What We Resist Does Indeed Persist

Do you experience struggle in your life?

And how does that affect your children?

This past weekend, Oprah had clinical psychologist and conscious parenting expert Dr. Shefali Tsabary as her guest on her popular TV show, Lifeclass. In a segment on sibling rivalry, Dr. Shefali asked one of the parents who complained about the arguments between her boys what battles she had in her own life. Talk about cutting to the chase! This mother knew right away exactly what she meant. Instantly, we learned about her recent life and death battle with metastatic breast cancer. Her inner struggles were being reflected outwardly through the sibling rivalry between her children.

As Carl C. Jung says “What you resist, persists”, and those hurdles tend to show up in the lives of the people and environment closest to us.

Last December a study on the relationship between traumatic events and inheritance was reported by the BBC. “The findings provide evidence of "transgenerational epigenetic inheritance" which means that the environment can affect an individual's genetics, which can in turn be passed on.” Now science is beginning to see that our unhealed wounds may be showing up in the future generations that are born from our genetic inheritance. Now that’s an eye-opener to me!

There is another scientific phenomenon that I have recently learned about called microchimerism. Microchimerism is when two genetically distinct cell populations are found in the same individual. It happens most often from pregnancy. Scientists have found that fetal cells can linger in the uterus years after the pregnancy is over, whether by pregnancy loss or birth. These cells can be found in the mothers, twins, or even siblings born many years later.  

To apply that theory into perspective to my life, my grandmother had an abortion prior to the birth of my mother. It is very possible that the cells from the aborted pregnancy were not only in my grandmother, but also shared with my mother, her next child. I have recently learned that I may have had a missing twin in utero that miscarried early in my mother’s pregnancy with me. Do I carry cells from my lost sister in my body? The possibilities are incredible to think about. This is a different situation than transgenerational epigenetic inheritance, but both ideas raise the same questions:

• How much awareness do we have of our ancestors’ lives on a physical level?
• Is it an accident that my grandmother had an abortion and I, her grandchild, did also?
• Is there healing that I can do to minimize this possibility happening in my daughter or granddaughter or great grand-daughter's life down the road?

• Plus how much of my ancestors’ stress and trauma do I carry in my body and how much of that, plus my own, am I passing down to my own children?  

I don’t know the answer to these questions… yet. But I do know that what I take charge of and heal myself from not only helps me be a happier and aligned human being, it also has the potential to do that for my descendents as well.

Wherever our pain lies, in secrets or shame from our past, I believe the greatest hope for the future lies in healing ourselves first. And then, finally, what does not persist, cannot exist.

 

Namaste.

The Best Day of My Life

Have you heard the hit song by the group, American Authors, The Best Day of My Life? This song makes me want to dance and sing every time I hear it. Instead of nestling in bed with my usual morning prayer, today I woke up with this song stuck in my head. “OO-o-o-o-o-o, today is gonna be the best day of my life!”

But you know what? I didn’t always wake up humming an upbeat tune, jumping out of my bed before the alarm went off, excited to greet the day. In fact, most of my life was spent doing exactly the opposite. I thought if I pulled the covers over my head and stayed in bed just a little while longer, maybe when I got up, my life wouldn’t be so bad. Oy!

It was almost eleven years ago, in the fall of 2003, that I found myself miscarrying an unexpected pregnancy, which in turn rocketed me back mentally to eleven years before that when I had chosen an abortion from my first pregnancy. Because of my Catholic upbringing, which was further intensified by my husband’s studies to become a Catholic Deacon, the repressed shame, fear, guilt, and regret within me imploded with this second pregnancy loss. At the time I was a mother to two young children, aged 4 and 6, working full-time, and overwhelmed with my life. Now I had two dead babies to grieve over. I was alive physically, but spiritually and energetically I was dead.


I believe I would have died after that loss if I did not have my two living children.

But I did have them and they needed me to take care of and protect them.

As much as I loved them, it was not inspired motivation that kept me going. It was more like a solid knowing such as one gets when you know you need a root canal and just have to suck it up and get it done. You’re positive in the knowledge that if you don’t take care of that tooth right now, life can only get worse. It was that kind of motivation.

And so I cracked opened the door to healing. It began with a Catholic retreat, Project Rachel and continued for many years afterwards with much more soul searching. My grandmother’s death in 2004, my embodied children’s sweet love, and finally surrendering to the Universe to teach me the rest, has brought me to a place today where not only am I alive, but I am joyfully so.

