Mothers Day and Other Painful Things

I started this post a year ago, and it’s been sitting in my drafts waiting for me to sit down and finally finish what needs to be said.

This is a little off topic from my usual posts but with mothers day around the corner, it’s time to shed light on the “silent sorority” of women I belong to. The not-quite moms.

Not to rain on anyone's parade but to bring awareness to a topic that gets swept under the rug because it makes everyone too uncomfortable.

---

First Comes Anger

Society expects me to birth children because I have a uterus.

This is confirmed by the questions I receive daily.

Do I? Have I? Will I? When?

Is my existence as a woman on this earth solely to bear children?

Because I haven't given birth,

Does that make me less of a woman?

That’s what it feels like for me, every time I'm asked this question.

I can tell you I’m a mom of 6.

But once you hear the word step daughter, and pets, you will likely immediately discredit me.

You will think I’m not a real mom.

You might grant me pity access to your club

But we'll both know, we aren't really the same.

---

Then Comes Sadness

It’s an open wound that refuses to heal.

I always dreamed about being a mom. As a child I loved my dolls, especially this one life size baby with actual fingers and a soft stuffed body. I don’t think I ever had a name for her but she was undoubtedly my baby. I carried her on my hip, I had a crib I kept in my bedroom for her, I gave her baths (which then would soak her stuffing and take forever to dry), I mimicked everything else that I saw mothers do with babies.

I started planning my future children’s names around the age of 8. They changed many times over the years, but the thought was always there. I knew I was going to be a mom when I grew up. No question about it. That was pretty much the only thing in life I was sure of…

Fast forward to now.

I’ll just say, I’ve reached a point where I'm coming to terms that this really may not be happening for me.

Yeah, yeah I know, “you're so young, there's still time.”

But, please. Don't.

I speak for everyone in similar shoes, when I say:

Please don't tell me that I don't know what I'm missing.

Please don't ask me if I’ve ever considered adoption.

Please don't joke that I can borrow your kids, or

downplay parenting to try and make me feel better

Surrender to another timeline, another plan, and trust in the life that's still unfolding.

---

Trying to Let go

It just so happens that right before mother's day this year is a full moon, a time to release what needs to be let go of.

Last full moon I burned my yearbooks. That was pretty satisfying.

This Full moon....

I release the sense of not belonging in every group of women when the conversation inevitably shifts to their pregnancy and birthing stories.

I forgive every person who has ever regurgitated the words

“You don't know true love until you have a child”

Do I even need to break down why those words are insensitive on every level?

I release the feeling that I am a forever child waiting to cross the threshold into the sacred womanhood club.

I release the jealousy that erupts from the seemingly endless stream of pregnancy announcements, gender reveals, baby shower invites, monthly picture updates...etc.

I release the rage and pain that boils under my skin every time someone innocently asks me “Do you have kids?”

I know you're just trying to make conversation or find common ground but Please.Stop.Asking. Every time you do you’re picking at a scab.

This puts non-moms's in a position to either over-share our personal life, or lie to avoid it.

I release the hurt that comes from prying questions about step-parenthood.

“Do you want any of your own?”

“What does she call you? Mommy #2?”

Yes someone actually said that. And,

“How often do you have her?”

So you can rate what percentage of an impact I’ll even have.

I release it all over and over and over again.

---

---

If you can relate to this post, please reach out to me!

The number of non-moms I know, seems to dwindle as the years go on, and while I know I'm not the only one in the world, it often feels like I am. I would love to connect with you.