When I became a mother, I lost my body – and realized it never belonged to me
When my daughter learned to walk, she began following me around our apartment – into the bathroom while I showered, studying my naked body; into the bedroom when I dressed, regarding my baggy underwear with curiosity.
It was the fall of the 2016 election, and as she watched my utterly changed body, though her eyes were kind and questioning, I could not help but recall the faces of men who had, at various points in my life, scrutinized my body with approval or reproach.
That year, her nascent voice, full of innocent inquisitiveness, also began to drown out my own thoughts. I was reminded of the many men whohad spoken over me all my life.
Motherhood, I found early on, was triggering.
•••
A mother’s body is slowly made over time. It is groomed from birth by the ideologies of womanhood that descend on us the moment we are born, then piled further on us throughout childhood, and calcified by the stories we inherit about what makes a good mother.
When I was very young, I had toys that offered early lessons in mothering: baby dolls with yarn for hair whom I ferried about, tucked into a play crib with frayed washcloths, patted down for sleep. I had already learned I was to be the giver of sleep, a source of nourishment.
Later, as I moved through adolescence, boys taught me, more forcefully, other uses for my hands and mouth. They taught me how to please them; they silenced my voice. I became confused about my own desires – about what I wanted and how to ask for it, about whether I had a voice in any matter at all. Nausea, discomfort and pain, I thought, were part of being wanted, of sex, of becoming a woman. I became conscious that my body did not belong only to me.
It was a tapestry to be admired or reviled, a someday-vessel for reproduction.
•••
A year after my daughter learned to walk, the #MeToo movement brought into my home a steady stream of testimony by women who had been harassed, violated and assaulted by men.
I watched most of the public conversation from a distance, through TV news programs and internet posts, pregnant again and alone in my apartment, my first child climbing on me while I tried to connect what was hap