Last spring, my daughter was learning how to drive and we decided to go through the drive-through window at …”somewhere.” As she was rounding the first curve of the building, she took it too tightly and the whole back end of the car scraped the concrete post that protected the corner of the building from cars doing exactly what she was doing – cutting their car wheels too closely. Sadly for her, I was not only the only one in the car with her; so were her brothers and another friend.

We made it out of the drive-through holding our breath, and she stayed focused enough to do her best driving back to our house. It turned out when we got home and were brave enough to look at the car, the indentation was easily popped back into place, and the neon orange color from the pole was easily rubbed off the side of my car. In the end, it was a lesson not just for her, but for the other kids in the car who would soon be learning to drive as well. Her experience gave everyone an opportunity for growth.

That is how I now choose to look at my abortion – not as a mistake, but as an opportunity for something more. You see, I was miserable in my marriage, and in fact, was living most of my life even prior to that from a place of disconnection and numbness. Once I really came to terms with my life, I realized I had to make the losses in my life mean something. I wasn’t going to let them define me or my path, but just the opposite. I was determined to use those losses to learn, to be a better person. As with Uma Girish’s loss shared a few weeks ago, deep pain and despair can be a catalyst for incredible transformation.

I am happy to say that I am no longer in an oppressive marriage or doing a job that I despise. I am the writer and published author I always wanted to be. I am also a coach and advocate for women who have had abortions. Like my daughter’s “scraping of the pole at the drive-through” experience, I hope that I can bring awareness and learning for other women so that their experience with abortion does not have to be as debilitating as mine was. As the guy in the above video clip for my current “favorite” song dances with the monster, we too, can dance with our own gremlins and find the best day of our lives is right here and right now too.


Namaste.

Congrats to a Bestie!

Dear Girlfriend,

I am so excited for you! It’s time to celebrate!

For over twenty years you’ve done what so many women do after an abortion – you decided that taking a stand for yourself hurt too much, caused too much harm and therefore withdrew from life and taking a stand for yourself (or anyone else for that matter) ever again. In my case, for so many years, it was impossible for me to see what I was doing with regards to dealing with my abortion. Now that I understand, I can see so clearly and identify with many other women who have made this choice.

But this weekend, you stood up for yourself and put your foot down! No more! No more allowing people to walk all over you as if you are a doormat! No more treating yourself like a servant and a slave! No more abdicating your power to someone else! Dear girlfriend, I love it!

I did not take a stand for myself until I was spiritually and energetically dead. I had nothing left to give. Even then, I have to admit, I stood up for myself only because of my children. Without them, I wouldn’t be here today. Literally, they saved my life – both my born and unborn.

I am so happy that I could walk through the flames with you out to the other side, to have the honor and privilege of seeing you standing up for yourself the way you did this weekend. You are choosing life – YOUR life – and that’s what this after abortion journey is all about. Choosing, honoring and loving you!

It will take effort to continue this journey. Change doesn’t usually happen overnight. You have taken a huge first step. If I could offer only one nugget of advice to you, it would be to see the little girl inside of yourself and take care of her. In every moment where you have to make a choice between yourself and someone else’s happiness, look at your little girl self and ask her who needs you most. She is still inside you and is part of who you are. When you are conflicted, remember her. It may be easier to stand up for her than for your adult self.

I love you so, so much! And I am so happy to sit beside you on this journey of realignment and transformation! You are an amazingly beautiful human being!

It’s time to celebrate a brand new world opening up for you.

Namaste.

 

A Leap of Faith and Counting Stars (Part 2)

Last week, I wrote about the first part of my family’s experience of being involved in a student exchange program. Witnessing a 15 year old young man coming into an unknown culture reminded me of how courageous we can be, and how amazing the spirit of our children is. For Gilad, and then for my daughter, to fly literally across the world to live with people they have never met, where the language is not their own, and where they have no one but themselves to fall back on, is an incredible act of guts and strength. Although my daughter knew Gilad when she left for Israel, she only knew a handful of words in Hebrew. To top it all off, she was raised in the Catholic religion and therefore lacked much knowledge of the Israeli religious or cultural background. As with Gilad six months before, I was awed by her “chutzpah” in making this journey.


