The birth of my daughter... the birth of myself
When I gave birth to my daughter, I gave birth to myself.
Trust me, I know how “woo-woo” that sounds.
During the IVF process leading up to my pregnancy - the doctor appointments, the pills, the hormones, the shots, the blood draws, the surgeries, the miscarriage- all during a global pandemic - I felt pieces of me slowly being etched away. My view of the world was changing, my beliefs were shifting, it felt like every single thing about me was changing evolving and no matter how hard I prayed for it to stop, it just wouldn’t.
I vividly remember the day we discovered we would have a little girl. My husband and I were in my car on the rooftop of the parking garage at my doctor’s office. (It’s the easiest level to park on and the views are the best). We opened the envelope that held the black and white sonogram which would reveal the next chapter of our lives. I remember the pure shock washing over me, followed immediately by tears of joy - which quickly gave way to worry. Worry for her future, for how she would make her way in the world.
The next thing I knew - months had passed and I was being rushed in for an emergency c-section, three weeks early.
During the past two years of nurturing this beautiful, little soul, I've experienced an inexplicable awakening within myself. It's like rediscovering parts of me that had long been buried, perhaps since childhood, now emerging into the light. I’ve come face to face with my own strengths, thoughts, and beliefs, unapologetically embracing them without concern for judgment.
This slow evolution of change within myself had started pouring out into the way I mother my children.
My inability to understand why, in the religion I grew up in, women and girls have always been seen as the “weaker sex,” and the “submissive” partner has become something I cannot look away from.
I’ve lost all desire to align myself with a faith or religion that looks at a particular gender as less than. I am not just my husband’s “helpmeet.” And I am beyond thankful for a life partner who doesn’t look at me as such.
I’m distancing myself from all of the ways my past religion dictated how I, as a woman, should navigate the world.
It often felt like I had to seek forgiveness from God at every turn. I lived in constant fear of being left behind while others were raptured due to my rebellious nature of having doubts and too many questions. Always vigilant about dressing modestly to avoid tempting my 'brothers in Christ'. Having dreams of traveling the world and helping people, but being told that God might call me to be a missionary wife, but not a missionary.
Whispering prayers before I drifted off to sleep every single night so I didn’t accidentally go to hell if I died in my sleep. Praying that my salvation was real, and if not then maybe you’ll come into my heart again, Jesus, just to be safe. Beating myself up for screwing up and not saving myself for marriage, even though I vowed to God that I would. Basing my worth as a person on the fact that I was a filthy, wretched sinner who was worth nothing unless I was fully, wholly, dedicated to my religion.
(In case you haven’t caught on - it’s crystal clear why I and so many women who were raised in the bible belt have anxiety today.)
The worth of my daughter goes far beyond the constraints of the religion I grew up in.
She will never have to question her worth based on invisible societal rules implied by others.
With the birth of my daughter came the rebirth of myself, including the voice I had silenced for far too long.
I vow to never stifle my voice again.
For her, and for me.
