Have you ever wondered about the power of your words when they exit your mouth? Well, perhaps it is time that you did.

Once upon a time when I was a college student in a neighboring state, I had this profound idea that I would be one of the African American women success stories from that college. While it was not an Historically Black College or University, I did find place, space, and agency for my Blackness. I quickly found the African American Student Association and learned from other Black students where to go in the city to enjoy “the culture.” I found my way to the large universities and colleges where all the frat boys—and boys in general—resided.

My college of choice was an all-women’s college. It was predominantly white, students and faculty. Ninety-nine percent of my early education was with Black students. I had no problems with it.

After I chose my college, made the 3.5-hour commute, and began to live my life sans parental presence, I made some declarations about my life: I was going to make the Dean’s list; I was going to graduate in four years; I would join a sorority, return home, and get a good paying government job.

And, yes, I did all of that!

I also decided that I was not going to have any children. I wasn’t built for it, as I said in my early twenties. I was going to be corporate—or at least build my own enterprise. My purpose-driven life did not include me with a protruding belly and a little human growing inside.

When I returned home after graduation, I got that government job and soon transitioned into the nonprofit world and eventually into entrepreneurship. I dated and mostly had fun doing so. My life was on track until I got the call. That call from God to enter into ministry. That changed everything. I ended up losing the guys I dated for the pursuit of holiness. I started dating a guy in ministry and eventually we married. #Lookat God.

But what about my words?

Remember, I said I did not want children. It was on my college vision board. I wanted Prada and not Pampers—it was my own personal motto. Well, those words came back to me in a major way. Five years went by in my marriage and not one pregnancy. Years six through ten…still nothing.

At this point, I realized that while it was probably all medical, I could not dismiss what I spoke in my early days. I was so brazen with it that I also told my younger cousins the same message: Miss us with the Pampers. To this day, some of them have vowed that they do not want children. Could my words have influenced them? After all, I was their big cousin who had been out in the world and bragged on the single life. Were they living their own truth or my indoctrination?

For months on end, I wondered whether I actually had the power to curse my own womb unknowingly. The Bible says that life and death are in the power of my mouth. What if, being an ambitious young adult caused me to not see a “mini me” running around my home today? Could I break the past declaration with faith vows? Could I have enough sex with my husband to manifest a child? Would God even hear my prayers and reverse “the curse?”

While I wrestled with those questions, I also came to a few conclusions:

1. If I said those things and believed the words formed my future, perhaps I could speak new words and see what happened.
2. I could seek to forgive myself and bless my womb whether it gave me a child or not.
3. I could get a new husband; maybe it is him and not me. (I know someone who divorced and thought she would never conceive and now is the mother of two children with a whole new husband, yet I digress….)
4. I could accept that not every woman who wants to be a mother in their lifetime will become one.

Living my life and creating conversations with my younger cousins who are now of adult age is important to me. Sharing stories about how we arrive at decisions as women is important to me. Whether or not I ever push a child out of my womb (or if a physician cuts one out of me) is not really the point. The point is for me to choose my words as an adult, so that I can better choose my outcomes.

Perhaps it is time for me to do a quarterly reset, plan that brunch with my relatives, and start the conversation on women’s choices, well-being, and legacy options. I am learning that my voice has value and that I am responsible for the content it produces. I owe it to the younger women in my family to speak on matters my mother’s generation kept silent about.

With love at the core and forgiveness at the periphery, I believe that my new words can be as impactful and the bond of womanhood strengthened. Cheers to me for thinking more critically before I speak.