There are so many experiences that I’d love to share from her two and a half months in Israel. The culture of community and connection between the people of Israel was far deeper and more authentic than anything she had experienced in the United States. For the most part, she has been fortunate enough to have been in a small school environment from a very young age, and for most of her life has had very tight neighborhood bonds. But in Israel, she was able to experience a different type of community with the children and the adults, where there was a profound respectfulness shown to each other. Honoring the connection between young and old was easier and more fluid than what she had experienced so far in her life here. By being honored for who she was, she developed a greater confidence in herself and learned exactly what she wanted and deserved in her relationships. 

Her host family consisted of two working parents and their three children. They are a busy family, and yet there always seemed to be enough time to support and guide the children in their schoolwork and other interests. The children learn self-sufficiency at an early age, but as a means of empowerment, not as a necessity or from neglect by their parents. 

Her host father also happened to be her teacher at school. Because of the dual role he had in her life, she was able to connect with him on a daily basis for a good amount of time. 

Over the course of the next two and a half months, my daughter developed a relationship with her host father that nourished her soul in a way it had not been nourished in a long time. I had forgotten how important a relationship between fathers and daughters is in the development of a girl. Watching my boys find their way without the affirmation of a father on a daily basis, I had lost touch with the feminine side of me that needed my father’s love and attention when I was growing up.

There seems to be so much attention put upon mothers in our society today when it comes to parenting issues. And yet, in my experience, there is no substitute for the presence of a father in our children’s lives. A mother cannot duplicate that role no matter how hard she tries.


The way a father shows up for his daughter(s) shows her what to demand of a man in a relationship. If her father treats her with disdain, disinterest, or abuse, that is what she will come to see as normal and accept into her life as she grows older. BUT, if he treats her with honor and respect, she will instead come to expect that from her future relationships.

My daughter came home from Israel with a sense of self and worthiness that I had not seen in her since she was in early elementary school. The self-esteem she exuded was palpable long before she got home. Her host father gave her the attention, honor, and respect from a father-figure that she had been so sorely missing for many years. She now has a clearer example in her head of who she is and not just what she will accept, but what she should expect in relationship.

As Father’s Day approaches this weekend in the United States, I cannot say thank you enough to our new Israeli family, but most especially to her host father, Avi, for the love and tenderness he showed towards Megan. I believe it does take a village to raise a child. Ours just happens to be a global one now!



Namaste.

Protecting the Children

 

My report cards when I was a kid are pretty consistent – I was quiet, reserved, smart, and helpful. I was not a drama queen, nor did I take risks. So I think I surprised myself, as well as those who knew me, in December 1985 when I had my first real experience of being courageous. It was the first time I felt the protectiveness of a lioness.

I was an accountant for a CPA firm in Boston. My boyfriend had taken the day off work with three of his buddies and they had been holiday shopping. They decided to stop at Clark’s, a bar around the corner from my office, before heading home. The bar was loud as I wended my way through the crowd to meet them after work.  

Mark was excited to show me his purchases. He was particularly pleased with a sweater he had chosen for his sister, his eyes dancing with delight as he showed it to me. As we were looking through the rest of his gifts, three women came over, flirting with his friends. They did not stay long and we laughed when they left about the guys getting “hit on.” Not much later, we put on our coats and reached for our belongings. Mark, however, couldn’t find several of his bags, including the one containing the sweater for his sister. We searched and searched, but the bags were gone. It seemed clear that the young women who stopped to flirt were probably not flirting at all, they were setting us up to pilfer the packages. John remembered they had said they were going to Houlihan’s at the other end of Faneuil Hall next. Mark wasn’t too happy thinking about giving up that sweater, and we were both on tight budgets.

It seemed clear: we had to go after them.

Mark, not one to be confrontational, was not excited about tracking the thieves down. His buddies were embarrassed to have been so easily deceived and they were not anxious to meet up with the women again either. But I persisted, and off we went. 

When we got to Houlihan’s, the women were nowhere in sight. We spoke with the hostess, and learned they were in the ladies’ room. Where the guys had hesitated before, I knew they were certainly not going in with me now. I marched into the bathroom. There they were, primping in front of the mirror when I burst in. 

Somehow, it came naturally to me to stand in front of the door, blocking the women’s exit until I had all Mark’s gifts back. I am 5’2” and not a physically dominating presence by any means. But the women handed over the bags.

When I came out carrying Mark’s bags, I am not sure who was more surprised by my actions, them or me. 

I have thought about this encounter many times over the years. It seems symbolic of a protective fierceness I did not know I had. I believe most women have this lioness instinct when it comes to protecting our loved ones. Our bodies were made to create life, and it is natural for us to want to protect life.

