Lifestyle
She Made A Life Changing Decision But She Wasn’t Sure Her Partner Would Stay With Her After It
Jim switched on the lights for the second time that night. The first time, he went to the kitchen and came back with a bowl of fruits; some grapes, and yoghurt. Greek yoghurt. It was his new obsession, I suspect because he said it would help me lose weight. At the time we met, I had paid for a gym membership that I wasn’t quite utilizing, so he volunteered to support me and help hold me accountable. Even at that, he assured me that he loved me just the way I am, that “there’s not a thing that he would change”. They lacked originality, his words, and I wondered why of all the words he could use, he chose a Bruno Mars song. Come on! I’m not even a fan. But these words remain unsaid, like the fears, anchored deep in my heart.
He dragged his feet to the kitchen the second time again, and I was almost certain he was craving for my attention that night. He walked back in, another bowl of Greek yoghurt and potato crisps in tow. I stared at him blankly, as he smiled softly, before rushing to my side, his face lit with victory. Yeah, I had folded. A smile escaped me, and he wanted to make the most of it.
“Babe, you can say no to the yoghurt but not the potato crisps, unless I don’t know you anymore,” he said, carefully trying to sit up in bed without spilling the yoghurt. In my mind, I battled with whether to smile and proceed to give him an audience, or pledge tired and retire to a silent night, struggling to put myself to sleep. I had done this several times, often pretending to be in deep sleep whenever he came to bed, to avoid conversation. What if, he wanted to let me down slowly, would today be the day he does it? I dreaded it; but I waited for it, like Christians anticipate the second coming of Jesus.
“I’m very tired. I bet you know that eating past 8 PM doesn’t help with weight loss,” I mumbled, sitting up in bed.
“Did you see that on TikTok too?” He asked. I chuckled. He was right. As I started to munch on the crisps, a pregnant silence crept in, my mind was busy figuring out a way to end the conversation quickly.
Ever since we had learnt about my pregnancy, I anticipated that Jim would leave. That one morning, his phone number would be unreachable, his social media accounts deactivated and he would vanish into thin air. It’s what I knew, it’s the experiences I had heard, the stories I read on TikTok comment sections. So every time his phone went through, I sighed with relief and whenever he called, I had slight anxiety, was he going to end it?
From most of the stories on TikTok comment sections, their partners stayed around for a few days, weeks and sometimes, months, before leaving. Some women even alluded that their partners pretended long enough to delay their safe chances of exploring termination as a choice. So, when I told Jim a week later that I had decided to terminate the pregnancy, I was certain that I had given him the opportunity to leave, and I was surprised when he held me close and said, “Whatever you choose to do, you have my full support. I’m here to support you”.
I had valid reasons why I expected him to leave, or so I thought. We were young. We had just known each other for four months, our relationship was fairly new, and the plan was to build our careers, and get to know each other better. But was nine months good enough to know each other better before we had a baby? I wanted him to bring this conversation up, to mention these as the reasons why he supported my decision to terminate, but he simply said, “I’m here to support you”. That was the least of my expectations, my imagination had run wild, and I anticipated the most dramatic breakup.
The thought of carrying the pregnancy to term crossed my mind a few times. I feared that if I terminated the pregnancy, it would automatically terminate my relationship. It’s the only reason I wanted to keep it, because It was security, for my relationship at least. But I wasn’t ready for a child, it wasn’t anywhere in my plans. Three months earlier, during my appraisal, Jenkins, my supervisor, beamed with joy when he let me know that the firm had secured a master’s scholarship for me. I was one of the three staff members that were the beneficiaries of this new initiative and as the only woman, I felt obligated to ensure that I don’t lessen the chances of other women benefiting from it.
Conflicted, I reached out to Benta, the firm’s former product manager lead. Benta had sued the company for illegal termination when a man was hired in her place permanently when she went on maternity leave.
“I don’t regret having my baby. The only downside is that it was a difficult pregnancy. Otherwise, having my little girl was my choice, I wanted to have her. I was ready to be a mum” she said, sipping on her strawberry smoothie, gently stroking the straw.
“I was working my dream job, I had a sustainable plan for the commercial manager to hold things down while I was on maternity leave and having a baby felt about right. I didn’t do it because I didn’t have a choice, I did it because I wanted to, Regardless of anyone’s opinion”, she added, flipping the pages of the menu.
When Benta got pregnant, rumours were floating around that the management was “concerned” why a rising star such as her would decide with the potential to “slow her down” given the prestigious role she had at the firm. There had been conversations behind closed doors, apparently to enlighten her on the possibility of committing a career suicide, if she didn’t get her priorities right. But Benta ensured excellent delivery, even when she requested to work remotely, due to her difficult pregnancy. It was disappointing for a few colleagues, who had predicted different outcomes.
“The only reason why I was able to deliver excellence while pregnant, is because I was confident in my decision. My choice. No pot-bellied short man swayed me and my choice. That’s why I couldn’t take disrespect when I came back to the office and found my office occupied and I was offered a “mummy-friendly role”. By the way, what’s that? Is demotion what we call a mummy-friendly?” She asked a slight laugh in her voice.
“Benta, I’m not ready for a child like you were—” she cut me off.
