The Things We Do For Love . . .

I've been thinking for awhile now that if our default mode was one of love rather than fear, we could probably make a big dent in the number of abortions that take place. 

Isn't that what everybody wants anyway?

No woman "wants" to have an abortion, even those of us who have had one. 

And duh, the pro-lifers are all against abortion. 

What better way to have it all?

And then a couple of weeks ago, my daughter's boyfriend showed me a perfect example. 

He made a decision based on love, not fear. 

He chose to walk in my daughter's shoes long enough to understand her reproductive choices were "their" reproductive choices. Her comfort or discomfort was his too. When she was not healthy, it impacted him also. They both knew before they began their relationship that they didn't want to have children. Neither pressured the other to think the same way about a future with or without kids. After watching her medical struggles for a year now with various hormones and patches and their impact on her body, mind and spirit, he decided he would do his part. 

He made a decision to have a vasectomy. 

Now, more than a few folks think he is crazy. Or, he's too young (26) to know whether or not he wants kids. He may change his mind. My favorite - why would he risk a knife to the "family jewels" in the first place? 

Maybe there is a new generation of men out there who are more open to this kind of sharing. I hope so. I've met men who refused to wear a condom, much less decided to have a vasectomy. This young man's actions seem pretty extraordinary to me. 

I don't know what the final straw was that propelled him to make this decision, but I know that he loves his girlfriend, my daughter, with his whole self. He's watched her pain and seen her anxiety. I believe he's felt these things with her. 

He made a choice for unity instead of separation. 

He made a choice to operate with compassion and love for the benefit of the whole of the relationship, not for the benefit of himself. 

He made a choice for love over fear. 

He leaned into, not away from. 

He built a bridge to greater intimacy, he did not dig a bigger moat. 

He earned his "man card". 

He's a modern day Knight in Shining Armor in my book. He's taking responsibility for himself and the woman he loves. He leaned into a decision that many other men don't ever make. He chose love over fear. (And, ironically, a decision that will hopefully prevent an unplanned and unwanted pregnancy). 

I don't know what will happen tomorrow, but I do know, as a mom, I couldn't feel more grateful for the partner my daughter is with today. 

Ahhh, the things we do for love!

What will you do for love today? Lol!

Namaste. 

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.

What's in a Dream?

“Dream mode – Activate!” my nine year old exclaimed at bedtime the other night. Ahh, the sweet innocence of children!

His words, as they often do, made me think, what do I dream about?

When I was a kid, I dreamt about what I would be when I grew up. My kids inspire me with their dreams of who they want to be. So far I have a budding scientist/astronomer in my house, a future soccer star, and perhaps the first female president living under my roof! I love how bright and big their dreams are!


My dreams are still pretty big too. Where I once used to dream about what I would be, now I dream about how I can bring the gifts I have inside of me to others. How can I bring everything that I have learned about freedom, joy and community from my experience of abortion to those who still struggle with shame, regret and guilt? How can I help others, women and men, to transform their lives from one of constant pain into a life that is more emotionally rich and meaningful?

I dream of a world where everyone gets to choose what they do with their bodies. The right to choose isn’t just about abortion, although it is certainly one of the main experiences where we see extreme polarization. What about countries that draft men and women into military service? What about religions that require surgical procedures on the bodies of its believers? I am sure you can think of many other instances where people are not able to choose for themselves. 

In the United States recently, a new court decision was passed that allows closely-held corporations to decide whether or not to offer contraception as a healthcare choice to their employees. Referred to as the Hobby Lobby case, the Supreme Court in making their decision wrote, "Protecting the free-exercise rights of closely held corporations thus protects the religious liberty of the humans who own and control them." This decision appears to be saying that one person’s religious liberties, through ownership of a business, can dictate to someone else what choices they can make about their body. Puritanical beliefs permitted the execution of women determined to be witches years ago. Is this case in the broader sense any different? As far as we seem to have come over the years with women’s rights, this decision makes it seem as if we haven’t made any clear advances, and if anything, are taking more than the two proverbial steps backwards in our fight for equality. This decision is not a dream that I hold for myself, for my daughter, or for anyone else who lives and breathes on this planet.  


Are we, as a society, so unhappy with our lives that we have let go of our own dreams only to go on to control others’ dreams instead? 

I think Marianne Williamson was right when she said “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.” If we lived in the light, if we lived in our power, if we lived in love, we would not feel the need to control others. We would live in the perfection of our own being without needing to control anyone else’s body or anyone else’s dreams.

So what do I dream of these days? 