So how, then, do we come to have abortions? For myself and for many of the women I have spoken to over the years, we believe we are protecting our children when we choose to have an abortion. I remember for myself feeling that both my baby's life and my own would be dramatically different in a very hard way if I continued with the pregnancy. I foresaw divorce and hard work to make ends meet for myself. I envisioned poverty for both of us.

Was it instinct, intuition, or fear?  Our past (http://christinaehaas.blogspot.com/2013/08/how-childhood-experiences-can-cause-us.html) or present (http://christinaehaas.blogspot.com/2013/09/abortion-can-be-consequence-of-other.html) experiences might have informed us that it is not safe to bring a child into the world and we believe we are protecting our children in making a choice to abort. I wonder, if I had such a strong instinct to protect my boyfriend's sweater, that maybe my instinct to choose an abortion was also a protective mechanism.

When I think back on my grandmother's situation, knowing she chose an abortion at a time when it was not only illegal, but when she could have lost her life (during the Great Depression), I see a woman of great courage. I imagine that with a frail baby and small income already, her choice was made not just to protect her unborn child, but the child she already in her arms. As I wonder about her state of mind some eighty years ago when she made her choice, I find myself awed by her courage.

As I contemplate my situation and that of the many women I have known who have made the same choice, I believe we are each doing what we feel is right to protect the our unborn, and sometimes already born, children. It is not an easy choice, but it is often the most courageous one.


Namaste.

I Love You - More

I believe our children have messages and things to teach us. I can tell you stories from each of my kids. My youngest son, Ryan, has given me one of the simplest, yet one of the most profound messages.

Since he was a baby, our bedtime ritual has involved reading stories and snuggling. At the end of our cuddling, I tell him I love him as I leave his room. Since he was four years old, he has been telling me in response, “I love you more!"

I remember debating him over this thought for at least a year. I told him it was not possible for him to love me more than I loved him. Until I had children, I had no idea how all encompassing, consuming and pervasive a mother’s love was. I hear many other mothers say the same thing about their children – their lives and priorities changed the moment they had children. They had no idea they could love someone as much as they now loved this new little human. I felt the same thing with the birth of each of my children.

So, how could my four year old son possibly understand that? How could he know the depth of a mother’s love at a mere four years old?

 

Our bedtime ritual, including our “I love you’s” continued. At some point I gave up trying to explain the depth of my love for him. Maybe he had reached the ripe old age of five by then. I decided he would understand sometime in the future, but for now, we would say the words we each felt in our hearts, and I would simply allow them to be. 

During the next few years, I would begin a process of personal transformation. My marriage ended, and I would leave my long-term job and profession in accounting, and my small town of twenty plus years, as well as the state of Massachusetts, for a cross country move to California.

As I shed each layer of who I had been, I found parts of myself that I long ago forgot. Throughout this time, my little guy would continue to tell me he loved me “more”. But now there was another voice echoing his, one I couldn’t hear in the chaos of my old life. It was my daughter, Mary, whom I had aborted almost twenty years earlier. Her presence would come at the most unexpected times, but her message was always the same. I am here and I love you. 

 

 

The messages from Ryan and Mary came full circle in 2012 when I read James Van Praagh’s book Growing Up in Heaven. He writes that our children chose us to be their parents, even children who are miscarried or aborted. These children know that they will not be born, but choose to come into the mother’s life to help them learn lessons of self-worth and self-love. 

As I read those words, I sobbed. Suddenly, I knew Ryan was right. He did love me more. And so did my daughter Mary. They are in my life to help me learn a lesson in love and self-worth. There was nothing more I needed to do to deserve that love, I was enough just as I was. 

Now, when Ryan says to me “I love you more Mommy”, I say “I know Ryan, I know”. 

Namaste.

Our Unborn Children's Souls Speak to Us

I will remember this day as long as I live. November 22, 2003. This was the day I first glimpsed my daughter, whom I chose to abort in July 1992.

I was at a retreat, trying to heal myself of the deep wounds still within me from the abortion I’d had over a decade earlier. Our first task was to carry a heavy rock everywhere we went, even the toilet and shower, to get the physical sensation of the emotional burden we were suffering.

I woke that November morning, in tears, determined to move forward. I carried my rock with me to breakfast and decided then and there that I would not succumb to this heaviness any longer. I went to the chapel in the retreat house, put my rock on the altar and fell to my knees.

