I had a version of this piece sitting in my drafts—a more charged version that addressed the negative attention I received during my pregnancy. That was written by a different version of me, fueled by none other than postpartum rage. I know and recognize when I write, think, or speak from a place of anger. While I’ll never suppress my anger (it has its purpose), I’ve learned to feel it, let it go, and move forward. Anger often serves as a clue to the real issue: Am I hurt? Embarrassed? You know, the usual suspects.
Today, I write from a more lighthearted perspective because I stumbled upon a quote. I don’t remember it word for word, but it went something like: “We give people way too much credit for having malicious intent.” And it’s true. People say all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons. Of course, intention doesn’t erase impact—that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not justifying ignorance, insensitivity, or outright dumbbitchery (mine included). But sometimes, it’s better to laugh and move on because, more often than not, the things people say have absolutely nothing to do with you.
Let me give you an example. On three separate occasions, people asked me who fathered my daughter.
I know.
The first two happened during my pregnancy and were the reasons I wrote that angry draft I never posted. The third one? It’s what made me realize we really do give people too much credit.
When I shared my pregnancy news, I told my friends one by one, taking my time with each conversation. Some figured it out on their own; others needed confirmation. But there was one particular former friend I delayed telling. I just knew something would go wrong. And it did.
When I finally told her, our conversation was uncomfortable from the start. I had a habit of overlooking her behavior—we’d had our fair share of bad fights—but something about her asking, “Who’s the father?” broke the camel’s back for me. It was rude, disrespectful, and completely unfounded. I asked her what she meant, and y’all… she doubled down. She said she knew girls who had children with men who weren’t their partners, so she “had to check.”
Yhu! I have to laugh.
I personally stopped sharing pregnancy updates with her after that. I had no interest in discussing it further. Our last conversation became our last conversation, period. Because no matter how much respect someone does or doesn’t have for your relationship, questioning your character like that—when they know you—is deplorable.
It's just a wtf moment.
The second time it happened, it was a relative. I thought we were close, but (spoiler) we aren’t—not anymore, though not just because of this. She asked me who the father was, and I laughed, thinking it was a joke. But when I realized I was laughing alone, it hit me: her comment wasn’t a joke at all. It was steeped in self-righteousness, fueled by her holier-than-thou attitude about “doing things by the book.” She got married and transformed, I guess.
I’m not usually bothered by other people’s spiritual or religious journeys, but I’m tired of conversations that revolve around my beliefs, especially with the same people. I’m even more tired of people who treat religion as their sole moral compass, as if those outside their worldview are inherently suspect.
The third time? A casual, harmless conversation with a former schoolmate, and I laughed. But even then, I couldn’t ignore the underlying disrespect of the question itself.
What is it about having a baby that prompts invasive questions all across the board?
So, maybe I am the drama—or maybe I’m just someone who expects basic respect. Either way, I’ve decided that these moments, frustrating and hurtful as they were, don’t deserve space in my head anymore. People will think and say what they want, often without considering the impact. That’s on them, not me.
No really, I look at you funny knowing that your mind went there.
That being said: Don’t be weird.
(Edit: the narration is funnier if you read it like Annie from Young, Famous, and African)
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