After my rape, I wanted to become pregnant.

Not because I wanted a baby.
Not because I was romanticizing what happened.
Not because I was confused.

It was deeper than that.

It was symbolic.

When you’re violated, it feels like something inside of you dies.
Your safety dies.
Your innocence dies.
Your sense of control dies.
The version of you that existed before it happened… dies.

And I think my mind was trying to survive.

Pregnancy represents life. Creation. Growth. Continuation. It represents something forming inside of you that belongs to you. Something that wasn’t forced. Something that wasn’t taken.

So when I found myself wanting to be “pregnant,” what I was really saying was:

I want my life back.
I want to feel like something is still alive inside of me.
I want proof that I wasn’t destroyed.

It wasn’t about a physical baby.
It was about rebirth.

It was about reclaiming my body as something that creates, not just something that was harmed.

Trauma does strange things to the mind. It doesn’t always show up as sadness. Sometimes it shows up as symbolism. Sometimes it shows up as intense desires that don’t make sense until you sit with them.

And when I look back, I realize something powerful:

Even in my most broken state, I was trying to preserve myself.

I was trying to hold onto life.

That wasn’t weakness.
That was survival.

There’s something profound about the body and mind refusing to let trauma be the final chapter. My desire wasn’t about replacing what was taken — it was about proving that something within me still had the ability to grow.

And it did.

And it does.

If you’ve ever had thoughts after trauma that felt confusing or even shameful, pause before judging yourself. Sometimes your mind is just trying to keep you alive in the only language it knows how to speak.

I didn’t want a baby.

I wanted my life.

And I’m still reclaiming it.