'I hate pregnancy and saying so got me cancelled.'

I can vividly remember the moment I saw that faint line on a stick. It was in late September, and my partner and I had just been through our first round of IVF. We didn't think it was going to work after over a year of infertility struggles, but there it was. A real, actual pregnancy — finally happening to us.

While I knew pregnancy wasn't going to be a walk in the park, it didn't seem that bad. People talked about the nausea and exhaustion casually, like they were little blips in the general journey from conception to bump. "Ohhhh haha, I was so tired!" people seemed to say, laughing off what I assumed was that kind of exhaustion where you get home from work and want a quick power nap before dinner. 

Plus, everyone made it look so cute? My social feeds are still full of blissfully happy women cradling growing tummies, wearing soft linen dresses or low-cut jeans with teeny crop tops, their bumps peeking out adorably. Everyone seemed to be all about this glowing pregnancy skin, incredible hair, a profound sense of femininity. Pregnancy looked like a magical time in life.

Well, that was all a lie.

Watch: One mum describes what pregnancy illness hyperemesis gravidarum is like. Post continues below. 

Look, I wasn't expecting pregnancy to be a breeze. I knew there was more to it than floating around attractively in bohemian dresses, even though social media told me otherwise. But I did think that the struggles were short-lived.

Most importantly, I thought that because I wanted a baby so badly, because I'd really tried hard, the joy of finally falling pregnant was going to override any tough moments.

My first symptoms hit around week six. Oh, my god. I was nauseous every minute of every day. I'm not talking queasy, I'm talking flat-on-the-couch. I am so thankful I work for myself because I basically watched ancient Australian TV shows like A Country Practice and tried not to vomit for three months. I used the two-hour "I feel marginally okay" window to do work, and it felt like wading through a muddy quagmire. I thought about the women who had to go to jobs every day and act like they were fine. I have no idea how you do it, by the way. 

I felt horrendous, like I had a never-ending hangover, the kind where you start the night on cheap wine and end it with tequila shots. That kind.

The exhaustion isn't the power nap type at all. It's the "I can't even go for a five-minute walk" type. Sometimes, I stack the dishwasher and need to lie down. It's gotten marginally better now I'm in trimester two, but the bad days are still there. I'm so thankful my partner has been around to pick up the slack since sometimes, I can barely function.

Plus, I hate my body. I've never had a great relationship with it. Still, the swift and dramatic changes pregnancy has brought on have resurfaced all of my deepest insecurities. It's like being a teenager again, where everything grows out of sync. Overnight my entire wardrobe didn't fit, and my already-big boobs had become ginormous. My body doesn't feel like my own anymore, but it also gave me zero time to adjust to the changes.

I wish someone had warned me. That pregnancy, even when you really, really want it, really sucks.

I decided to be that person for other people and mentioned how much I've hated the experience on social media. The clip went viral, and while overall it was in a good way, I was met with a lot of backlash.

The general gist was "Don't scare other people with your experience".

So many women felt that by saying I hate pregnancy, I was planting the seed in other people's minds that pregnancy would be a horrible experience for them, too. Many of these commenters also mentioned how much they enjoyed pregnancy, and how it's not bad for everyone, so why am I spreading such negativity?

I don't get it. We don't fall pregnant to be pregnant. We fall pregnant to have a child. I hate pregnancy, but I want this child. I will push through the worst days because I know at the end of it, I will have my baby in my arms. 

I also think if more people talked about how hard pregnancy is, I would have felt better prepared for the tough parts. I wish I'd known what ongoing nausea is like, how debilitating it is even if you don't vomit. I had never even heard of hyperemesis gravidarum, the overwhelming experience of severe nausea and vomiting that affects some people and can last the entire pregnancy. 

But it's the shaming that really gets to me. It plays directly into the hands of repressive sexism. The toxic pressure for women to suffer in silence. To paste a smile on our faces so we don't disturb or disrupt. You see it most clearly in how pregnant women often get no consideration in the workplace. We're expected to show up and give 100 per cent right up until we give birth. How are we supposed to change that attitude if we're out here omitting the toughest parts of pregnancy?

Not to mention the underlying implication that to complain is to be ungrateful. I hate this one the most, because going through IVF, people expect you to really, really enjoy pregnancy. 

What, should I feel sooo blessed to be pregnant that I can't acknowledge all the shitty parts? Ignore the fact that this tiny human inside me is leeching off my energy because complaining means I never deserved to be pregnant in the first place? I know I am lucky. I feel so deeply for those who haven't had the luck I've had, those still trying, those who have had to let go of their dreams. 

But two things can be true. We can be overjoyed to have fallen pregnant, and also wish for the nine months to be over as fast as possible. We are not bad mothers because we hate the process of growing our children. We are not ungrateful. It does not diminish someone else's experience to acknowledge your own. 

It took a weight off my shoulders to say, "I really hate being pregnant", and honestly? Cancelled or not, I have no regrets.

Feature image: Supplied.