Since the age of 13, I have avoided wearing a bathing suit in public. That next summer, I experienced a rapid growth spurt, gaining five inches in just four months and moving from a size zero to a size six. This transformation left me feeling as though something was fundamentally wrong with my body. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed my fears: my hips had expanded dramatically, resembling the iconic arches of a popular fast-food chain.
I concluded that my figure was awkward, leading me to favor baggy clothing. Growing up in a household with four older brothers, discussions about womanhood were non-existent. It wasn’t until later that someone mentioned I was blessed with “childbearing hips,” framing it as a positive trait, as if a woman’s worth was intrinsically tied to motherhood.
In my youth, my mother often wrote letters to churches with daycare services, protesting the idea of women working outside the home. It was an unspoken expectation that I would marry, have children, and devote myself to raising them. Career aspirations and travel were often labeled as the pursuits of selfish women, and I felt pity for their children.
It took me years to understand that womanhood encompasses much more than a singular role or milestone. Now at 28, I have never been pregnant, and I firmly identify as a woman. If anyone questions my womanhood based on motherhood, I proudly share the 17 countries I’ve explored with nothing but a backpack. I don’t believe a man’s role in my life defines my identity as a woman. However, my family may not share this perspective. My sister-in-law frequently sends me statistics about the likelihood of having children with Down syndrome as a way to suggest that I am delaying motherhood. On my 25th birthday, she even sent me alarming data about my dwindling egg count, as if it were a warning.
It’s not that I dislike children. In fact, I consider myself the Best Aunt Ever, and I do hope to have my own children someday—just not quite yet. I’ve made a light-hearted agreement with my partner: for every year past 32 that I don’t have a child, I’m entitled to adopt a baby animal. A kitten or perhaps a baby goat would be delightful, giving me plenty of time to decide.
When the time comes for me to have children, especially if I have a daughter, I will not pass down a narrow definition of femininity. Being a woman is a remarkable experience—whether one is pregnant, raising kids, still trying, or has chosen not to. There is no hierarchy determining our value or achievements.
Observing my nieces, with their intelligence and spunk, reminds me that we are born with an innate understanding of our potential, often stifled by societal expectations. While I wouldn’t change my journey, if I could talk to my 13-year-old self, I would share the wisdom I hope to impart to my nieces and, someday, my own daughters.
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In summary, being a woman is not confined to societal expectations or traditional paths. Each journey is unique, and the essence of womanhood should be celebrated in all its forms.