“Imagine all the antiquean literature we missed out on because women weren’t allowed” those words raised an epiphany for the both of us, the two girls sitting at a coffee shop near a town square. There is a sort of closeness that you feel when the thread of words pull in sync and emotions explode together. Writing out that line won’t do much for you because you miss the intricate personal context – receiving the final blow without the vital build up. This friend of mine was not only in sync by thought, but also by circumstance because at this moment – both of us were each navigating our own heteronormative relationship after being used to alternatives. So when we discussed the missed literature by women, we were talking about the missed opportunity to disect and create comfort in the collective horror that we never had to consider before; pregnancy.

We both believe pregnancy to be a certain strange and deeply personal horror, but in different ways. My friend was more concerned with the elements of property and agency, or rather, the lack thereof. She saw pregnancy as parasitic and had fears of something inside of her eating its way from the inside out, until it withered, killed or took over her. Her body suddenly becoming a mother country that is taken over by foreign forces – disrupting her natural landscape. Having a child in the womb does feel parasitic in a sense, it is something that is eating away your resources as it grows until completion and as its own organism, will prioritise their own survival over the creator. In fact, as the creator your instinct is to protect and preserve the new organism over your own life. Some women feel a certain oneness, as if it becomes part of you and completes you with fulfilling a purpose. I find it very interesting that there can be people like me and my friend who seperate ourselves from the womb whilst others embrace it as theirs. You either find it invasive or you see it as your own property. According to John Locke’s theory of property, you have a right to own yourself and anything that you create becomes your property which then can be sold for the welfare of society. That would mean that for a woman to create a person, that child becomes their property, and yet simultaneously, every human being has a right to belong to themselves – this easily becomes quite paradoxical to be free from ownership and yet be owned. So really, and this is still according to Locke, a woman both owns and doesn’t own their child, and yet they cannot hold any individuality until they are out of the womb. Therefore, one could argue, a woman hold property of their child during pregnancy, and then must let go of that kind of ownership once the fetus is its own person. It is the only time human ownership is natrual and even necesssary. For some, this ownership or oneness feels the most natural, whilst some already separate themselves from the child when its already in the womb – refusing to claim. Maybe it is wholeness one feels or maybe it is the power trip of ownership, but it is very intriguing how some wake from a pregnancy dream empty, whilst others wake relieved.

I have had numerous nightmares of pregnancy, none of which have stemmed from any real life truths – which made it feel like an unwanted destined prophecy just like in Oedipus when he is told that he will inevitably kill his father and wed his mother, which he accidentally does in the story. In these dreams, I would already be large bellied where the parasite (that is what we called it) had already grown and transformed past any other alternative routes. I would be surrounded by doctors, friends, family, neighbours and anyone else that my subconscious could conjure up. They would all stand there looking down with rapid tongues talking over each other on what I must do. I feel like a lab experiment that is being tested to do something that women have supposedly done for centuries, and as I lay there drowned in advice and panic – the only thoughts that pierce my mind are the horrors of the aftermath; What do I do with the child? What if I have to have a C section? Why me? I am not ready to be a mother. What the hell am I supposed to do now? The circling statements spiral into a whirlwind pool sucking me deeper into my mind and forcing me out of my own body. I remember that I always feel the pain and stress of birth and it is always overly stimulating and hectic, but I always seem to wake up before the calm after arrives with a baby in hand. It is always like this and with each panicked awakening followed by the cooling relief of reality – my fear of pregnancy only grew and as I write this, I find it nearly impossible to imagine myself happily in that state; a womanly destined state. I find it very strange that my dream always end before the child is delivered, because I never get to experience the humane part of giving life – I am once again separated by the horror.

Of course there are other options to live life; surrogate, adoption, no kids, but there is always the disappointment that lingers on the shoulders of a woman who cannot or will not have kids. Even if she does not inflict it on herself, the conversation veers in that direction with your spouse, friends, family and even doctor. It is believed to be a sort of biological destiny, something that almost every women needs to experience in order to have lived life properly. The motion of pregnancy is seen as fundamental as it is for a child to learn how to walk or a teenager to experience a crush. Pregnancy is a universal experience for women that will leave you ostracised if you don’t do because ”you’ll never be the same” and ”one of lives greatest lessons come from motherhood”. In truth, I do hope to slowly seek comfort in the idea so that the option to have a child doesn’t seem so terrifying, but it’s hard to imagine plump and glowing when its painted over by panic and pain. Birth feels like death and if you can avoid that prophetic death, wouldn’t you?
I recently wrote this passage for a short story I’m working on and think it would be very fitting for this post:

They call a full moon glowing and pregnant, that will always make my skin crawl; imagining the blood seeping out as the moon empties itself, renewing into the bodily horror of birth. The uncertainty of bodily autonomy has always been frightening – dreams of becoming pregnant, glowing and full, forced to push because the time for alternatives have already passed and now blood is dripping from my thighs from an unwanted child. Any uncertainty where clear strings that I cannot tug onto kills me, because my minds eats me up in an inconsistent web of worry. I don’t even know if I want to call the moon pregnant and yet, the fear of loosing unattached strings makes me want to be drastic and sign myself away early. The moon lit up the back door which I unlocked…