My body isn't mine

Since I was young, people have told me that my decisions and feelings are irrelevant. In the end, I don’t have a choice. 

A horrible puppeteer lies in wait within my body, as it does within every woman. Any day now, the beast will wiggle its arms into mine, step its feet so its pace matches mine, and force my mouth into a smile. My body wouldn’t belong to me anymore. At a certain age, the monster steals my freedom of choice and forces the idea of children into a positive light. With the puppeteer come parasites living in the folds of my brain. They will take over subtly, so insidiously, not even I will notice how I’ve been manipulated.

“You say you don’t want kids now, but you will change your mind when you’re older.”

I’m 26, you are 33 with a 3-year-old. Aren’t I already old enough to know what I want?

“Oh, you‘ll have kids. I used to think the same, but then when I got a little older I changed my mind.”

The brain parasites took her, too.

“No, you are definitely going to have kids! I can see it. Having kids is the best thing you will ever do.” They smile.

The puppeteer forced them to smile, but I can see the unhappiness in their eyes. 

Without fail, I have been told since I was a teenager that I would have kids, despite my decision. I have been told it enough that I doubted my own free will. For a moment, I believed that my body wasn’t my own, that my brain would house someone else’s thoughts and that person would bring children into the world. A puppeteer will steal my body from me soon, and parasites will steal my sense of self and way of thinking, too.

It is a certainty, apparently.

I have discovered the monster that predates my freedom only lurks within women. My partner has never been told he will change his mind and want to have children when he is older. Men are immune - men are free.

I live with a monkey on my back. A beast inside me. A curse upon me. Everyone else knew it before I did, but now I understand that my life is not my own; it belongs to some otherness that will present itself when I am older. 

Any day now.

I revealed my findings to my partner, and his brows pulled into a frown. “Next time someone tells you that, just tell them that you are infertile and can’t have kids. That will get them to shut up and mind their business.”

“Yeah, but what if I change my mind and have kids and get caught out in an awkward lie?”

Any day now, my body and mind won’t belong to me anymore, just like I was told.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a lie. You are infertile.” My confused expression caught his attention. “You know that, right? You’re medically infertile. Legit, you cannot have a child without the power of doctors and specialists and medicine intervening.”

My mind was blown. “Well… oh… medically infertile…”

“Sorry, I - I thought you realised - I thought you knew that,” he said nervously.

I knew I would need frequent blood tests, specialist appointments, careful monitoring and medicine adjustments in order to have a child successfully. I just didn’t know that they termed it medically infertile.

My partner’s eyes looked at me with worry while I processed the news. He suspected I would be upset, but truthfully, it was a relief! Suddenly, I felt my medical condition fighting away the beast which threatened me. My body and sense of self was protected.

A medical condition that some may find restrictive instead released me from the trap that was set for me. I had ammo against the societal pressure to have children. I had a shield against the beast that takes over people’s bodies in their thirties and forces them to have babies.

The threat that had hung over me since I was a teenager was finally gone. My future is my own, and my decisions are free from judgement. 

My illness has given me freedom in a way I never expected.

To all the other women reading this, I hope that the gates to freedom are unlocked for you one day, before you succumb to the pressure of having children, before the puppeteer takes hold of your body and the parasites make you forget who you are. I am lucky; I found an alternative route to freedom. If I ever find the key to those gates of freedom, I will mail it to you express-post.

You are your own person. Don’t let people convince you otherwise, like they nearly did to me. At least now I have something to fend them off and protect my freedom of choice.

True freedom... though... wouldn't that be nice!