What are you afraid of?

 There’s a guy whom I follow on Facebook Aaron Leatherbarrow who has a writers guild and so I responded with this essay as my entry into it. He put out three prompts and I chose, “What are you afraid of?” 

The minute I thought about being afraid I immediately felt emotions rise in me and knew what plagued my heart. The sting of tears is currently behind my eyes, the warmth of my cheeks and anxiety in my arms tells me the realness of my fear. What am I afraid of? So blinding the light of my fear that it didn’t take me any time to know what to write about. My biggest fear is that at thirty seven I may never have a baby from my womb or find a life partner. Two of the most natural ingrained desires a woman can have.  I feel like I’m being denied my life’s purpose and I’m afraid it won’t come true. My wet cheeks and the hurt in my heart confirm my reality. My anxiety ridden body and self doubt lurking in the background ready to deny me happiness. 

There is a lot of heaviness that comes with being afraid of the first part. You see, I’ve battled keeping my uterus for the last one and a half years.  I’m facing prolapse and needing surgeries to repair after already having two surgeries on my uterus. Being at my high maternal age my time is dwindling to have a baby and I’m facing possible infertility issues. While the gladness of my last biopsy being negative and there’s no more threat of cancer at the moment, there is angst for the next one in just 24 hours. When my issues first arose “cut it out and adopt” was said to me by a close family member. This insensitive comment tore me to pieces and I wept for hours alone in my bed. I went through stages of grief at the thought of losing my chance to experience birth and indescribable love for an offspring, my inner most desire. To become pregnant brings the risk of cancer back up to a 40% chance, so that is overwhelmingly in the back of my mind. Will it ever be possible? I honestly don’t know. 

When it comes to finding a life partner I’ve done a lot of damage to my body. I treated it like a trash can and ignored my responsibility to care for it. I’ve gained and lost thousands of pounds.  Currently down 90lbs and maintained it for a year. My body is broken and a fat/loose skin mess. It’s not pretty, it’s not attractive, it’s not beautiful. I look at it and cry, I hate myself for the abuse I’ve put it through. People may want me but when they see what’s underneath the sexy clothing my repulsive appearance threatens any attraction they may have.  I may be good enough for a photo of a certain angle or an online encounter but in person threatens my peace. I may be hot enough for a moment but I’m never enough for a lifetime. It hurts so deep I feel the prick and sting of never good enough each and every day. 

As thirty eight looms just around a tiny corner I look at my life afraid of what I won’t have. Afraid of never having what I achingly want. Afraid of not being good enough!  Afraid of an empty womb, while I break in a million pieces watching others get what I desire so desperately. Each of these fears on their own are too much. Combined it is a force of devastation to my heart. To long for what I haven’t ever had and don’t know if I ever will.