I didn’t want a boy

My son, photo by me.

I was three months pregnant when my brother died.

Everything around that time felt unstable. What I thought I understood about people, about family, about men—it all felt uncertain and unstable. I didn’t trust my ability to navigate any of it.

I remember that feeling clearly when just a few weeks after the funeral, I found out I was having a boy.

I didn’t know how I could ever manage raising a boy after I failed my brother.

He changed my mind before I even realized it was happening.

I mostly stayed home with him in his early years. Those days were simple in a way that felt unfamiliar to me. Slower. More present. I was still working through my own things and we moved alot. I was never really at ease but he helped to anchor me.

He was an easy child. Not in the sense that nothing was required, but in the way he moved through the world—curious, observant, steady.

I paid attention to him.

Not just to what he needed, but to who he was becoming.

I wanted him to know he mattered. That he was loved. That he could take up space.

But I also wanted him to have his own life. His own direction. Not feel responsible for me in the way I had felt responsible for my mother.

So I tried to hold both.

Closeness and space.

I made mistakes. There were times I questioned everything.

When he was finishing high school, I remember thinking—this is it.

I wondered if I had done enough. If I should have been stricter. More involved. Pushed him harder.

Did the divorce had affected him in ways I couldn’t see.

I don’t have clear answers to any of that.

But I can see who he is now.

He’s thoughtful. Insightful and intuitive. Kind in a way that is genuine.

He pays attention. He asks questions. He moves through the world with a sense of awareness that feels like his own. He can hold his own boundaries.

He’s about to graduate with a degree in psychology. I am so proud of him.

I don’t feel like I made him into the person he is, I think that’s just who he is.

In a lot of ways, he changed the way I see everything.

Not all at once. Not in some dramatic shift. Just over time.

Steadily and just what I needed for my own inner healing. In ways I didn’t expect, he helped me become someone different too.