Over the years, Mother’s Day has started to mean something a little different to me. It’s still about the handmade cards and the extra hugs from my son, but it’s also become a quiet moment to reflect on the autonomy that allowed me to become a parent on my own terms.
Becoming a mom was, hands down, the most life-altering thing that ever happened to me. I am so incredibly proud of that title, but that pride is rooted in a simple, honest truth: I chose the timing. I waited until I felt I could actually show up for a human life, financially, emotionally, and physically.
I think back to my son’s birth a lot. Pregnancy was "fun" until, suddenly, it wasn’t. My delivery was a far cry from the routine day I had pictured. I spent hours in labor, dealt with three failed epidurals, and then felt that cold spike of fear when the doctors lost my son’s heartbeat. What was supposed to be "natural" turned into an urgent C-section. When I finally held my nine-and-a-half-pound baby boy, the trauma felt worth it, but that experience left me with a permanent understanding of how thin the line is between a "standard" birth and a medical crisis.
Because I know exactly how much motherhood demands and how much birth risks, I find myself more pro-choice now than ever. To me, motherhood is too sacred to be a legal obligation forced on someone by a politician in a suit who lives hundreds of miles away.
It’s hard to watch the news lately. We’re seeing a tide of restrictive laws in southern states signed by people who seem completely insulated from what women actually go through. North Carolina, while still remaining an access point for abortion care, has its own restrictions, and we’ve seen clinics close, further creating barriers to medical care. There’s a painful irony in watching elderly politicians, men who have spent decades in power and will never know the terror of a high-risk pregnancy, dictate our medical autonomy. It feels like life-and-death decisions are being made based on theories, while women in our own neighborhoods deal with the very real, physical consequences.
It’s about people like Ciji Graham, a 34-year-old mother and police officer right here in Greensboro, who died after being unable to get timely care for a high-risk condition. Her story is devastating because it’s a reminder that our bodies aren't just incubators. I can’t imagine a world where I’d be denied the care I need and lose the chance to be there for my son, yet that’s the reality shifting beneath our feet every day.
Lately, it feels like there’s a push to move women out of decision-making spaces and back into roles defined strictly by reproduction. As a mother, I just can't accept that future.
Motherhood should be rooted in stability, readiness, and most importantly, desire. It shouldn’t be born out of fear or a lack of options. We all deserve the right to build a life that works for us, rather than one dictated by people who will never have to live with the results of their votes.
This Mother’s Day, I’m holding onto that truth tightly. The deep, overwhelming love I have for my son exists because I had the power to choose this life.