I dream of a world where we are all living in our light and in our highest potential. I dream of a world where my daughter can choose if or when she wants to have a child and where she can also be the President of our country if she so desires. I dream of a world where we see our own greatness reflected in the eyes of each other, where we love and appreciate the gifts and uniqueness we each bring to this planet. 

In the words of my nine year old son, “Dream mode – activate!” It's time to leave behind our fears and bring love, peace and harmony into the world in a much bigger way!


Namaste.


PS: I can’t wait to share with you next week how Oprah is helping to make my dream about abortion being an experience of transformation come true!

What Are You Afraid Of?

Life really is funny sometimes. I remember when I found myself unexpectedly pregnant at age 29, I was afraid that I would be raising my child by myself if I chose to have that baby. Flash forward twenty two years and I am a now a single mom to three kids. The admonishment, “That which you resist persists” seems to be right on target for me.

If I had paid attention to that fear many years ago, maybe I would have delved deeper into the truth of my marriage. But I stuck my fingers in my ears like a three year old child, repeating over and over again, “I can’t hear you!” whenever my intuition told me to look closer at my life. 

Have you ever done this? Deliberately ignored your inner whispers?

I realize now that my unborn baby was trying to help me sort out what was wrong in my life, much earlier than I was capable of seeing on my own. That unplanned pregnancy was indeed a wake-up call – the cosmic equivalent to a 2’ x 4’ upside the head – daring me to pay attention. 

But I was raised to believe that marriage was forever, no matter what. There would be good times, but there would also be difficult times, and I needed to ride them out. When the going gets tough, the tough get going, right?

Over the years, my husband and I did have children, and even though I was married, for the last several years of our marriage, I was a single parent in the everyday sense. He had a demanding job, and with two young children had decided to go back to seminary school at night to become a deacon. As our family got bigger, he got more and more interested in activities outside the home. In a very real and practical way, and without the label, I was doing the very thing I was so afraid of doing so many years earlier: being a single parent.

Putting a name to what I was already doing only made it harder. Single parent. That phrase sounds hard and lonely, doesn’t it? My friends would remind me repeatedly as I endured the roller coaster ride of my divorce that I had already been doing this for a while anyway. It wasn’t a new gig for me. 

Last week, I took my kids on vacation: a far away vacation where we had to fly to reach our final holiday destination. I realized as I was doing it that it was another thing I had been afraid to do on my own – travel to a new place where I was completely unfamiliar with the precious cargo I call my kiddos. But last week I was not afraid. Not at all.

You see, before I left I decided it was time to make friends with fear: Talk to it and ask it what it was doing for me and why it was there. As I dissected my worries and anxieties, I realized they were based on a belief that the world is not a safe place – a fear I was raised with that goes back many generations and perpetuates itself with the news we see and hear every day on the television, radio, the internet etc. 

For months now, I have been challenging that belief, choosing instead to see the world as a safe place full of good people. And amazingly, (or maybe not so much), last week on vacation, that’s what I found. 

I found love and tenderness with my children; hospitality and kindness in airports, hotels, and rental car businesses. We even experienced magical moments in nature - like sea turtles swimming right next to us! When I met the world with trust, it greeted me back accordingly. 

So what are you afraid of? What beliefs and ideas have you been running from? Maybe it’s time to stop running and look head on at that fear and make friends with it. I bet you will find the same freedom and joy that I have experienced of late.


Namaste.

 

What IS Normal Anyway?

What is your “normal?” Have you ever found out that your view of normal was not the healthiest way of being? My nine year old son Ryan helped me see in the last month how I could create a new normal in my life and let go of the past. Isn’t it great how kids can be some of our greatest teachers? 

Ryan has never been a big fan of sports. His only experience with organized sports to date was in pre-school playing soccer. He literally sat in the middle of the soccer field watching the butterflies and picking dandelions that year. Despite my best attempts to support him (including being a coach for the team), Ryan never took to the game. Other than gymnastics, he did not seem particularly inclined towards any sports at all.

That is, until this year. We had a 10th grade exchange student – Gilad – living with us this past fall. Ryan and Gilad became close friends. They would play basketball in our cul-de-sac almost every day. I feel certain it was Gilad’s influence that inspired Ryan to become interested in that sport. He bugged me daily to play basketball and couldn’t wait to get started. 

