I almost didn’t become a mother.

Why would I, when the church told me that motherhood was my duty, without which I was a shadow of a person who could never be fulfilled? Why would I choose to be a “selfless” mother when it was clear there wouldn’t be anything of myself left?

Throughout my two and a half decades in the Evangelical church, I witnessed countless women sacrifice themselves on the altar of Christian motherhood. I observed that a mother dissolves and vanishes behind her list of chores and the people she serves and the house she maintains. As women, motherhood was nothing more than an obligatory martyrdom that came along with the bodies we were born with. It was a limiting factor in planning our futures. It was a reinforcement that our lives were not our own. It was a mask hiding whatever identity we once had. It was a reminder of our place and how we had better stay there.

So I almost left it all behind. Why wouldn’t I?

But I’ve always been a rebel and there remained a small part of me that hadn’t yet died. This part decided I didn’t want to let them take this choice from me. What if I wanted motherhood, deep down? I couldn’t yet tell. I hadn’t been allowed to get to know myself, let alone my desires.

Exploring the possibility of wanting children was a terrifying leap, but I wanted to know whatever choice I made was mine, and not a reactionary pendulum swing.

So I ran as far as I could, and when I finally looked back and felt I had come far enough, I explored motherhood on my own terms and in my own power.

Creating a brand new life was healing – not only my child’s but also my own. Resurrection came through my strong-willed refusal to be shrunken down, caged or erased.

I do not allow my sacred femininity to be weaponized against me any longer.

Today, I hardly recognize the hostage they held for so long. Instead, I am in touch with my inner goddess-mother, the divine feminine. I am a life-bringer, protector and sustainer. I perform miracles with my body, creating life from scratch and nourishing it. My empathy and compassion and care for this little human has no bounds. I am powerful and kind, fierce and gentle. I am her Life Source. I dip into my well to give to my baby, but I do not destroy myself as I was taught a mother does. My wellspring overflows.

I understand now how a god-figure is supposed to parent their beloved children, and it does not resemble Evangelicals’ god-the-father in any way.

I have finally met face-to-face with Sophia, the God-Spirit from Proverbs, and I know why the church repeatedly tries to deny her presence in Scripture. She threatens their grip on power. Addressing God with feminine pronouns resurrects a long-dead deity and breathes life back into a god cut in half. At last, I am held by Sacred Mother – the strong arms of loving embrace I longed for my whole life.

Those wolves-in-sheep’s-clothing tried to scare me with my own superpower but no longer. There is nothing more terrifying to those predators than an empowered mother who knows who she is. I struggled free and I have become what they fear.