The Church Robbed me of Motherhood

My unexpected journey of motherhood began about 10 years ago in July of 2011. I never expected to be pregnant. I only took a pregnancy test for the heck of it. I remember that my exact reason for “peeing on the stick” was just to see what it would say.

The double solid burgundy lines appeared on August 18, 2011. I was a youngster at the delicate age of 19, smack dab in the middle of nursing school.

Those two lines hit me like a ton of bricks. I was terrified. Embarrassed. Uncertain. Disappointed. Stressed. I became another “statistic,” and I immediately began grieving over the life I planned — but one I knew I would never have. My mother was supportive and tickled pink that she would be having a grandbaby. As expected, my dad was irate and hurt that his baby girl had gotten into this predicament. I was too scared to tell him, so my mom broke the news. Next in line to deliver the news to was my grandparents, great aunt, & brother. No big deal. It was an initial shock, but they bounced back quickly. I expected this kind of behavior from my family.

What I didn’t expect was what happened next. After my family, I broke the news to my former pastor. The response was like one I had never seen before. Immediately, I was condemned. There was a secret meeting, (one that my family was not invited to), held about my pregnancy where it was announced to the entire congregation (without my knowledge or consent — that’s a HIPAA violation).

A church member informed us about the meeting after it was over. From there, things trickled into several meetings where he behaved like a child throwing tantrums and slamming objects over something that didn’t even belong to him. He even placed his hand on a Bible & swore to God that death would come upon not only my child but for me and my family as well. He blamed his heart palpitations and chest pain on me for having “to deal with this.” Sermons went forth from the pulpit as he preached about daughters that were “hot in the tail” and needing to “keep their pants up.” He was even bold enough to inform me that my son was not in God’s will because he was going to be born out of wedlock. My son was “Ishmael” not the “promised child,” which was used in reference to the biblical text of Abraham’s children Ishmael and Issac born by his handmaiden and wife. He even went as far as instructing members of the church to not speak to me or my family. That was enforced in yet another secret meeting.

I was expecting to be embraced and ended up being a disgrace — and given a sure highway ticket to hell by the pastor.

Needless to say, the stress was at an all-time high. I began to have vaginal bleeding. To my surprise, I learned that I was pregnant with two babies. Yes — twins. I was managing my stress from being newly pregnant, completing nursing school well, but the increased stress of the church and pastor killed one of my babies. I don’t care what anyone says, he murdered my baby. The blood will be on his hands.

Though my son is happy and healthy, losing that child hunts me more now than ever before. That’s because now, I struggle with infertility. My body has rejected me the same way my former pastor and church did.

After I had my son and became a single mother, I decided that I didn’t want any more children. I saw no issue with that decision because I always assumed that if I wanted another child, I could have one. The issue occurred in 2018 when I became deathly ill with the flu, and my uterus presented the size of a pregnant woman. After multiple negative pregnancy tests, both urine and blood, it was found that there were “growths” in my uterus. Leiomyomas. Uterine fibroids.

Between 2018 and now, they have grown my uterus to the size of a woman that’s 20 weeks pregnant — but, there’s no baby. They’ve compressed my femoral artery and given me “pregnant legs.” My feet are swollen to my knees. My acid reflux is constant, and I’ve managed to develop a case of hydronephrosis (kidney diagnosis). Multiple trips to the ER. An intolerance to anesthesia makes it difficult to choose which surgery to agree to.

I’ve heard the term “hysterectomy” more times than I would like to admit. I cringe every time I hear it.

My life has changed drastically rather quickly. I’ve had to deal with the pain they had been causing, the heavy periods, the rapid weight gain, but ultimately — the inability to conceive.

I have grieved the loss of my faith, the loss of myself, the loss of a church, & the loss of a pastor I thought loved me, & now I grieve the loss of my fertility.

The hardest part is not only to forgive but rather to forgive a person who’s not even sorry.

I’m sorry. You’d be surprised to know just how much these 2 little words could heal.

It’s only by God’s grace & goodness that I still believe & haven’t given up hope on Christians, church, & religion altogether.

Some will tell me I’m “holding on to the past,” but I’m not. Yes, this may have occurred in the past, but my son is a present reminder…not only of the emotional, spiritual, physical, & psychological wounds I’ve endured but also of God’s unconditional love.

This is my story.

Ten years later & not only have his words & actions affected me, but they have also affected my husband. The“past” has affected my future.

The only thing he’s asked me for is the one thing that I cannot give him.

I’m a newlywed, and now, not only will I possibly not be able to give him a child…

My first pregnancy may have been my last pregnancy, and the church robbed me of what should have been one of the happiest moments of my life.

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