To Tell or Not to Tell, That Is the Question
The intimacy of matrescence and the importance of protecting those private moments about your pregnancy that you want to keep for yourself.
We are under no obligation to share any details about our personal lives with anyone at any time. There is no formal social contract in place that commands you answer the questions of anyone who feels entitled to information about your family, or the one you may or may not plan or be able to make. There is no meaningful consequence for refusing to answer such questions that we are often told are generally well-meaning queries. There is, however, power in protecting your private moments and sharing only what you want, when you want, with who you want. And that is because what we do, feel, or think about our family and our fertility is absolutely nobody else’s business.
The stories I share with you here are stories I invited you to read. I hope you never feel obligated to share your own stories with others until, and only if, you are ready.
The Road to Nosiness is Paved with Good Intentions (Apparently)
I fully recognize that there are genuinely well-meaning people out there, curious about the lives of others they’re connected to, seeking to share soothing words or develop a deeper relationship. But the onslaught of questioning about romance and children that comes seemingly after high school graduation feels heavy and downright irritating. There was first the classic, “What are your future plans? Do you have a job?” line of querying that is both understandable yet tedious. This quickly turned into the more cringeworthy, “Do you have a boyfriend?” After a boyfriend was indeed acquired, the questions became, “When are you getting married?” Which of course after nuptials has led to, “When are you having kids?”
When I complain to others about these questions, I hear often that they are simply well-meaning and that I shouldn’t be so riled up. Well, color me riled! Because I feel that nosiness has been normalized, and when we don’t provide the answer sought by the inquirer, we are made to be difficult, dramatic, or rude. Call me all three, but you’re not getting my secrets until I allow them to escape from my vaulted lips.
The answers to all of these questions demand the revelation of secrets. Intimate parts of our human experience that cannot be contained by the walls of small talk. With the topic of pregnancy, these types of questions have only become more perpetual and unbearable. Unable to placate conversations about my womb like I have been able to about other parts of my life, the grappling has required me to find an inner peace about holding what is near and dear to me without feeling guilty for doing so.
I Didn’t Know If I Could Bear Children
Before I even considered having kids, I didn’t know if I could have kids. Physiologically. Anatomically. Psychologically. Fertility is private health information. My womb is not an open invitation for discussion about my being and existence. And for those who struggle with fertility issues, either within their own bodies or their partner’s, the “Do you want kids?” and “When are you having kids?” questions are knives to the heart every single time they are asked. I feel compassion for those receiving these questions; and I am not sensitive to offending the asker with the only appropriate response of, “That is none of your business.” This line of questioning is similarly violent to those who have opted to not have children. If you are curious about my life, please understand that my life is not my womb, that my womb is not your business, and that if we have developed that type of appropriate relationship to discuss it, we will talk about it one day within the confines of trust and mutual adoration.
I hope you feel empowered to suppress the urge the explain yourself to anyone who doesn’t know your heart before they know your uterus.
I Didn’t Want to Tell You I Was Pregnant Because I Didn’t Want to Un-tell You
My husband and I created our first life in August 2023, a month after we got married. It happened faster than we imagined it would and we were absolutely unprepared for the tidal wave of emotions that struck upon our first positive pregnancy test. We told our immediate family the same day. We told a small group of friends in our community later that night who we already had plans with. We regretted shouting this news from the rooftops a week later when I miscarried.
Un-telling people I was pregnant was undoubtedly the most painful thing I have ever had to communicate. My husband bore the brunt of the bad news and told most people for me while I cried in bed for days. Relevant to this particular topic, a small light in the darkness of this experience has been finding out who will be there for me in the lowest of lows. It turns out “Please let me know if you need anything!” is an empty shell of a phrase until it’s applied to a traumatic experience of need. While this disappointment of others’ silence felt like a shadow on an already dark era, I feel more confident now about protecting our intimate secrets about my family and my womb, and am getting better at discerning the truly well-meaning from the nosy.
We created our second life by November of 2023. A rainbow baby formed so soon after the first that we felt overwhelmed by gratitude and overcome with possessing time. We wanted to keep the news for ourselves, for a little while. To make sense of everything that happened before. To learn how to grapple with the anxiety of “What if it happens again?” To make sense of what is happening now.
I hope you feel empowered to protect your pregnancy news until you are ready to share it, in whatever way feels right, regardless of any pressure from outside sources.
I Couldn’t Talk About Pregnancy Until I Started to Understand It Myself
My first trimester was a blackhole. I was obviously ecstatic to be carrying my child, but I didn’t feel pregnant. I was nauseous all day. I lost 10 pounds in two months because I couldn’t eat. My daily meal intake was a smashed banana and a handful of goldfish. Brushing my teeth made me vomit. I knew “morning sickness” was the most common first trimester symptom, but I had no idea how debilitating it would be, and that it was in fact all day sickness. Nothing helped. Not even 20 bags of ginger tea. Not even the weird remedy you found on Reddit.
Every pregnancy is different, so if you’re someone who enjoyed pregnancy through and through, I truly am thrilled that you had that positive experience, but I unfortunately cannot relate. I was in bed all of November. I couldn’t walk my dog or leave my house. I spent Thanksgiving alone because I couldn’t travel or smell any cooked foods. I wasn’t thinking about my baby’s sex or nursery ideas because I couldn’t think beyond my crippling uselessness. For the few people we told I was pregnant during this early time, my answer to every “How you do you feel?” question was “I feel horrible.” I’m five months in now and I still don’t feel great - I just feel better than whatever Winter was.
More people are finding out about my pregnancy now. (Ah yes, and here I am writing about it on Substack!). And with that revelation comes more uncomfortable conversations with others who may not understand my experience, or only want to tell me “it just gets worse.” I can’t talk about this experience with others who aren’t willing to listen, and I certainly can’t talk about this experience until I understand it myself. It’s an adventure in duality daily; pain and glory all at once, often indistinguishable, changing every second. That’s the best I can give for now.
I hope you feel empowered to be honest about how you’re feeling in your own journey, in whatever season life finds you in. And I hope you feel empowered to stay close to those who honor your experiences rather than try to take them from you.
All I Seek Is Kindness
Pregnancy is hard. Matrescence is hard. Transforming my entire life and body is hard. It is hard to grapple with responding to questions I don’t know the answer to. It is hard to navigate social interactions about my private and intimate experiences. It is hard to know how to feel, how to cope, how to direct my grievances. All I seek is kindness. If you’ve been in my shoes, please give me a helpful pointer, not an opinion. If you’re bursting with advice, please ask me if I want to hear it first, and don’t ever tell me “Just you wait!”
If you’ve felt what I’ve felt, please tell me so I don’t feel alone. These are the words I will carry with me as I grow closer to motherhood, so I can be a better supporter for those on a similar journey in their own lives. And I hope that somewhere between these lines, you feel seen and supported here, too.
Xo,
Violet Carol