Last updated on September 26th, 2026 at 10:27 am
I have two unfinished drafts, when am I going to conclude them?
Calling them drafts is funny. They’re sketches, random words, strokes; not lines.
Is there a reason sunny days are referred to as beautiful days? I love the dark and gloomy days better. Do we relate to the weather based on how our days are impeded? Like: it’s rainy, so I can’t go out, what a bad day? Or it’s sunny, I can go out, yaay, good weather!
I almost feel weird to be among those (because it’s definitely not just me) who genuinely love gloomy days. There’s something so soothing about those days. Yes, I’m not too happy that the rain has sort of made going anywhere difficult or almost impossible, but that doesn’t leave me feeling bad about the fact that it’s raining. Enough talk.
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I am going to say that one of the major reasons women are very sad about fertility issues is because of the patriarchal system. Sometimes, fertility issues are dormant health issues that you don’t know about until you want a kid. Infertility as a health condition is sometimes not physically debilitating, it can be quiet. Everything looks and feels normal, yet it’s impossible to conceive. Still, fertility treatments probably get the most attention and the most desperate patients of all other health issues (including debilitating and life-threatening ones). Don’t quote me on this.
It’s sad to have a desire unfulfilled. It’s painful to reach for and not be able to get one’s desired life. I say this as a human.
Yet patriarchy worsens this particular case. We’re told as women that our major worth is tied to our wombs, the ability to provide children for a man. If your worth is tied to something, how can you explain your inability to bring that thing to fruition, especially something that your body should be able to do naturally? Having children is one of the few desires that is under our control—we can just pop them out whenever we’re ready. So why wouldn’t my body just do it?!
We expect our value in romantic relationships, in society and amongst our partner’s family, to be further solidified upon having kids. You’re a wife but not a wife enough until you produce children. As a daughter in law, your legs are shaky with your in-laws if you don’t have children yet. And in Nigeria, in a case of difficulty to conceive, your husband can be encouraged to marry a second wife or start another family elsewhere. There are actual consequences for not being able to become a mother (even in the case of secondary infertility).
Many women probably feel called to become mothers, but at some point, one has to also acknowledge that the dream of motherhood was sold to women. Unfortunately, the children who are the innocent party in all of this, suffer the most. Despite all of this, a doctor is less likely to treat a crippling reproductive illness because of the patient’s pain and discomfort than because the illness may make it more difficult for the patient to become pregnant in the future.
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In a relationship with a man, it’s easy to think about kids. The ingredients are complete, just make the meal.
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I’m feeling very emotional this morning.
A lot happens in the course of one’s life and life just continues. One’s expected to move on without sufficient time to process these things. How does a loved one turn to a stranger? How does a parent who was your whole world become someone you seem to be able to live without?
How are we expected to keep on going with these pockets of ourselves tucked in different stages of our lives? They say we should simply key in to the present. The present in itself is here because of the decisions and occurrences of the past.
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One draft done, one left. Instead, I’ll just continue with this. Who says you have to finish your tasks in a chronological order?
Seasons are changing, the cool air is crisp and biting. Summer 2026 is saying goodbye. We are still in this existence, doing life and life is busy throwing drama here and there to keep things spicy.
Patriarchal norms still continue. Women are still at a financial disadvantage. For all the stress of motherhood, being a mother is a thankless job. For some reason your children see you more as a mummy than a human, even grown-up kids. If your worth as a woman is tied to being a mother, then the sacrifices of being a mother are expected. The resources that also go into trying to conceive is also justified. You have to be someone’s mother, if not you’re incomplete.
For everyone who pressures you, only few have a stake in your decision. It is rarely about you though and more about the child. When you make the decision, they become a grandparent, their family grows, your decision makes them happy. It was never about you. Yet all the primary care that’s required for the sustenance and thriving of that child comes from you. This is rarely acknowledged. Let’s spare the crap of the patronising songs and commemorative days for mothers.
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Dead flowers give off a dead aura. When they’re alive, they have this uplifting effect, when they are dead—even if not droopy yet— there’s no response in my brain. It’s as good as looking at a plain brick. That’s quite a surprise. When they’re dead, I still expect a similar response to when they’re alive…with just a hint of knowing that they’re dead. But the body just knows that they’re dead and the light they give off just goes out. I’m probably attaching too much to it.
If the pressure and expectation of all women to become mothers drastically reduces, we can have more fulfilled women. Women who genuinely want to be mothers, but can’t, yet accept it easily and deal with their grief healthily. What we currently have is an obsession with saturating the earth with new humans, yet the welfare of the humans alive is in the gutters. The task of populating the earth is squarely on the neck of women and sold as an individual dream. Women’s value is tied to this because that’s the only way to get results.
If it were simply an intrinsic desire, there shouldn’t be consequences from society. No pressure. No expectations. Let nature take its course. But we have a word for a woman who is naturally unable to produce children, a word that I won’t be saying since I dislike it. Once we slap that word on her, it is a social verdict: this one is unfit. Then comes the pity…and judgement.
