By Rosie Cohen

On Pregnancy


What if pregnancy — so often framed as loss of control — could also bring clarity, softness, and a new kind of power?

In this deeply personal journal piece, Rosie shares the unexpected ease she’s found in her changing body, and the quiet shift toward self-compassion that it’s brought.

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Motherhood was not something I dreamed of. The idea of pregnancy and birth loomed large in my subconscious; such an alien concept that, in fact, I always believed my body was not capable of it. This body has never been a home in which I have lived comfortably. I experienced puberty very early, long before I was mentally or physically ready for the transition from girl to womanhood, and I wonder if it was this that made me loathe all that was feminine about my body, from its curves and fluctuations to its primal functions. I distanced myself so much from my female body that accepting the most natural, animal act of growing and birthing a child seemed impossible.

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Perhaps unsurprisingly, at some point, it occurred to me that I could shrink my femininity away, and so began years of disordered eating, which has ebbed and flowed in intensity over the last decade. A year or so ago, whilst in the depths of a low ebb, I changed my mind about motherhood. I didn’t yearn for it, my body didn’t call out for it, but I consciously decided, along with my partner, that it was something we really wanted to do. This would always have been a challenge for me, but never more so than at this moment.


I had starved away my periods and was limiting myself to a diet that was barely enough to sustain even just one life. I was deeply sad and had lost myself, and yet I was afraid of re-nourishing. Still, I committed. Over several painful months, I gritted my teeth and clawed myself back to health.

"Something I had been afraid of my whole life has proven, so far, to be the gentlest and most soul-nourishing experience."

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With this in mind, it’s fair to expect that pregnancy and a fast-changing, fast-growing body that is no longer a home just for me but for someone as yet unknown to me, too, would have been unbearably hard. Surprisingly, I’ve been happier in pregnancy than I have been for many years. 

Something I had been afraid of my whole life has proven, so far, to be the gentlest and most soul-nourishing experience. I have found that, unconsciously, I have given myself grace. I have allowed myself to notice and lean comfortably into the things that make me feel content. I’ve found that I am being kinder to myself than I have ever been and have looked at myself through a softer lens. None of these things were intentional, none were expected, and at no point have I consciously believed myself more worthy of my own kindness now than I was before. It’s a beautiful evolution that I could never have expected, and that I hope marks the birth of a new, irreversible state of softness.

"I’d just like to add one small surprised voice to say that ... it can be soft, nurturing, healing."

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A lot of what we hear about pregnancy is negative, and I know that for many people and for many reasons it can be. I’d just like to add one small surprised voice to say that it isn’t always; it can be soft, nurturing, healing. I couldn’t say with any conviction that I like the way that my body looks, but I can say that it has seemed less important. I am loving more deeply, cultivating community, thinking more intensely, existing more freely, and so I have less time for self-criticism and fear. 


Throughout my first and second trimesters, my contentment was round and complete. Now, as the waves of time carry me closer and closer to my due date, this contentment is tinged with anxiety. I worry about the body that will be left to me once it is returned to single occupancy. I worry about change and the new life rushing towards me, the transformation of my whole self, my own rebirth as a mother. I worry that this newfound comfort in my skin will leave my body when my baby does. I would miss it.

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There’s still the question of whether I will enjoy motherhood, and whether my baby will inspire this mythical greatest of loves in me that I have heard of but cannot yet imagine. I suppose that this is symbolic of parenthood as a whole. We must accept a little loss of control, a little leap into the unknown, a little surrendering of past life, and acceptance of a new one. For now, I’ll try to take it as it comes, and most of all, I’ll try to hold on to this new, fragile and tender power, to see myself as I would see another, with kindness and compassion.

The Effect of the Water
General

The Effect of the Water

By Rosie C

Hattie Hambridge shares her story of swimming with her mum and sisters — a ritual of cold water, connection, and returning to yourself.From childhood summers to winter plunges, their weekly swims are a reminder of...