I Might Have Been a Republican

If I was born 160 years ago, I think I might have been a Republican.

A new party, it was conceived in 1854 with the intention of abolishing slavery. Six years into it's beginnings, our first Republican President was elected - Abraham Lincoln. He lead us to and through the Civil War and the abolishment of slavery. It was party of rebels and activists, focused on human rights.

Yeah, I think I might have been a Republican if I lived back then. 

Fast forward to 2018, we have a different kind of Republican President. He's one who gloats about "grabbing women by the pussy", who tears children out of the arms of parents seeking asylum in our country and has just nominated a Supreme Court justice who he intends will make it his mission to overturn Roe v. Wade. It's not a party that's being lead by someone concerned with human dignity or human rights. 

Is this progress? 

This site is about caring for women who've had abortions. Make no mistake - the politics in the US right now are attempting not just to vilify women who would choose an abortion, but imprison them  by making it illegal. Like our President's election, which very few believed would happen, it is entirely possible that Roe V. Wade will be overturned. This is not a party I can support today and I have to imagine, Abe Lincoln is rolling in his grave watching the freedom of women now at risk.

Human dignity is an important aspect of being for life, "pro-life". And yet . . . .

Is it pro-life to imprison and separate families seeking asylum who are being persecuted in their  countries of origin?

Is it pro-life to have have the second highest rate of childhood poverty (after Romania) of 35 developed nations in the world? 

Is it pro-life to do nothing about gun control when our children can't be safe in their schools and even elementary school children are not spared from gun violence? 

Is it pro-life to prevent gays from having all the benefits and privileges of heterosexual couples? Is it pro-life to allow public establishments to refuse to serve someone of a different sexual persuasion? 

Is it pro-life to allow incest and domestic violence to occur because it is a family matter or because DNA should trump this type of "bad" behavior? 

I consider myself pro-choice, but I also consider myself pro-life. I believe all people deserve the right to live his or her own life under their own terms and with the same freedoms. Women and minorities deserve to be paid for the same job as a man at the same rate of pay. Children deserve to live without abuse or neglect and to have three meals a day in their bellies. We all deserve to love whomever we love - regardless of race, gender or religion. And this beautiful earth that we pillage and rape every day in the name of progress, I believe she is sacred and deserving of better treatment too.

Pro-life and Pro-Choice. I am both, and. 

And -  while sometimes, these values conflict, I believe in the end, it is my choice as a free person in these United States to decide for myself how address that conflict. 

From a President who abolished slavery to one who wants to enslave women.  Wow. We've come a long way, baby, and I'm not sure it's the vision President Lincoln ever had for his party or the Presidency. 

A Tale of Two Sisters - The End and The Beginning

Thank you to everyone who has read and followed my blog over the past five years. When I started writing about abortion, it was a mission spurned by my need for closure and understanding of my actions and experience. I wanted to share what I had learned and was learning so that others might have peace in their choices too. I never dreamed this last piece would take this shape.

In 1992, when I chose to have an abortion, I didn't think much past the end of my own nose. I didn't consider the moments leading up to that choice or how each moment of my life prior to that one informed my decision. I didn't think about my family tree or the possible impact to my family in the future. I didn't think about my unborn baby or what she might have wanted. I remember thinking that maybe, just maybe, if I acted quickly enough, it wouldn't be a baby yet. There was a deep, visceral fear - a fear that permeating my whole being. Was this my fear? Or the fear of generations before me?

As I researched and learned more about abortion, a bigger picture began to unravel. I felt for the first time, the double bind of the many women who become pregnant in poor or abusive relationships. I considered the conflicted feelings of a young, pregnant woman, once abused or neglected herself, struggling to hope for a better future for herself and her child. I began to explore the notion that as much as the decision to abort seemed like mine, and mine alone, it was all part of a larger symphony of souls, that never in my wildest of dreams, could I have imagined.

**************

Twenty years after my abortion.  I thought I was done with my healing and learning from that experience. I had come to believe that there was soul contract between my unborn daughter and myself, that she had known ahead of time what my choice would be, but that she chose to enter into this contract with me anyway. I saw her as a martyr, saint, an angel, for giving up her life for my lesson. I still didn't realize that in this belief system, I was still seeing my soul as less than perfect. I still saw myself as a sinner. 

Not long after I began writing, I had an encounter with an intuitive. This seer told me that my unborn daughter was very glad she had not been born. I remember wondering how she knew I had had an abortion, and if that was something she told every woman who had one - to make them feel more peace over their decision. She went on to tell me my unborn daughter, Mary, is around me constantly. But then she said something else, something that haunted me for the next four years. She said "your unborn daughter says she would not have been able to endure her sister's life. She could not have survived."

