A. A for abortion.
This post is about abortion. So, if that is a topic that offends you or you feel strongly about, I’m telling you now: reading my personal opinion may ignite something inside of you. And to an extent, I hope it does. But we’re all adults so let’s keep an open mind. That’s my disclaimer.
Shame. Whenever I think abortion, I think shame. It’s such a shameful act, taking someone’s life. Okay, maybe they aren’t quite a “someone” yet, but they are a living thing. A living thing inside of you. Inside of you and it’s a mistake. A mistake you made or had been making, who really cares, but you are carrying a living mistake inside of you. How do you make that decision?
I don’t know where I’m getting the courage (or the burst of stupidity!) to talk about this openly. But I’m personally tired of feeling ashamed. I carry this weight, this dirty, shameful weight of abortion everywhere I go. It’s been years upon years upon years ago, but that baby has never left me. And that is a truth I am just now realizing and vocalizing, for what reason, I don’t know. I just feel led to talk about this. No one talks about it yet there are tens of thousands of abortions every year. Why aren’t we talking about this? If we want to prevent abortions, which, I mean who wouldn’t want to reduce something like that), we’ve got to talk about it.
Here’s something I want you to think about: what if abortion was added to sex education? It seems like a pretty relevant and critical topic to talk about, or at least mention. At what age did abortion become so shameful? Middle school, high school – when we found out a girl at school had one. I never heard anyone say anything empathetic about the girl. Our brains are still growing at that age and maybe we’re not mature enough to have mature thoughts on the matter, but no one ever “took the girl’s side”. Not saying she was right, not saying she was wrong. Just not saying she’s a slut who did an unthinkable act. Because maybe she is a slut that did an unthinkable act but who are we to judge? Trust me, the turmoil going on inside of her would be pleasing to those who relish in others’ affairs and pain. Which high schoolers are capable of doing. High schoolers are capable of doing a lot. A lot of shaming. A lot of shaming girls who someone had labeled a slut. And that label never wears off. Even though boys are having sex, too, somehow the girl becomes the slut, the one in the wrong. The one who should both open her legs and shut her mouth for the sake of her reputation and in my case, the sake of my fucking life.
Thinking back on that time, I don’t know how I survived. Between high school and my mother, and my father and I’m sure many other trauma, barriers and challenges that will come to mind if I close my eyes, clear my head, and let myself go back to that time and place. But I don’t want to go there.
My path to healing includes going there. I’m not ready for the truth. I’m not stable enough, strong enough. But it must be dealt with. It’s intertwined in my very soul, pulling and strangling my weakest parts, consuming me piece by piece. It’s the negative voice in my head when I opened my eyes this morning. No, abortion did not pop in my brain, but abortion is seared in my soul, like I said, and it’s beating me down so when it comes time to get out of bed to shower, or brush my teeth, change clothes for the first time in a few days, or anything, I have no energy. Because that wound has not healed. I have not allowed it to breathe, and I haven’t explored it until the very moment I started typing this post.
I won’t lie. I thought being on a “healing journey” sounded a little hip, a little self-centered but humble at its core. But this shit is hard. This shit is stay in bed for three days hard. This shit is question your life hard. And here I am sharing it with you. I just hope my transparency helps in my healing, and maybe in someone else’s healing as well.