“Girl, you are missing the point. That was my choice. I made it for myself. What I’ve been saying all along, Lisa, is that you only do what is right for you. It’s your decision that matters, your choice. You hear me?” She asked. I didn’t quite enjoy the stir-fried beef and mashed potatoes I ordered as we immersed ourselves in office gossip that evening, but one thing was for sure, that conversation gave me clarity. This was my choice to make.
The morning, I went in for the procedure, Jim held my hand tightly and kissed my forehead. Our palms grew sweaty as the lift sped up to the thirteenth floor, but he didn’t let go. He was beside me when we talked to the gynaecologist, and he promised to be there when I got back. I rubbed his hands a little longer, in case it was goodbye.
But to my surprise, he rose to his feet with so much urgency when I opened the door, and he hugged me tightly. He cupped my face and looked at me, his eyes shone with a vulnerable delight. He wanted to speak, but he hugged me again, silently, for a pretty long time. I felt my heart let free of something that felt like a tight knob, and it melted in some sort of comfort. Jim hadn’t left.
Two months later, when I boarded a plane to Nairobi from Dar, I was eager to get home to Jim. After the procedure, we went on a sex sabbatical without pretty much of a conversation. We kissed and cuddled, but never really tried to get intimate again. But as the plane took flight, I was determined to shake things up a little bit that night. I was ready.
Well not exactly, I remember moaning in pain a few seconds later, and Jim paused to ask, “Are you okay?” I lied, of course, that I was fine. Before making another whimper that prompted him to stop, “Okay, we are stopping right here,” he said with finality.
“Are you disappointed in me?” I asked, sitting up.
“Disappointed? What do you mean disappointed?” He queried.
“Well, why did you stop? Don’t you find me attractive anymore?” I continued.
Jim sighed, put on his shorts and sat next to me in bed.
“Why would you think I’m disappointed?”
“Because I’m unable to offer you great sex. Well, not exactly, the pain is not so bad, we can still go ahead, you shouldn’t have stopped.” He adjusted his sitting position, looking concerned.
“Babe, are you doing this for me?” He asked.
“Yes. Or don’t you find me appealing anymore?” I asked.
“Babe, I don’t think you are even in a good mental state to want to explore sex yet again. You refused to talk to me about anything, what makes you think that you are comfortable getting intimate? It starts in the mind…” I interjected. “Mental? Do you think I’m insane?” I blurted.
“Nooo. That is not what I said or meant. Don’t do that,” he said, shaking his head. In my mind, I knew I was putting up this argument as a defence for a couple of reasons. Mainly, because I couldn’t reconcile in my mind that my boyfriend didn’t vanish into thin air when I got pregnant and went ahead to have an abortion. I expected the worst and when only the best kept knocking, I didn’t know what to do or how to act, because the best is unheard of.
“Lisa darling, what you went through wasn’t easy and acting like you didn’t go through that only robs away the opportunity for you to truly live in your experience. You need to forgive yourself, for the things you were taught to be right and you probably feel you went against them. That’s where your struggle is. It’s a journey, and it will only be achieved when you take the step towards healing, like I’ve said, I’m still here for you, even when you lock me out, I know it will take time, but you will be fine.” His words paralyzed me further. He truly wasn’t leaving. That night, I got over my worst fear. It had been gradual. I feared he would leave when I was pregnant, then opt for termination and now for not being intimate. But I was wrong. That night, my healing journey started, but I didn’t even realize it.
Now, two years later, I really don’t know how we manoeuvred our way around it. It was Macy’s question in the WhatsApp group that had me thinking. I can’t help but swoon over what our relationship has become. Two years in, living in the same apartment, with an engagement ring on my finger and Jim shouting from the bathroom about his spectacles, I type, “There’s really no manual Macy, just trust the process”.
The girls lit up the chat, chipping away at how cliché it is to tell someone with such a direct, intimate and vulnerable question to trust the process. In fact, Nancy goes on to ask, “Did you become a motivational speaker overnight?” The girls respond with stickers that lighten up the mood.
As I think of something concrete, tell Macy, Aneri saves the day.
“Just see a counsellor, preferably, both you and your Jack. It worked for an office colleague and might work out for you too, you might never know. Or you could trust the process”, she joked.
Macy had intimated in the chat that after her termination, getting intimate scares her, as she thinks she might end up pregnant all over again. We were all caught by surprise when she said she was pregnant and yet we all knew she was on birth control. While the doctor had confirmed to her that in some rare cases, some birth control options fail, being the ‘rare case’ was never something we thought possible. But changing her birth control method wasn’t it for her, she just didn’t feel safe anymore and as a result, she avoided intimacy, causing a rift in the relationship. “Lisa, if I needed a motivational speaker, YouTube would do me the honours. What I wanna know is how you and Jim did it?” She replied.
Jim and I certainly didn’t see a counsellor, but we put in the work. Jim’s support played a huge role in allowing me to give my body grace and time to heal. While the procedure was performed by a trained health professional and everything was pretty okay after, Jim was right, it starts in the mind. I had to win the battles in my mind, to be able to ease into intimacy.
As I rose up to go help Jim find his spectacles, which I was damn sure were in the second drawer by the study table in the bedroom, I texted the group chat and told Macy, “It’s different for everyone. You have the ingredients, Make your own recipe”.
As I make for the door, making my usual declaration of “Babe, I swear if I find those glasses in the second drawer by the study desk—” Jim interjects, “Found them!” And my eyes rest on his grinning face, prompting me to smile too, he finds them the minute I hold the doorknob, per usual.
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