The Parts They Never Knew
Some women are celebrated through pregnancy. Others learn to survive in silence.
My friend compared her pregnancy to mine. She said I had a calm, easy pregnancy, while hers seemed harder. She thought I had the easy pass.
What she didn’t know was that I only made it look easy.
Pregnancy is different for every woman. Every experience is unique. But if I’m being honest, I should have been the one admiring her.
She gets to do what she wants if she wants to. She has the freedom to express what she feels without being judged. She isn’t limited in where she goes or mocked for what she says or does. She can walk with her head held high, without feeling the weight of criticism. She has a partner beside her, and she knows that whatever happens, she can count on him. Her pregnancy was welcomed. It was accepted. It was celebrated.
And yet, she compared her experience to mine.
I never got to enjoy or truly cherish my pregnancy. Instead, I was looked at with disappointment. I still remember the sharp stares, the silence, the unspoken judgment that made me feel small. I never got to express pain or discomfort because I knew I would be scolded. I never got to show weakness because I was made to feel that everything was my fault the moment I came bearing a child.
I had to follow rules. I had to be careful with every step, every word, every choice — because one mistake meant hearing words that cut deeper than people realized.
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During my pregnancy, I was constantly tiptoeing.
I was still trying to figure things out, but I had no clear view of my future. I was stuck in survival mode, trying to make it through one day at a time. The father of my child was hesitant, present only because he felt forced to be.
So how could she compare her experience to mine when our realities were never the same?
The truth is, I envy her—in a positive way.
I envy how she wakes up every day without rushing, without guilt — surrounded by love, excitement, and support. I envy that she gets to cherish every step of becoming a mother.
Mine felt rushed. Like life gave me no time to stop, no time to breathe, no time to process what was happening. I was forced to act before I was ready.
Even during labor, I had to keep it together. I had to push through my pain, my fear, and my emotions. I had to act strong. I had to pretend I was ready, when deep down, I wasn’t.
I was never given the chance to process everything. I was never given the chance to heal — physically, emotionally, or mentally.
And even now, I am still learning how to be a parent.
Through trial and error. Through failures. Through exhaustion.
I am tired. More tired than most people will ever see.
But I keep going.
Because at the end of every hard day, I know my son is relying on me. And no matter how unprepared I once felt, I never gave up — and I still won’t.