I felt like I had been hit with a ton of bricks when she said that. A recently lapsed Catholic, I was still highly prone to self-blame and flagellation and this statement gave me a lot to think about. Was I really such a terrible mother that she didn't think she could have found some happiness and joy in that life? Had I really done such a terrible thing by divorcing her father that I made all my children's lives tortuous? I had just moved my children 3,000 miles away from their father after a highly contentious divorce. I was in a abusive marriage, and leaving a man who didn't want to be left cost me a lot. Going to California seemed like the only way we would ever have peace again. Had I made a bad choice yet again?

*******************

Fast forward to the fall of 2015. My college-age daughter shares with me for the very first time, what her life as child was really like. How her father began molesting her at the sweet age of four years old, ramping up the abuse over the years in nature and frequency of the abuse until she was twelve. For many years, I had the feeling he was having an affair...I just never imagined it was with our little girl. How does one ever imagine such a thing? Years of odd and lewd behaviors flooded my mind and my body shook with the truth of knowing. Suddenly, everything in the past made sense.

Finally, I understood for the first time what my unborn daughter, Mary, meant, when she sent me the message that she couldn't have survived this lifetime. All that time, I made it to be about me. But all that time, it was about something more, something bigger than me. I wonder now, did I make that choice to abort because I was so afraid? Or was I hearing quite loudly my daughter's voice, telling me she couldn't handle that lifetime, a lifetime that would have been filled with sexual abuse?

I have come full circle on my blog about abortion, right back to my first month of posts, where I had learned on an intellectual level, the battle that women face on daily basis in protecting themselves and protecting their children. Only today, it's not just an intellectual understanding. It is one of an emotional and spiritual understanding that we are all connected, we are all part of the same Force, and almost nothing is what it appears on the surface - including and especially the experience of abortion.

Namaste.

Why Take Sides?

It was on my mind for years. Literally. Am I pro-choice or pro-life? I used to wonder what was wrong with me that I couldn’t pick a side and stay with it.

 

And you know what was wrong with me?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

When it comes to the topic of choice where life is concerned, taking a side seems like the only way to go. Abortion isn’t the only part of life where this decision comes up. What about euthanasia or doctor assisted suicide? Are these issues really so straightforward and uncomplicated?

Before I had an abortion, I was pro-choice, although with the stipulation that it was something I believed in for other people and it was not something I would ever do. Can you feel my judgment oozing out of those words?

Even after my abortion, it made me feel better to believe that I had a right to choose what to do with my body. It validated the experience for me. My choice – my responsibility, but also my justification.

But then a miscarriage activated memories from the abortion that I couldn’t escape and I found myself beginning the process of healing from my abortion.  

At this point, I made a 180 degree turn around from my previous pro-choice stance and became pro-life. Healing was hard work and I had repressed a lot of negative emotions. Releasing all that toxicity was excruciating. I wanted to save anyone else from the trauma I experienced. At the time, a devout Roman Catholic, I confessed and repented my choice. In many ways, becoming pro-life was a way of restitution for me.

But atoning for my choice didn’t open me up to the whole story of my life and why I made that choice in the first place. It blinded me to the deeper parts of my story and kept me in shame – for I was continuing to judge myself.

The truth is I had my own issues to resolve around worthiness and self-esteem. And I am finding that so do many, many others, both men and women.

I met a woman the other day who told me she moved to California from New York forty years ago. When I asked her what brought her out here, she shared in lengthy detail the traumas of her childhood, still fresh in her mind like they had happened yesterday. The anger, bitterness, and resentment after all this time were still raw for her. Most of us aren’t that expressive, especially to a complete stranger, yet many of us hold onto some very deep childhood hurts for far too long.

Am I pro-life? You bet. I believe most of us believe in the sanctity of life. It is sacred and beautiful and miraculous. Just think about how any of us came to be here – who could ever have imagined an egg and a sperm united to create each one of us?

Am I pro-choice? You bet. We all deserve the right to choose what to do with our bodies and our lives are precious too. Do I have any less right to live my life on my terms than anyone else?

In the over two decades since my abortion, I have been on both sides of this conversation. What I have found after being in both places is that I actually am in reality in both places. I value life AND I believe in a person’s right to choose.

 

I have been studying abortion for over a decade and what I have concluded is that there isn’t a person I have yet to meet who isn’t both pro-life and pro-choice. We think that abortion, like euthanasia, war, poverty, and violence, is a black and white issue… but it’s not. It’s full of story, nuance and lots of gray areas. Maybe the real story behind this question is not which side we are on, but what we do to honor the life that is here already.

