An Open-Thought Reflection for Women at the Crossroads of Choice (For Women Not Currently Pregnant – Possibly Waiting on Results…)
Yesterday, I finished reading Frankenstein — Mary Shelley’s original 1818 novel — and I was struck not just by its gothic power, but by how deeply it speaks to reproduction, creation, and the fear that often surrounds it. Shelley didn’t just write a horror story; she wrote a meditation on the act of creating life, and she gave it to a man. And while the creature’s unfortunate aesthetics are the result of an outlandish, unnatural creation story — no one is comparing babies to monsters — it’s important to remember that life is life, and that is the focus. Shelley forces us to examine what happens when creation is stripped of love, support, and humanity.
In a time when women’s voices were barely acknowledged, let alone respected — when publishing as a woman was rare, and reproductive life was something women experienced but men legislated — Shelley wrote a story that placed the power of creation entirely in a man’s hands. Victor Frankenstein becomes the curator of life. The one who conceives, constructs, assembles, and ultimately abandons his “child.” Shelley’s brilliance is that she made this artificial method of creation feel both unnatural and deeply familiar.
She turned the reproductive world on its head — not by imagining a world where women have more freedom, but by imagining one where men bear the burden, the guilt, and the horror of creating life without love, community, or connection.
And this is where it becomes more powerful still:
Mary Shelley wrote this in 1818 — more than a century before Margaret Sanger popularized birth control in the U.S., before women had the right to control their reproduction, before contraception and abortion were framed as tools of bodily autonomy rather than “crimes” or “moral failings.” In an era when women were expected to suffer silently through pregnancy after pregnancy, creating new life whether they wanted to or not.
So what does it mean that Shelley — a woman — imagined a world where a man creates life and immediately regrets it?
What does it mean that he could create, but he could not nurture?
That he could generate life, but he could not mother it?
That he turned away, ashamed, terrified, overwhelmed?
Shelley doesn’t just critique Victor — she critiques a system. A world where the act of creation is separated from the act of care. A world where responsibility is optional for some and inescapable for others. A world where women carry the emotional, physical, and social labor of reproduction, while men historically carried the authority.
Victor Frankenstein becomes the literary embodiment of what happens when creation exists without compassion, without accountability, without community. He wanted the glory of creation without the demands of caretaking. And Shelley shows us — painfully, intentionally — what that leads to.
In many ways, the novel mirrors the quiet truth women have known for centuries:
Creating life is not the same as caring for it.
Conception is not the same as connection.
And power without responsibility is a danger to us all.
Here is where Aristotle’s famous quote cuts to the core:
“It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.”
— Aristotle, Metaphysics
And it is equally the mark of a responsible woman — living in a time when birth control, reproductive education, and information are more accessible than ever — to think critically about bringing another soul into the world. To entertain the question not with fear, nor shame, nor panic, but with clarity. With reflection. With both responsibility and reality in both hands.
To weigh desire against circumstance.
To measure capability alongside love.
To consider what is possible, not just what is biologically available.
Mary Shelley gave us more than a gothic tale — she gave us an invitation.
To think before we create.
To honor what we make.
And to know that bringing life forth — or choosing not to — is a sacred act of power.
Reflecting on Today
For women who are not yet pregnant, or who may never choose motherhood, Shelley’s story is still relevant. Life does not require us to act blindly. And motherhood — or the conscious decision not to mother — is a responsibility, not merely a possibility. Thinking critically about when, if, or whether to have children is not hesitation. It is discernment. It is a recognition that creation is meaningful, and that each soul deserves thought, care, and intention before being brought into the world.
Today, the power to choose is more accessible than in Shelley’s time. Access to contraception, reproductive healthcare, and education allows women to weigh the responsibility of creation against the realities of their lives — emotionally, physically, and socially. Shelley’s story reminds us that such reflection is not optional; it is essential. That the act of bringing life into the world is inseparable from the commitment to care for it, nurture it, and honor it.
Conclusion
Creation is powerful.
Choice is powerful.
And the responsibility that accompanies both is sacred.
Mary Shelley imagined a world where creation was separated from care — and in doing so, she illuminated a truth that still matters: the ability to create does not equal the readiness to nurture. Women today, with education and access at their fingertips, have the chance to bridge that gap. To pause, reflect, and consider the weight of creation before stepping forward. Whether we choose motherhood now, later, or never, the act of thinking critically, honestly, and intentionally about bringing life into the world is one of the most profound exercises of responsibility and power a woman can undertake.
As Always,
~Talitha
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