This is a throwaway because I feel so trapped, and I’m crying as I write this.
I’m 30 years old, 31 weeks pregnant. Before getting pregnant, I thought I wanted to be a mother. I believed it was the natural next step after marriage. I thought it would bring happiness. I had baby fever. I was wrong.
The truth is, I’ve never really seen myself as a mom. I never enjoyed caring for children, and I rarely connected with them. I always imagined myself as the fun aunt, traveling with my partner, living freely. But life gave me a wonderful partner who deeply wanted children, and I convinced myself that I wanted them too.
Now, with the due date only nine weeks away, I feel the weight of regret. My identity feels erased. I’m no longer recognized for my achievements—only as “the pregnant woman.” Strangers touch me, family and friends bombard me with advice, and everyone asks if I’ll breastfeed. I can’t take it anymore.
It feels like I’m drowning. I hate every minute of this. I’ve started resenting my partner, even feeling anger toward him. I’m enduring so much physically and emotionally, yet he gets congratulated while I’m left exhausted.
Conversations with others are unbearable; they always circle back to the baby. I dislike the name we chose, but our parents have already monogrammed everything. And the thought of giving birth terrifies me—whether by C-section or naturally, both fill me with fear.
Everyone offers their opinions, and I’m suffocating under them.
I’m not excited about the newborn. I don’t feel ready. I’ve even thought about divorce, about giving up parental rights, about disappearing. My partner would have support, but I feel I cannot do this.
I’m scared. I feel trapped. And I don’t know which way is up or down anymore.
