You are a warrior
On fertility, softness, and the stories we tell women about strength
Hanging centre stage at the entrance to a fertility clinic is a montage of babies and inspirational phrases, one of which reads “You are a warrior.”
And every time I walk past it, something in me bristles.
Not because I don’t believe women are incredibly strong.
But because underneath these four, seemingly innocuous and well-meaning, words sits an entire story.
That having a baby is something women have to fight for. That they must battle their bodies, overcome obstacles, and keep fighting until they succeed.
With over ten years experience as a midwife, this is the narrative I see here too. This similar message of needing to be strong, of needing to fight, of needing to push through.
And I see why the fighting language gets reached for.
We live in a world where fighting for something is understood. Fighting has a clear protagonist, a clear obstacle, a clear metric of success, a clear winner.
And for women, this metaphor doesn’t appear out of nowhere.
Women often walk into appointments braced, half-expecting they’ll have to fight to have their pain believed, or symptoms taken seriously.
Women have learned, often the heard way, that advocating for ourselves is not optional. It is required.
So of course the language of fighting, beating, and of being a warrior, is what we reach for.
But what does "you are a warrior" mean for the woman whose cycle "fails," whose transfer "fails," whose labour "fails" to progress?
The problematic language of women's health is a conversation for another day. But for now, I'll say this: It doesn’t mean she didn't fight hard enough. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t a strong enough warrior.
But I also know that this isn’t how women experience it.
Women often do feel like they failed. They wonder what they did wrong. They begrudge their body for letting them down. They wish they were stronger.
And it isn’t that women are weak.
It’s that so often we put on our armour in a place which requires us to soften.
To receive.
To open.
To allow.
To surrender.
To let go.
Pregnancy asks a body to become more permeable. The immune system shifts. The ligaments soften. The uterus expands. Birth is a process of opening. Breastfeeding requires a let-down reflex inhibited by stress and adrenaline.
Biologically, so many of these processes rely on safety, surrender and receptivity rather than force.
Of course, there are moments that require courage. There are moments that require endurance. There is absolutely a place for strength.
But perhaps strength isn’t always synonymous with hardness, with fighting, or with what we have traditionally perceived a warrior to be.
Perhaps sometimes strength looks like softness.
And I see this not just in fertility or birth, I see it in how we are taught to relate anything hard or challenging.
Fight anxiety.
Beat depression.
Silence your inner critic.
Control your emotions.
I’m reminded of a conversation I had with someone with an eating disorder who shared how their psychologist told them to imagine their eating disorder was a devil. And they had to control the devil. They had to fight the devil.
And as I heard this I felt equal parts sad and angry.
Because as a hypnotherapist, I see this differently.
Rather than asking “How do we beat this?”, the question I ask is “What is this trying to do for you?”
Because that devil, that thing you have been told to fight, usually believes it is protecting you.
That devil is representative of a hurt child who came up with a protective mechanism and a way to feel safe in a world that didn’t feel safe.
And when we stop making enemies of ourselves, when we stop turning our bodies into a battleground, something remarkable becomes possible.
Conflict gives way to compassion.
Judgement becomes curiosity.
Relationship where there was war.
And yet, even doing this work, even knowing all this, I still catch myself reaching for my armour. Still find myself believing, somewhere underneath, that I need to fight, or that the hard way might be the more deserving way.
I see this reflected in my Human Design for I carry the Channel of Struggle. In its highest expression, this channel allows me to find meaning and purpose in working toward something worthwhile. But in its lowest expression, I can fall into believing that life has to be hard to be meaningful.
That if there is an easy path and a difficult path, perhaps the difficult one is somehow more deserving.
Perhaps this is why these four words, You are a warrior, stay with me.
Because they speak to something in me that is so well practiced, and so innate, at a time when so much of my personal journey is in learning that not everything precious has to be fought for.
Learning to hold the part of me which finds meaning in effort a little more gently.
Learning to trust that not everything meaningful is created through force.
Learning to slowly unfurl my clenched fist so that my hand can open and receive.
Learning to soften in a world that keeps telling me to armour up.
With love,
Alice x
P.S. If you resonated with this, I think you’ll find solace in this beautiful meditation I created around opening your hands to receive. Listen here.
As always, if you’d like to share your thoughts, I’d love to hear from you…
And if you feel called to explore more deeply….
You can find out more about working with me HERE.
You can listen to the Align with Alice podcast HERE on Spotify and HERE on Apple.
You can explore my meditation library HERE.
You can generate your Human Design chart for free HERE…all you need is your place, date and time of birth.