I am starting to think nothing can ever prepare you for motherhood. You never know it’s possible to feel like that or do like that, until you are feeling and doing like that. At first, you are always contemplating. Perhaps considering not going through with it: Hoping for some sort of miracle from the heavens. Maybe God would be too kind to spare you that struggle. If God is considerate, a miracle will happen so you don’t have to resort to anything. You can’t seem to get past the self-pity, self-loathing, and anxiety. You hate the fatigue, the sickness, the sadness, the loneliness, and the changes. You are now literally the elephant in the room, and you can’t stop thinking about what people will say or are already saying. The days are long, and all you want to do is take a nap. Nothing feels real anymore. You can think of all the reasons why you should give up, and none of why you should give in…
You’re still in college. You have no money. You have no real job. You still have things to do. You have no real support. You are probably going to be a single mom.
So you find yourself between websites that offer solutions on how to help yourself. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, you decide to visit a doctor. You’re lying there having an ultrasound taken. You don’t want to look, you count ceiling for a bit, but then maybe one look won’t hurt…right? So you allow yourself that, and in the process, something beautiful happens. There is a heartbeat and there are tiny movements: There is that beautiful realization that says ‘That’s me!’ ‘That’s mine!’. Now you are smiling, and you’re asking if it’s okay. It has to be okay. You realize you are willing to do whatever it takes for it to be okay. You have to be ready from that moment onwards.
That makes you softer. You maybe alone, but you’re not really alone. You realize that holding your bump helps you sleep better at night. You also realize your thoughts have now shifted from I to us. You are touched more: You laugh easily, smile easily, get offended easily, and cry just as easily. You realize you have no other choice but to be authentic. Failure at being authentic attracts sickness and nausea. Above all, you realize you are learning to be more tolerant of self, more forgiving of self, and most importantly, more compassionate to self.
It’s one hell of a rollercoaster, one in which you learn to lean more on faith. You have to pray. You pray that the climb is not too steep. That you will make it through without any ill spirits. Every second you are praying for the fruit that you’re carrying. You pray that you will deliver good fruit. Fruit that will do good to all, and no harm to none: It might not be the next Nelson Mandela, but may it not be the next Leopold of the Belgiums. They might be normal, but beyond everything, you pray they will be better than you ever were.
