Pregnancy and Motherhood Is Personal: Why I Chose Silence
“Motherhood is not a deadline. It’s a choice. It’s her time. Let her decide when. This Mother’s Day, respect the silence too.” – Divya
There’s a reason I didn’t want to share my pregnancy early on. It wasn’t because I was unsure, or because I didn’t trust the people around me entirely – it was because the moment something so personal becomes public, it’s no longer yours. And in the society I live in, especially as a woman in India, pregnancy isn’t just a personal milestone. It becomes a public event, a ticking clock, a performance of expectations.
I wanted to protect that moment – not just for myself, but for my partner and our peace. But even that quiet choice felt like rebellion. Somehow, despite my silence, others felt entitled to know. And worse, when they found out (often through whispers and speculation), they shared it. Without permission. Without care.
This isn’t just about me. This is about a wider obsession – one I’ve seen over and over again: the relentless fixation on having a baby the moment you’re married.
From the day a wedding band is slipped onto your finger, you’re no longer just a person. You’re a potential mother, a walking womb. Conversations shift. Smiles become suggestive. Questions like “any good news?” aren’t even questions – they are expectations disguised in polite curiosity. And when you don’t comply, when you say “not yet” or “we’re not sure,” suddenly you’re selfish. You’re uncaring. You’re letting down your parents, your in-laws, your whole community.
What hurts more is the breach of privacy that comes with this obsession. Women’s bodies are watched closely – literally. Period cycles are tracked (sometimes not even by us), and the moment there’s a delay, the rumor mill kicks in. I remember having a delayed cycle because of PCOS, a condition millions of women deal with silently. But in the eyes of society and elderly women around me, that was a sign. A signal. A starting gun for the speculation.
It seemed that once the speculation about my delayed cycle began, people (especially ladies) around me started treating me differently – subtle, yet significant changes in their behavior. At one point, I asked my husband whether I should address the situation and clear the air. His response was simple yet wise: “Did they confirm the news with you before speculating?” When I said no, he added, “Then why should we?” His words reminded me not to feel obligated to address unverified rumours.
Because silence is not secrecy. It is self-preservation. And every woman has the right to that.
And then came the appointments – ones I didn’t ask for. Fertility clinics I’d never heard of, suggested by family members who’d seen an ad, or heard about a “miracle doctor” from WhatsApp forwards or TV or magazine adverts. It didn’t matter whether we were ready. It didn’t matter whether we wanted kids yet. What mattered was the timeline they believed we had to follow. The ticking biological clock they held over our heads.
But here’s what’s missing in all this noise: the voice of the couple. The voice of choice.
We live in a time where autonomy should be respected. And yet, so many couples are denied the basic right to decide when – or if – they want children. Pressure isn’t care. Intrusion isn’t love. And tracking someone’s reproductive life doesn’t make you a concerned elder – it makes you someone who has forgotten what boundaries mean.
I’m writing this not to point fingers, but to open eyes.
Let’s stop equating motherhood with duty. Let’s stop romanticizing pregnancy as a timeline obligation. Let’s start seeing women – not as vessels of legacy – but as people, capable of choosing what’s best for them, for their partners, and for the families they’re building in their own time.
This Mother’s Day, protect your right to choose motherhood on your own terms.
Whether you become a mother, when you become one, and how you navigate that journey – it should be your decision. Don’t let expectations, pressure, or unsolicited advice drag you into a cycle you didn’t ask for. Your body, your timing, your choice. And that, too, is a form of love – towards yourself and the life you’re building.
Motherhood should start with a choice, not compromise.