Namaste.

 

PS: Here is a link to a short movie (21 minutes) with actor James Cromwell that I saw this week about taking sides. It’s current and powerful. Can you imagine a world where we lived in unity instead of separation? http://bit.ly/1vT5Jcu

 

To Each Their Own Truth

 

Pro-choice or pro-life? Those are the two polarities on the abortion debate. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fall into either one. I used to think it meant I had no backbone – how could I not be one or the other? But I longer see this decision that way.  

Recently, I read a story about a mother named Emily Rapp, who I would venture to say, feels the same way as I do. Her story is a mother’s worst nightmare to be sure, but it speaks to the truth of life. There is no “one size fits all” answer when it comes to this issue. And when all is said and done, it is not which group we affiliate ourselves with that matters most: it’s if we lived with love and in our own personal truth. 


Emily’s story began long before she was a mother. She was born with a congenital birth defect that required her left foot be amputated when she was only four years old. In the 1970’s she became a poster child for the March of Dimes. Her first book Poster Child, chronicles her life as an amputee. Her second book, The Still Point of the Turning World, details her life with her son, Ronan, after he was diagnosed with Tay-Sachs disease at nine months of age.  

Emily and her husband, Rick, lost their not even three year old son in February 2013 to this disease, typically fatal in infants. In early 2012, prior to Ronan’s death, she spoke out in response to a statement made by Senator Rick Santorum that prenatal testing increases the rate of abortion.  

In a bold and surprising essay responding to Santorum’s assertion, Emily was very clear. She wrote: 

“That it is possible to hold this paradox as part of my daily reality points to the reductive and narrow-minded nature of Rick Santorum's assertions that prenatal testing increases the number of abortions (a this equals that equation), and for this reason, the moral viability or inherent value of these tests should be questioned. Prenatal testing provides information, a value-less act. I maintain that it is a woman’s right to choose what to do with the information that attaches value and meaning, and that this choice is—and must be—directly related to that individual’s experiences. What’s at stake here is not the issue of testing, but the issue of choice. I love Ronan, and I believe it would have been an act of love to abort him, knowing that his life would be primarily one of intense suffering, knowing that his neurologically devastated brain made true quality of life—relationships, thoughts, pleasant physical experiences—impossible.”

Emily’s situation is extraordinary, to be sure, but her comment, that it would have been an act of love to abort him, resonates deeply with me. Most people have this belief that life as we know it is all there is. How can any of us know another’s journey, another’s pain, another’s suffering? How can we say for certain what is categorically right for another person? And how can any of us even begin to know the big picture of the workings of the Universe?

It is clear that Emily does not resonate with the pro-life movement, although in my estimation, she probably values life more than the next person. The irony of her being a person with a disability is not lost on me, but in fact only enhances her much nuanced circumstances. 

Yet I wonder how much resonance Emily has with the pro-choice movement. While it is clear she believes in a woman’s right to choose, it is also clear that she understands there would have been another kind of agony had she chosen to do so. That to make the choice to abort, regardless of the facts and circumstances, is often complicated and generally not without pain. 

Her story is horrific, brave, and honest. It is her personal truth and I am in awe of the courage it takes for her to stand in that truth. We each have our own story, unique and particular to us as is every hair on our heads. How can we possibly ever really know what another’s truth is?

We simply don’t.


Namaste.

Broccoli or Kale?

My nine year old bristles at the thought of eating vegetables. And I mean any vegetable, except perhaps corn. (Does corn even count as a vegetable… or is it a starch? I don’t know.) But I can tell you this: if I give him the choice between eating broccoli or kale, no matter which one he chooses, it will be a painful meal for him as he equally dislikes both of them. 

Abortion is a choice with a similar dilemma for many of us women, too. Unless we are 100% aligned with who we are and madly in love with ourselves, it is very likely that if we choose to terminate a pregnancy, the pain will haunt us at some point in our lives.

You have probably heard about Emily Letts, the 25 year old woman that filmed her abortion back in March. She said she wanted women to know that making the choice to have an abortion is not painful. She stated that she was clear in her choice and that she had lots of support for her decision. Perhaps she is one of those rare women who is in completely in love with herself. For the most part, I have found that abortion is an experience that challenges us over and over again in our lifetimes with issues of self-love and self-worth.

