For as long as I can remember, I have had what I can only describe as existential dread over the idea of becoming pregnant. I’m not talking about the ramifications of actually having a child and what that would entail in terms of my path in life.
I’m not even talking about the fear of changes within my body, like gaining weight — which, while scary for someone with body dysmorphia and a history of anorexia, is something that I could rationalize in terms of bringing a healthy fetus to term.
No… what I’m talking about is something deeper. It’s something that ties to an underlying terror of losing autonomy over my body and having it not just taken over by a fetus, but by the overwhelming expectations of my mother.
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