I have long detested confrontation. It’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember. The fear of judgment kept me silent, often avoiding conflict at all costs.
When I was about 9 or 10, my mom handed me some cash to grab frozen yogurt from a TCBY in the mall while she waited at a nearby table. As I stood in line, a teenager suddenly cut in front of me. I froze, not wanting to create a scene, when, to my absolute mortification, my mother marched over and exclaimed, “Excuse me, my daughter has been waiting, and you just cut her!” All I could manage was a timid “Mooommm” before the girl reluctantly stepped back. That yogurt? It tasted like defeat. “You need to stand up for yourself,” my mom declared — a message I would hear many times that day.
Fast-forward nearly two decades, and I’ve made some headway. I’ve learned to request extra skim milk in my coffee when the barista only gives a splash. I speak up if a taxi driver attempts to overcharge me. I engage in discussions, presenting my viewpoint when friends and acquaintances disagree. While I’m still not a fan of drawing attention to myself, I’ve found my voice, albeit hesitantly.
Everything shifted when I became pregnant. The thrill of expecting my first child was coupled with an avalanche of self-doubt and questions about my every move — from what I was eating to the products I was using. I immersed myself in a wealth of information to ensure I was making the best choices for my tiny embryo, which was, at that point, the size of a poppy seed.
Before my first doctor’s visit, I meticulously prepared a list of questions. Some may have seemed trivial, but as a first-time mom, I craved clarity. I managed to ask the less ridiculous ones before I hit a wall of anxiety. Old habits kicked in — the urge to retreat and consult Dr. Google loomed large. Yet, the new “mom” version of me couldn’t let that happen.
This was about my baby’s well-being, and I refused to let anyone intimidate me. I mustered the courage to ask about the couple of glasses of wine I had before I discovered I was pregnant. I inquired about sleeping on my stomach at just eight weeks along and expressed my concerns about my heart rate during exercise. I worried the doctor might think I was being overly dramatic, but I pushed through.
To my relief, the world didn’t collapse. My doctor didn’t dismiss me. Instead, I left that appointment with answers and a sense of empowerment.
Eight months later, my daughter arrived, and the real adventure began. Suddenly, everyone felt like they had a PhD in parenting and were ready to share their insights. I navigated their opinions, both constructive and unsolicited, and set aside my old fear of confrontation. The truth is, I am the true authority on my daughter’s care.
Did visitors roll their eyes when I asked them to wash their hands before holding my newborn? Yes. Did they act like I was discourteous for stepping away to breastfeed? Absolutely. Did they offer unsolicited advice while silently judging my choices? Of course. But did I care? Not in the slightest.
If my daughter ever finds herself in a similar situation at the frozen yogurt shop, you better believe I’ll be the fierce mom defending her. Until then, I will guide her, instilling the understanding that being assertive is not synonymous with being rude. The only judgment that should matter comes from within.
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In summary, my journey through pregnancy transformed my approach to self-advocacy. It taught me that standing up for myself is essential, not only for my peace of mind but also for the well-being of my family.