Just a week ago, I discovered I was pregnant. After six weeks without a period, a part of me anticipated the test would show a positive result when I finally bought it.
When I walked into the living room, my husband paused his video game. I revealed the news, and then we both sat silently on the couch, unsure of what to say next. This wasn’t an unexpected pregnancy. As a thirty-five-year-old professional in San Francisco, I’ve spent the last decade building a fulfilling career. My husband and I have crafted a wonderful life together and decided that if there was ever a time to start a family, it was now. After stopping birth control, we left things to chance for seven months, knowing that if I became pregnant, we would welcome a child.
Despite being educated and understanding the consequences of unprotected sex, receiving this news—something we both wanted—felt overwhelming. We didn’t discuss the pregnancy until the next day, each of us holding onto the hope that perhaps the test was inaccurate, or that maybe our lives wouldn’t change drastically after all.
But as the days passed, the reality settled in: we were going to have a baby.
Since that moment, I’ve found myself in tears more often than I could have imagined. These moments come out of nowhere, like when I’m brushing my teeth or grabbing a snack at work. These are not joyful tears; they’re heavy, sorrowful sobs that I can’t seem to stop.
I needed to share my feelings with someone. A voice of reassurance was essential. So, I called my mom, expecting her to know how to comfort me. “Are you so excited?” was her first question. I broke down, muffling my cries so she wouldn’t hear my anguish.
No, I’m not excited. I’m filled with fear, anger, and sadness—everything but joy.
Guilt quickly followed. Society tells us that mothers should be overjoyed at the news of pregnancy. Movie portrayals show women bursting with happiness, celebrating with creative announcements and gender reveals. The thought of doing anything like that only heightens my anxiety.
What’s wrong with me? Does this mean I won’t be a good mother? Am I the only woman who feels this way about a planned pregnancy?
I tried to avoid the Internet out of fear of judgment, but the urge for empathy pulled me in. Unsure of what to search for, I typed, “I just found out I’m pregnant and I’m not excited.”
To my surprise, a plethora of articles appeared on various mom blogs. One caught my attention: a woman who had dedicated her life to her career and loved her child-free existence. After deciding to stop taking the pill, she found herself in a similar situation. “I’m not excited. I don’t know if I want this anymore. How can I bring a child into the world when I feel this way?”
A sense of relief washed over me—I wasn’t alone. I found someone who understood my struggle, who also cherished her life without children yet felt sadness about the impending changes.
Curious about others’ reactions, I scrolled through the comments, bracing myself for negativity. Instead, I found compassion. One woman, who had faced multiple miscarriages, expressed that she too felt overwhelming sadness upon realizing she would carry her baby to term. Another shared her experience of mourning the life she had before pregnancy.
After reading these, I hesitated to share my feelings further, fearing more judgment. But I reached out to a friend who is a mother. “I’m not ready for this to be public yet, but I’m pregnant and I’m freaking out. Please tell me that’s normal,” I texted.
She called me immediately. The first thing she said wasn’t congratulations; it was, “It’s totally normal.” I felt a weight lift off my chest. She shared her own experience of waiting to tell her husband, recounting how she cried and felt like her life was over. It wasn’t until she heard her baby’s heartbeat that she began to feel something other than despair.
After our conversation, I cried again, but this time, there was relief mixed in with my sadness. I’m not alone. This feeling is normal.
It’s a truth I will need to remind myself of repeatedly over the next eight months. It’s something my friends will have to reinforce, and a sentiment I will likely search for online numerous times. But the reality remains: It’s normal. I’m normal.
For those navigating similar feelings, resources like UCSF’s Center can provide valuable support, while Make a Mom offers insightful information on home insemination. If you’re looking to explore additional options, the At-Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit can be a helpful resource.
In summary, the journey into pregnancy can evoke a myriad of emotions, and it’s okay to feel scared or uncertain. You’re not alone in these feelings; many others share similar experiences.
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