Mostly, I worry that her extraordinary measures may be misleading – to her future self, her future children, and to others who are facing the choice between having an abortion or giving birth. Physically, I do not remember feeling much pain with my abortion either, but between a strict and Catholic upbringing and the protesters at the clinic where I had my abortion, the emotional pain was inescapable for me. I believe this is true for many other women as well. Just because we choose abortion doesn’t mean that we don’t feel pain from our decision. On levels much more complicated than my nine year olds choice between broccoli or kale, it is not unusual to be in a situation where both alternatives to a particular choice are unpalatable. My nine year old is not going to dance after gulping down his kale any more than I did a dance of joy after having an abortion. Just sayin’.

Last year, I knew deep in my bones that serving women who have had abortions was what I was meant to do. I didn’t know exactly how I was going to do this work, so I applied to an abortion organization that is well known for supporting women by volunteering to work their hotline. It meant giving up a lot of my time for coaching and leaving my children with a babysitter, but I was totally up for the gig. These are the people I wanted to serve. When they found out later that I believed there were real and tangible aftereffects from abortion, they said they were no longer interested in having me volunteer with them. They believed it was disempowering for women to learn there may be aftereffects. 

I wonder, are we really empowering women to make them believe that there is no aftermath from having an abortion? This has been the classic pro-choice platform for years. And while I believe that women deserve the right to choose, the current model of denying the emotional experience does not appear to be helping women. I spent too many years of my life disempowered, not knowing there was a downside and thinking I was all alone. I believe that knowledge is power, and if we educate ourselves more on this experience, embrace it for what it truly is rather than gloss over it as if it is nothing, then perhaps women will stand a better chance of taking their power back. 

Maybe a model of knowledge leading to empowerment might be a new thought to consider. Is knowledge empowering or disempowering?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.


Namaste.

Teenagers and Tattoos

Do you remember what it was like to be a teenager? I didn’t think I did until I realized I was still stuck in one aspect of that part of my development way into my forties. The long-held belief I had carried forward was “How do I learn to be me without needing approval first?” 

My kids are often my best teachers as they bring me back to my own lessons on this school of earth over and again. In the last few weeks, one particular lesson has been giving me a knock upside the head!

When we were on vacation in Hawaii last month, my teenage son discovered that there was no age limit for getting a tattoo if he had parental approval. In California, where we currently reside, you have to be eighteen before you can get “inked.” Since I had a convenient law in place, there was no need to discuss this issue any further with him…until we went on that vacation. 

I suppose I could have said no to his request while in Hawaii. I am sure there are reasons for the age restriction in many states. I imagine it has to do with a teenager being developmentally prepared to make a decision that will impact them for the rest of their lives. How well does anyone know themselves at age fifteen to be able to choose a permanent marking for their body? It’s one thing to let a body piercing heal over later in life, but to erase off the ink is a whole other mess.

Then I thought about my friends and family, many of whom are very conservative in their views about body art. Coming from a traditional Catholic household, I used to fall into those ranks myself. I knew what their opinions were, so much so that I was mentally preparing myself should I get a call from Social Services upon return to California when the school system saw a tattoo on my son. 

My own battle for approval has been an internal war for most of my life.

Feelings of rejection from my own father were deeply rooted in my body. I remember trying to do all sorts of things to get his attention as a child without success. I was not particularly athletic, but I would constantly try to weasel in on games of catch he and my sister played in the backyard. There are other memories of chopping down trees with him for wood for our fireplace. I would have done anything to be close to him back in my youth. Not surprisingly, I even ended up at his alma mater for college, majoring in economics and accounting as a way of inching closer to his emotionally corded off persona. I hid my abortion and I stayed in my difficult marriage far too long because of not wanting to disappoint my father and having him think less of me.

I still remember telling my parents that I could not stayed married any longer. I was 43, almost 44 years old. My father suggested I “hang in there” for another ten years or so, until my kids were older and almost through college. It wasn’t until I announced my intention to divorce that I realized how much I needed and craved his approval. Had I not been spiritually dead, I might have endured, but by the time I told them I was done with the charade of my marriage, I knew there was no other hope for me but to leave.

Despite my father’s feelings, though, I did file for divorce. And one of the ways I marked my own freedom was to get “inked” myself on the first anniversary of my divorce. I knew neither my ex-husband or father would have approved of my new piece of body art, and somehow that made it even more compelling. It was a beginning for me in learning to break free of the ties that bound me my whole life. It might be considered a baby step for many, and others might have chosen a different avenue for self-expression, but for me, the new butterfly I sported on my left shoulder was exactly right.

