disconnection

I got dutch bros to force myself out of the house, and had the urge to go somewhere….white millenial mom coded. It was 9pm so I just went to Target. It’s comfortingly familiar, even though I’m the target demo (pun intended) in age and sex only. It’s a bit like browsing facebook, looking at the profiles of all the sorority girls who are moms now, thriving it seems. The inspirational quotes in cheugy fonts, disney/snoopy everything, scented candles, pop therapy…I feel a part of it and alienated by it at the same time. 

I never wanted kids, I was terrified of getting pregnant actually. I never thought I would have the emotional maturity or wisdom to raise another human being. A few years ago I found out I have PCOS, which means among other things that my girly hormones are messed up. My period was irregular for a long time, until it just stopped. After 6 months I asked my GP if it was ok and he said, “well, you aren’t trying to have a baby, are you?” After a year I decided to go to a gyno myself, and that doctor said “oohhhh no no. If things aren’t cycling that can cause cancer, you could lose your uterus.”

They only found it because I couldn’t handle the pain of putting in the IUD. They put me under so they took a tissue sample at the same time. At the follow up they cold clocked me with the news – “pre-cancer”. They said they could give me maybe a year if I really wanted a kid. I didn’t even have a boyfriend and all I could think was “GET IT OUT. GET IT OUT NOW.” 

It was easy, relatively painless. It happened so quickly. Each time I walk past the baby aisle it hits me like a truck. You will NEVER. Have a child. In this lifetime. That path does not exist for you.

I remember sitting in art lecture, listening to a curator explain her exhibition’s theme of childbirth and motherhood – what a profound, life changing, spiritual experience it was. How she was completely transformed, and given new purpose. How she found a connection with other mothers that no one else can really understand. Nothing compares. My throat tightened and tears started to come. I tell myself It can’t be grief. It can’t be anger. It certainly can’t be resentment. I don’t want kids and plenty of other people don’t either. I must just be craving fulfilment, connection. I must be feeling the pressure to leave something meaningful behind.

I feel like a ghost a lot of the time, an observer. I think there are people who would be envious of that. I try to be grateful for the peace and relative freedom it gives me. I saw a tiktok that recommended I make a mood board of my dream life, because of course it did. As I scrolled pinterest and picked a few images, I started to see a thread connecting them. A couple cuddling and looking at each other playfully, someone in an art museum staring at a painting in wrapped contemplation, two people in a coffee shop earnestly conversing over a pile of books…I think despite herself, this girl wants to be perceived. 

But if I ever need a reminder of how I am part of the tribe of millenial white moms in spirit at least, I just have to put on any Taylor Swift song in my car and scream the lyrics like they are my own words. This mashup has haunted me especially – it is the deathrattle of a girl with an anxious attachment style. Ironic that the most famous woman in the world is still writing about wanting to be seen and understood. We are connected through our disconnection.