I hate mother’s day. My mother was a violent, narcissistic drunk who had four children she didn’t want and made real sure we knew she didn’t want us. By the time I was 10, I had myself and three siblings to raise. She also hated me. Why would anyone want to honor such a woman?
I don’t have children. That’s by choice. My choice. Not the choice of vile people who demanded I have kids. Not the choice of the jerk who tried to shame me into having children and asked what would have happened if my mother felt the way I feel. Thinking I could shut him up, I told him she did feel that way. He told me I had a bad example. That was the closest I’ve ever come to hitting someone. I figured I could break his nose before he hit back.
Another jerk asked me if I “had been blessed” while he patted my abdomen. I felt like breaking his arm. Unfortunately, I was in a courtroom where bone breaking wasn’t an option. What made that jerk think it was okay to touch my abdomen? My body. I decide who touches it.
Other jerks told me I’d feel different after I had a child. Really? Then why didn’t my mother feel different after she had each unwanted child? And what if I didn’t feel differently?
My grandmother tried to bribe me with a pink baby sweater telling me I could have the sweater if only I had a baby. That was the same pink baby sweater she had made for my cousin’s baby but my grandmother didn’t think the sweater was nice enough, so she kept the sweater.
I had often wanted to tell jerks who wanted me to have kids that I couldn’t possibly have children. If I did, I’d be depriving ignorant jerks like you from being able to make ignorant comments like the one the you just made. But I was too polite.
I’m hiding at home this weekend. I don’t want to be told to have a happy mother’s day. Apparently people think possession of a uterus means one is required to have children. I don’t want to explain not having children. I don’t want to and should not have to justify my choices.
Deb's Art 