I thought about my experience and where my son was in his life, and what I wanted to give to him as a parent. Do I want to teach my children not to do something because of what other people think? Isn’t the goal of parenting to teach them to make their own choices, follow their own hearts, and learn to fly, even if they sometimes flounder? My son and I talked about him getting a tattoo for several days. He was very clear on what he wanted. He was willing to do the reconnaissance to make sure he found a legitimate and hygienically safe establishment to do his tattoo. He was willing to pay for it and do all the things he needed to do to care for it afterwards. It was not a spontaneous decision, nor did either of us take it lightly. Our final step was to talk to the artist before making the final decision. 

He is not my oldest child. He was born less than two years after his world-traveling sister. While she has been away in Israel, I have seen him stepping up in a bigger way into his own life. I want him to continue to do that, with or without her presence. I know from my own experience that it’s a hard thing to do, to step into your true self without the need of approval from others. Despite their different genders, due to the closeness in their ages there has always been a bit of competition between them. When would he get a chance to do something “first?” When it got right down to it, knowing the level of his commitment as we went through the logistics, but feeling into his deep need for self-expression, how could I possibly say no to his request?

 

 

I have been learning this lesson my entire life. I don’t want that for my kids. If I do nothing else right as a parent but see them grow up to know their own hearts and live accordingly, I feel I will have succeeded as a parent. They will always have my support, but approval . . . none of us should go any deeper than our own hearts to get that much needed validation. I want my kids to enter the adult world feeling confident in their abilities, not incapable of making their own choices.

So… what was the end result? My son got his tattoo. He chose it and put it on his right foot, just below the ankle bone. It is the word LOVE, written in Arabic. Now he is symbolically rooted even deeper into the truth of who he is. And I love watching him become the courageous young man that both he and I want him to be. 

 
Namaste.

 

Would I Do It Again?

They say hindsight is 20/20, right? So I recently got to wondering, if I had to do everything over again in my life, including having an abortion, would I? 

I used to think I would not. I used to think that hindsight informed me that it was too painful, too traumatic, and impossible to get over to ever do again.

I used to think that way… until I didn’t. 

One day, a few years ago, after I’d already had three children, was separated from my husband, and very much in overwhelm being a single parent, I thought I might be (gasp) pregnant.

I had been seeing a kind and gentle man who loved both me and my kids. My divorce attorney had told me to wait to start dating as I was just stirring the pot of anger with my ex by getting involved with someone before my divorce was final. After putting this wonderful man him off from having sex for a good six months, I finally agreed to go away for the weekend with him. We used birth control, specifically condoms, that weekend so it couldn’t have been any safer, right? Besides, I was due to get my period within days so by my calculations everything would be okay.

It would have seemed that way, but I didn’t get my period for three weeks. And they were the longest three weeks of my life. 

 

I had already started my healing journey with Project Rachel and thought I had processed everything there was to process about my decision to abort. I knew after living the Project Rachel weekend that I would never have another abortion. 

And then suddenly there I was, in my mid-forties, separated and not yet divorced, exhausted from juggling work, single parenting, and the stress of the legal proceedings (my divorce), only to find myself wondering if I really could handle having another child.

How would my body handle this? Would I be able to take care of a baby and the three kids I already had and not lose my job? The man I was seeing had his own complications with family at home so the choice of having or not having another child was mine to make.

“Good God” I thought. “Maybe I will have to make this choice again!”

For three weeks, I pondered this question and more. I lost weight, sleep, and any sense of who I thought I was. My companion was concerned, of course, but agreeable to whatever I decided. Death seemed a preferable option, but my kids' needs removed that thought from my mind. “Dear Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Why can everyone else in the world have sex and not get pregnant while I, ever so cautiously, put one foot in the sexual pool and bam! – I get pregnant? Why me?”

Just when I thought I couldn’t get out of bed another day, I FINALLY got my period. Sweet, sweet relief flooded my body!

So would I have gotten an abortion again if I had been pregnant?


You can’t tell from looking at me now, but at the time my friends thought I had an eating disorder as I had lost so much weight from all the legal shenanigans. I was only getting about six hours of sleep a night on a good night as it was, and my three children were needy, especially since they were dealing with the separation from their father. I could see no other way out but to seriously consider choosing to have another abortion.

Luckily, I did not have to make that choice, but I can remember those three weeks like they happened just yesterday. Would I choose to have an abortion again after the excruciating pain, mentally, physically and emotionally of the first one? Despite everything I knew and experienced already, I have to say - Yes, yes I would.

It’s easy to be philosophical about abortion… until you are in the shoes of someone facing this decision. It’s all theory until it’s happening to YOU!


Today, I am in a much better place with abortion – personally and generally speaking. It is something women have been doing for over 4000 years. Isn’t it time we are able to embrace our sexual essence and inner wisdom and listen to our own knowing?

Because in the end, everything will be okay IF you deem it to be so.


Namaste.