He had a blast during practices, but once the actual game started, he felt lost. He couldn’t figure out what was going on with two teams moving around on the court. He was confused and overwhelmed. It was no longer just a one-on-one game in the cul-de-sac. So much so that the first game he was scheduled to play in, he hid his jersey under the sofa hoping that if he couldn’t find his gear, he wouldn’t be able to play. That’s a story for another time, but he did end up playing that day, running up and down the court, managing to look engaged while at the same time staying as far away from the ball as possible. 

His last game was on February 23rd. My parents were in town visiting that day. I had told them the week before about the game. They did not offer to come, nor did I ask them to. As the stands filled, Ryan’s best buddy Brady came in with seven of his family members. It was not unusual for Brady to have several folks in attendance at the games – typically his parents and often his grandmother and uncle. Today there were three more there to support him. To be honest, all season I found it sad that I was the only one watching Ryan play. The beginning of this game was no exception.  

By the second half of the game, Ryan had not scored. He was the only player, in fact, not to have scored all season long in a game. Rather than substitute Ryan out as he did the rest of the team, that day, Coach left him in. He was determined not to let Ryan end this season without giving a 120% effort in helping him score. Every time Ryan’s team had the ball, Coach yelled to the boys to pass to Ryan. It wasn’t long before the kids figured it out, and Ryan was the first one back to the net after each rebound, waiting for the pass to make his shot. (Ironically, the other team saw all the passes being made to Ryan, and had their best and tallest defender on him that whole second half too.) 

I imagine most of the parents knew Ryan had not scored during season. He kind of stood out all season long with the various ways he had of avoiding being engaged. Twirling the string on his shorts, biting his nails, etc. At one point during this last half, I muttered to myself, “I so want Ryan to score before this is done.” Brady’s mom, sitting right next to me said, “We all do Christina, we all do.” 

It was then that I noticed what was going on in the stands. The other parents were yelling for my kid too. Telling him where to stand, how to escape the defender, rooting him on, wanting him to score as much as I did. And Ryan was in the moment, fearless and in the flow, like I had never seen him before. He never did score any points, but he couldn’t have been any happier at the end of the game.


This moment shifted everything for me. Suddenly all the games that I had as a kid that my parents never went to didn’t matter. The fact that my parents were in town and chose not to see their grandson did not matter. That Brady had seven family members there cheering for him did not matter. The illusions that I had carried with me all my life about family were shattered. I felt an experience of empowered love, coming from the coach, the kids on Ryan’s team, and the parents that day completely and utterly overwhelmed me. That my parents missed this was truly their loss. And I had changed the cycle of non-parental support for my son – I was present for him in a way I had never had from my parents.

This past week, I tried to call my parents just to say hello. I did not hear back from them, so I tried again later in the week. My mom finally called me back on Friday. Turns out they had been in town on Wednesday and Thursday visiting with my sister, but hadn’t felt it important to call or stop by. I realized while talking to my mom that if I had known, they could have seen Ryan get an academic award at his school on Wednesday. For a few seconds I thought about saying something to them about what they missed, and then realized it did not matter. It was okay for me to let go of all of it – the illusion, the anger, the resentment. They are who they are where I and somehow that got me to this point of here and now: where it is all perfect, am able to be who I am without apologizing or trying to be something moreIt was all really okay. 


We continued our conversation, with no mention of the timing on Ryan’s award and their visit. As our conversation ended, I told my mom I loved her and I meant it. 

I have known for some time that my normal was not healthy for me. But something was missing in bringing that full circle for me. Last month, being in a gymnasium watching a Sunday morning basketball game, I learned how to love and how to forgive. And I am so excited as I feel my new “normal” unfolding.



Namaste.

The Perfect Mother

The instant my daughter was born I made a promise to myself and to her that I would be the best mother ever. It didn’t take too much sleep deprivation to remind me I was human!

And yet, for years I continued on my mission to prove myself as a mother. I had to prove I was a good mom — to myself and to the world. I had such deep shame over the abortion I’d had years earlier that aspiring to sainthood seemed the best way to hide my secret. Afterall, if I was an impeccable mother, no questions would ever come up to suggest that an abortion was part of my past. I wondered, how could a “good” mother choose an abortion?

Shame is often referred to as the secret emotion because of the intense need the person feeling it has to conceal it. For me, the longer I buried the experience and tried to hide it from even myself, the harder it became to live my life authentically. I wasn’t living for me or for my daughter, I was living in fear and shame.

I have no doubt that my Catholic faith had a lot to do with these feelings of shame. Sermons about the evils of abortion, combined with teachings on original sin, reminded me regularly of what I had done and how mortally I had sinned. 

