Almost a Conversation

If I had a uterus,
I would want to be free to decide what to do with it.
I would want to be trusted to make choices –
The easy ones and the excruciating ones,
The simple ones and the complicated ones,
The proactive ones and the reactive ones.
All of them.

If I had a uterus,
I would marvel, and maybe grieve,
At what it had done,
Or might do,
Or might never do.
I wouldn’t want anyone else telling me what my uterus had to do.
I’d think, “Get your own uterus if you want to boss it around.”
What my uterus would or wouldn’t do would be between me and God,
Me and my conscience,
Me and my body,
Me and those I love,
Me and those who care for me.
It wouldn’t be between me and judges,
Between me and lawmakers,
Between me and law enforcers,
Between me and people who’ve never had a uterus
And therefore think that a uterus defines those who have one,
Usurps their personhood, trumps their moral agency.

If I had a uterus,
It would be important to me,
But it wouldn’t be more important than me.
It would be part of my life,
But I wouldn’t want it to have the power to define my life.
I’d ponder the possibilities it provided,
Perhaps even bearing life into the world,
But also perhaps not.
I’d want to make those decisions on my own terms,
According to my own religion,
My own values,
And the very real details of my own unique life.
I would want to take responsibility for my body and my decisions,
And I would want to be a part of a society
That supported me in navigating that awesome terrain.

Alas, I have no uterus,
But the women I love most in the world do –
Barbara, Brooke, Sophia –
And all the women I’ve known and never known.
All are the sole residents of their own bodies,
Sages of their own consciences,
Champions of their own victories,
Menders of their own mistakes,
Beloved of a God who breathed into them
The breath of Wisdom, Hokmah, Sophia,
And said, “You are good. I trust you. Trust yourself.”

I have no uterus,
But if I did,
I would want freedom.