Funny things, before each miscarriage, and any anytime I mentioned wanting children, I was told that I wouldn’t be a good mother.
I don’t play with matches.
I don’t run around with scissors.
I don’t push kids down on the playground.
I don’t bully.
I don’t spew hatred.
I haven’t been the best human being. I haven’t been the best to my body over the years. Oh, and obvously, I haven’t always had the best people around me, but who can say they are a perfect human being ready to be a parent?
Well, I wish I had that understanding when these lovely people in my life questioned whether I could be a good mom.
Okay, screw it, and with all the love I can muster up, screw them.
I actually believed it. I believed I couldn’t be a good mom.
And what fucking right did these people have?
Now, it was my issue for allowing their toxicity to tank my happiness. It was my issue to believe that my miscarriages were a sign that I shouldn’t be a mom. I mean, people’s words may have played it, but I really let it sink too far in.
Can you imagine what that kind of way that yuck fuels your body?
I was faulted for having my personality. I was faulted for not being able to carry to term, and I was faulted for not moving on fast enough or just accepting it all and just adopting.
“Just get over it”
“It wasn’t anything so it shouldn’t matter this much.”
As I said before, let the real healing begin.
And it starts with being honest with myself and the mess. The mess of me, the mess of people I surround myself with, and the mess that became my path.
I changed to @beautiwbeast (pronounced Beauty With Beast) and posted a video about that mess of a path and how it went off the rails. Maybe I’ll dive deeper on it in a future post TikTok Vid @beautiwbeast
But, despite my wonky health issues, I still have faith that I’ll be a mom. My miracles are all around me.
So here we go.
Generational curses, I’m coming for you.