outside food almost four times a week.
Felt shit. Ate shit.
Workload kept increasing. I stayed at a job I hated, for a child, I never wanted in the first place. You get the point.
Throughout, my husband was as supportive as he could be. But that’s all he could give. Support. I had to go through the process (I can’t blame the poor guy too).
Our relationship took a hit. Some days were good. Most days were terrible. Some were horrible. Especially in the later stages of the six months, when the rate of my panic attacks and emotional mood swings doubled.
I know now that I was in depression. And I didn’t come out of it until this March for other personal reasons.
And without realizing, I had slowly started blaming my husband in my head. Every time I did something I didn’t want to do, I kept telling myself, “I’m doing it for him.” What was once a tone of concern had now become a tone of blame.
That’s when I knew something had gone horribly wrong.
I needed help. I desperately needed help.
After what felt like eons, I started praying. It felt like the final step. I had nowhere else to go—no one else to talk to.
My brain seemed like an endless pit filled with soupy noodles up to the brim. I had become incapable of making decisions or even forming sensible thoughts.
That’s when a friend came like a blessing in disguise. An Indian settled in the US. She had gone through the same questions, doubts, and phases and completely understood where I came from. And that’s when the one line she said broke the dam which had been building on for months:
I feel it’s better to not have and regret than have and regret because in the latter case other lives are already involved. — My friend
I was finally ready to take the risk. I was finally ready to choose myself.
I cried. I cried so hard. Tears of happiness.
The clouds had finally given way for the sun’s rays to seep in. Everything seemed brighter. My heart seemed tons lighter.
To this day, I cannot fathom why that particular line made me cross the border and choose myself, probably because I knew for sure that I would not love the child enough in my gut. I would always see it as something I did for my husband instead of a product of love. And I never wanted that to happen.
Most importantly, I did not want a child. I did not want to become a mother. I didn’t have a maternal bone in me.
Choosing myself and making that decision was the best thing that had happened in a long time. The surprising part was the reactions I got from my family:
Husband: I expected you to break someday, or come to this decision. I was hoping for the later. Thank God!
Mother: I knew it. I have known for sometime now, that you did not want it.
I was like, really, guys? Couldn’t you tell me earlier? And their only response was, “We knew you wouldn’t listen. You had to figure it out on your own”.
The moment was the start of something beautiful.
Until then, I kept blaming people around me for the path I had trodden so far. But taking that critical decision was the start of choosing myself and not feeling guilty.
We, women, find it difficult to tell no sometimes, despite the situation ruining us. We haven’t been taught how to put ourselves first in our lives, and it’s become second nature. What remains is a life of regret, blame, and broken relationships.
I’m glad we didn’t get pregnant in those six months, and I thank god every single day for it. Not many women get that opportunity to return once they’ve decided to take a specific path.
That particular incident acted as the first domino for a series of events.
I left my 9–5 to become a full-time writer and solopreneur. I chucked my maid, who was only bringing me down (I had been waiting on the decision for six months because I felt sorry for her). I finally realized that I own my destiny and have taken steps to improve my mental health. I became independent by overcoming my road fear at 25 and took the guts to start my own coaching business in a field that I’m entirely new to.
Yeah, that’s a lot of progress for seven months (last September to now).
To all women who are scared to choose yourself
I can only say, try it once. You never know how it feels until you cross the border and come to the other side. It feels fantastic and gives you the confidence to face the good and bad situations yourself, without blaming others. Over time, you start craving for the dopamine hit that independence gives you.
Listen to your gut, your intuition. Don’t fall into a load of crap because of society's words. Because alas, they aren’t going to live your life. You are. Only you’re going to undergo your journey and no one else.