It took many years and many hurts to realize that my religion did not need to define my spirituality and that the Church was made up of human beings just like me. None of us, not even our priests, are exempt from the imperfections of humanity. I watched the clergy-abuse crisis unfold in my own backyard in Boston, and realized that my “sins” were no worse than many of the clergy who espoused a life’s vocation of following Jesus. 

As I learned to open up to other viewpoints, my spirituality evolved to where I could begin to think for myself, not simply as I was instructed to think by my religion. I began to see myself and my abortion in a whole different light. I wasn’t a sinner, I was a human being made in the image and likeness of God. And abortion wasn’t a sin, it was one possible answer in a world where both options were painful.  

Today, I strive to be the best mother I can be to my three kids. It isn’t easy to do as a single parent, but I no longer do it out of fear for being discovered, going to hell, or finding myself otherwise unworthy. I do it because I was chosen by them to be their mom for all the gifts I have to offer them. I make mistakes just like everyone, but I no longer berate myself afterwards for long periods of time. I take a deep breath, think about what I can do better next time, reminding myself this is where I was born to be and what I was born to do. 

For anyone still trying to reach sainthood, attain perfection in parenting or otherwise hide behind the mask of shame, I hope you find peace one day knowing that you are whole and perfect just the way you are.


Namaste.

A Ten Year Anniversary

It was ten years ago this past week that I started my healing journey with abortion. I was at my wit’s end and knew if I didn’t deal with my complex feelings from over eleven years earlier, I would probably end up institutionalized.

There were many factors contributing to my suppressed feelings of grief and shame. The biggest factor, by far, was my Catholic upbringing. While it gave me a deep faith in God, it also informed me I had committed a mortal sin. 

My Catholic roots went deep. I attended a Catholic girls’ school for four years before high school, and a Catholic college. To make matters worse, by the time I finally fell apart, my husband was enrolled in the seminary to become a deacon. Soon there would be many more eyes upon us both, looking to our family as model Catholics. After the years of parochial education, Sunday sermons and deaconate formation training, I felt like a failure as a human being. The pressure to live up to these standards was unbearable. 

Thankfully, there is a program for healing in the Catholic Church called Project Rachel. Project Rachel changed the course of my life.

Project Rachel helped me to understand the weight I had borne for over a decade. They helped me grieve and stood with me as I released my grief and asked God and my unborn daughter for forgiveness.

As with many retreats, the confidentiality of the group was a requirement of participation. Given our purpose for being together, that made absolute sense. Unlike other retreats, however, the Project Rachel retreat required secrecy in other facets of the weekend as well. Our location was secret. No one knew where we were meeting and we were advised not to share that information, except with our spouses. Also unusual was our final instruction - not to share with family or friends anything about our abortions or our weekend together. It might not be safe, and therefore was something we should keep to ourselves. For me, there was continued fear and shame as I listened to this final counsel. 


The one thing I was not able to release, my shame, stayed with me far longer than any other difficult emotion. Even Project Rachel’s Christ-like leadership and its generous love and compassion could not do for me what I so sorely needed. They could not change the language of the Catholic leadership and populace to remove condemnation or judgment. In the end, I was able to release the shame and find freedom only by looking outside the Church.

 

Since my retreat, as I listen to discussions between so-called pro-lifers and pro-choicers, I continue to wonder why the Church uses the language they do. Sinful, wrong, unthinkable, senseless murder – these are all words used in Catholic sermons and dialogs about abortion. The judgment these words evoke made it very difficult for me to release the shame of my abortion and I am certain make it difficult for most others. 

It’s unusual to talk about abortion. And while it isn’t everyone’s thing to share their story with the world, I do believe it is important that we share our stories with someone. One of the most productive things we did in the Project Rachel retreat weekend was to share our stories with each other. Sharing stories healed us because as we listened, we forgave. As we forgave and understood our sisters’ pain, we were able to access and release our own pain, and begin the process of forgiving ourselves. With greater support from Church leadership, women would be able to leave Project Rachel feeling more supported in their healing and fully releasing the shame - the contradiction and tension between emotional freedom and faith tradition would dissolve.

I hope and pray that one day soon Catholic leadership will really listen to the stories the women of the church have to tell and comprehend the compassion of the Project Rachel ministry who allowed us voice to tell them. I hope they will begin to understand and accept the experience of women that compels them to make this choice. Until we are able to speak without fear or secrecy, the road to full healing will be longer than it needs to be. 

As I reflect on my ten-year anniversary this week, I realize how lucky I am to be able to share my story today feeling strong and secure in who I really am – a woman of light and love who knows all is very well with her soul.


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.