Most importantly, or disturbingly, I realized that this is what a lot of people think being a woman means: being sacrificial. Giving up your own self, your own goals and beliefs for someone else’s agenda; reducing your body to little more than fertile ground. Spilling your own blood for some vague greater “good.” Perhaps that’s why the archetype of the Virgin, of immaculate conception, is so pervasive in our culture: she wasn’t given a choice, and yet.
But I was given a choice and I chose myself. I chose self-preservation over sacrifice; I can’t say what anyone else would have done in my position because I am myself and couldn’t have done differently. I chose to do what’s best for me so that if and when I’m ready to be a mother, I can actually be a good one. Just because you can have a child doesn’t mean you should.
And I know there are people who will always see that as selfish, but to me it’s just the opposite.