why i was scared of Becoming a mother





I never thought I would one day be scared of being a mother. I always wanted to be a mother. I have had the picture of the kind of mother I would be and all the things I wouldn’t do as a mom since I was in college. I had everything planned.


There would be three kids, I would have two and adopt one. Then the master dream changer struck and blew it all into thin air. Motherhood was automatically erased from my list when I became aware of the extent of my injuries. I couldn’t dare dream or think of it.





However, I am an African woman I cannot choose to remain single or unmarried. It is unacceptable. People wouldn’t stop asking questions and counselling with or without your encouragement. They judge base on what they can see, a beautiful and averagely successful woman without a man.

She should be married with two or three children, if she’s not she’s either arrogant, promiscuous or choosy.

They would judge you harshly, ask you embarrassing questions openly without any care of how it would make you feel. If you are not married or if you don't have kids, it must be your fault. As far as they are concerned, it is your fault you are lacking in that department and those harsh words are supposed to jolt you into the realities of your situation.


What they refused to see is that beauty and success are a front for a broken heart and soul. A woman afraid of her own shadow, afraid of closing her eyes for fear of the demons that lurk behind them I was scared of being touched because I had been prodded and pricked too many times.


I could not bear the thought of intimacy with any man because all I could feel is the hot iron rod that tore through my virginal ripping out my perineal and anus How then can I think of becoming a mother? How do I satisfy a man? How do I carry his child when I couldn’t carry my weight?


I remembered the Doctor telling me I might never enjoy sex because there were lots of damages down there. Although they fixed, packed and tucked in I would never remain the same. But who would I explain all that too? They don't care much about the things they don’t see.


They forget we all have those things we keep hidden from everyone. The ones we don’t talk about no matter how free or intimate we are. The ones we mask with our pretty makeups and nice clothes.The ones we are too scared to accept. These are the things that make up the larger part of who we are. The battles we fight secretly within ourselves and with ourselves.


These private battles keep us going. They are our drives, our strength and anchor. Fighting and surviving them make life worth living, without them we cease to live. They are the part of our lives we should be able to discuss freely without fear of harsh judgement. Or the ones we should accept judgement or not because they are the fire trying us; making us courageous, strong and beautiful.