“Dear God!” I cried. “I am so, so sorry for what I’ve done. I am so sorry.” And I burst into tears, my body heaving with each sob.

Almost instantly, in my mind’s eye I saw my little girl. She was about three years old. I saw her laughing and playing in a beautiful sunlit meadow with other children. I knew she was my daughter, with the same color of dark blond hair and same light blue eyes. She was skipping and dancing in nature. She was happy!

In those moments of releasing my pent-up emotions, the liberation of my spirit began.

Later that day, our retreat leaders led us through a guided visualization where we walked into a meadow — the same meadow I had seen in my earlier vision — to meet our children. What a gift I was given to have “seen” her before this group exercise. It allowed me to trust myself and to know that all was well for us both.

It has been many years since that first experience of meeting my unborn daughter. I named her Mary for the purity, innocence and love I saw and felt from her. I take a retreat once a year or so, and every time I do, she shows up for me. I no longer feel sadness, pain or angst when I think of her, I feel her spirit with me as one of love and tenderness.

As I reflect upon James Van Praagh’s theory that our unborn children are here to help us with our soul’s lessons, I feel Mary’s presence around me, urging me forward. I know that she was willing to delay her entrance on earth so I could learn my lessons. It was, and is, a gift of love.

In a world where abortion is so greatly stigmatized and death is so abhorrent to us, this transformation has been truly miraculous.

This perspective is a gift. I can see my abortion in a different light, one that makes perfect sense and is good for all. And I can pay forward this love best by allowing in the lessons she is teaching me as every year goes by.  

Mary’s soul has been speaking to mine for a long time.

Can you hear your children whispering to you? Can you open yourself to their love? What are your children’s souls saying to you? Take a moment to remember your experience, step back and observe your true feelings. Once you open your heart to your authentic feelings, the listening becomes easier.

Namaste.

 

 

 

Abortion Can Be the Consequence of Other Problems in Our Society (updated 9/9/13)

My children and I moved to California from Massachusetts when my youngest son was in first grade. He was new and very shy, so every day before school, I would wait with him for the first bell to ring. The school yard opened at 7:45, and the bell rang for first period at 8:07. His classmate Sierra and I became buddies that year. I could not tell you why, but we simply connected.

As it got closer to winter, Sierra would often come to school without a jacket. In Northern California where we now lived, it could be cold in the mornings, sometimes in the 40’s. Most kids had a jacket of some sort, even if it was just a sweatshirt, but not Sierra. Many days she would come to school with a cute little sundress on, bare legs and sandals on her feet, despite the low morning temperatures.

She shivered, whimpered and sometimes cried from the cold.


It pained me to see her some days. Often I would lend her my sweatshirt or simply wrap my arms around her to warm her up. I felt sad for her and wondered what her home life was like. 

Then winter came, and still, seldom a coat on Sierra. Or hat. Or mittens. While it wasn’t the cold winters I was used to from back east, the temperatures could drop into the high 20’s first thing in the morning. I continued to lend her my sweatshirt, and we would shiver together as we waited for school to begin.

I did not meet Sierra’s mom until the end of the school year. I learned then that she, like me, was a single mom of three. She worked nights as a nurse and came home to get the kids off to school before crashing to sleep herself. She had no other support system, from parents or an ex-husband. She did it all on her own.

In the United States, there are millions of mothers like her who raise their kids without any support from a father. I am grateful to have child support payments. But there are many, many others who do not have that assistance.

In addition to the number of single moms trying to make it on their own, the United States has the second highest child poverty rate of all developed nations in the world. Recent statistics indicate that 23% of our nation’s children, or approximately 16.4 million kids, live below the poverty line of $22,000 income per year. http://www.nccp.org/topics/childpoverty.html

Millions of our nation’s and the world’s children are born into a world of scarcity. 

Child abuse statistics are equally sobering. According to statistics put out by Child Help, the United States has the worst record of any industrialized nation in the area of child abuse – every day five children are lost to abuse-related deaths. Every year, there are 3.3 million reports of child abuse involving 6 million children in our country. http://www.childhelp.org/pages/statistics

Many of our nation’s children do not grow up feeling safe. 

Given these statistics that indicate we cannot adequately care for human life already in existence, it is astounding that we are so quick to judge women who choose abortion.

Raising a child today is very hard. Many women know by experience. 

Maybe the choice to abort is not just for self-preservation of the mother, but one we believe will be the best protection for a child in a world that is far from perfect. 

Until we have been on the other side, who are we to say? 

Namaste.