i am so selfish
in a sense that i refuse to watch myself
being ripped apart to create—
not in the way i’ll always long for,
but in a way that takes so much from you.
mentally, physically, emotionally;
it’s only nine months, they say,
yet they don’t see the nine months and after,
and after and after and after and—
the longer nights, the losing of yourself,
the way you become unable to prioritise
anyone else but your creation.
they call it a blessing sent from God,
but my God, You’d rather see me happy… right?
i am so selfish
in a sense that i get a lump in my throat
when they question how that isn’t my lifelong goal—
to settle down, to build a house
with little feet running through the hallway,
the joy, the love, the ‘softness’ of it all.
it must fill me with so much warmth, they insist!
i’d rather puke out my guts
than imagine that future forcefully intertwining itself onto me.
“it’s a long-term investment,” they say.
someone to care for you when you’re old.
a return on years of sacrifice.
proof that suffering was worth it.
but why must an investment hurt this much at the start
and keep hurting
long after the beginning is over?
why must it break you
before it ever gives back?
that doesn’t sound like love.
that sounds like a scam.
i am so selfish,
and i’d rather be,
than force myself into motherhood;
children i know i cannot bear
to love, to give my all,
when i can’t even fully provide for myself.
the thought of;
“would my children resent me too?”
because as the eldest daughter,
i’ve seen enough to know.
i’ve been the second mother.
it will never, ever end.
so yes, i couldn’t care less if i’m selfish.
because the only way for me to be selfless
is by choosing myself;
by refusing old stereotypes,
old cultures, old mindsets.
this is the only way i choose.
and let my womanhood be defined
by the choices i make for myself;
in my selfishness i grow,
i learn to love only me—
the person i should have been protecting
all along,
and the person i’ll keep choosing
forever.
Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 10:10 PM UTC
i am so selfish
in a sense that i refuse to watch myself
being ripped apart to create—
not in the way i’ll always long for,
but in a way that takes so much from you.
mentally, physically, emotionally;
it’s only nine months, they say,
yet they don’t see the nine months and after,
and after and after and after and—
the longer nights, the losing of yourself,
the way you become unable to prioritise
anyone else but your creation.
they call it a blessing sent from God,
but my God, You’d rather see me happy… right?
i am so selfish
in a sense that i get a lump in my throat
when they question how that isn’t my lifelong goal—
to settle down, to build a house
with little feet running through the hallway,
the joy, the love, the ‘softness’ of it all.
it must fill me with so much warmth, they insist!
i’d rather puke out my guts
than imagine that future forcefully intertwining itself onto me.
“it’s a long-term investment,” they say.
someone to care for you when you’re old.
a return on years of sacrifice.
proof that suffering was worth it.
but why must an investment hurt this much at the start
and keep hurting
long after the beginning is over?
why must it break you
before it ever gives back?
that doesn’t sound like love.
that sounds like a scam.
i am so selfish,
and i’d rather be,
than force myself into motherhood;
children i know i cannot bear
to love, to give my all,
when i can’t even fully provide for myself.
the thought of;
“would my children resent me too?”
because as the eldest daughter,
i’ve seen enough to know.
i’ve been the second mother.
it will never, ever end.
so yes, i couldn’t care less if i’m selfish.
because the only way for me to be selfless
is by choosing myself;
by refusing old stereotypes,
old cultures, old mindsets.
this is the only way i choose.
and let my womanhood be defined
by the choices i make for myself;
in my selfishness i grow,
i learn to love only me—
the person i should have been protecting
all along,
and the person i’ll keep choosing
forever.
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