Each woman I know carries it—shame—but it’s a different shape for us all. There is always a hidden shame related to motherhood; whether you want a baby, or you don’t, or whether you hate being a mother, or whether you love it more than anything else in your life. I know what it’s like to want something, to pine and long and cry for something. I have longed for boys who didn’t love me; I have longed for a new version of myself, longed for a dream job, longed for my cozy bed after a week of camping
