The Heartbreak of Abortion

    You didn't want a child, certainly not right now.  But you did want pleasure, you did want connection, you did want personal power, choice, sexuality, you did want love.

    Your weak, feminine body has betrayed you. Not just the regular betrayal of monthly bleeding, shame, and pain. Not just the betrayal of the weakness that will never allow you to be as strong, fast, or aggressively respected as the men your world was made for. But now, a terrifying miracle is beginning within you.  You didn't want it.  You don't want to want it now.  It will overturn your life.  It will take away your choices.  It will leave you weaker, slower, poorer.

    You don't want to want it, but a part of you does.  Just as your body begins to nurture this fragile possibility of life, your thoughts and feelings begin to nurture the fragile possibility of motherhhood.  Your hormones shift, bonding you to the idea.  Your body begins to change, so subtly, yet so clearly demanding your attention.  In the recesses of your being, you remember your own gestation, the safety and nourishment of your mother's womb.  The miracle of coming into being, the comfort of mother.  The encodings of your genetics begin to remind you that you were created for this act of creation, just as you were created to love and be loved.

    Could you give up everything for this? Something wonders deep within you.  Could you be the mother you always needed?  

    It's hard enough to be a person on your own in this world.  Harder still to be a woman on your own in this world.  Not much extra to go around.  Extra time, extra money, exra space, extra support, extra joy, attention, availability, love.

    Maybe if you had just a little extra, it could work.  Someone to support you as your foremothers were supported in their creation of life.  Someone to fill your cup, so there was just enough to spill over to a new being.

    But there's no support here for you.  There's stress and shame and weakness.  Love that can't be counted on.  A dismal existence no precious new life deserves.

    No, it can't be done.  You choose termination. You kill the life forming from your own life.  You kill the possibility of motherhood.  You kill your hopes of the adventure you might have experienced.  A surprising grief washes over you for the mother you might have been, the child you might have had, the life you might have lived if you were supported, if womanhood was not weakness, if love was not rare, if the world was not cruel.

    Your body cramps and bleeds.  You're tired and weak and nauseated. Your heart aches.  You don't allow yourself to weep. You hide your pain and bury it deep inside.  You push that foolish weak woman aside. You know you, the killer, have no right to your grief.

    No right to grieve the life gone from you.  No right to grieve the future that might have been, your budding motherhood, the fulfilment of your dna's purpose.

    You're now immoral, hated of God, a murderess, an irresponsible fool.  You hide the truth.  You say you're fine. You work through your gushing injury, or call in for a day. You go back to your lonely life. You hide your loss for a lifetime.

On Living in the Present (and Reclaiming the Moments of Your Life)

 Live in the present - such a simple concept - such a perfect example of how "simple" doesn't equate to "easy."  Here's how it goes.

    Why to live in the present: The present is the time that's real.  The present is where we are.  The present is the point of being, the place where life exists.  The present is the exhilaration of the roller coaster, the moment of orgasm, the crackle of the warm fire, the touch of your lover, the blossoming of a flower, your child's the first giggle. The present is where the adventure of life unfolds.  The present is where joy is experienced.  At the end of our lives, if lives truly flash before our eyes, we'll see that what we call our life is just a series of present moments.

    How to live in the present: be there.  Feel the sweet cool breeze and the hot, sticky sweat.  Bask in your daydream if it gives you pleasure - the present doesn't always have to be physical.  Shed tears of grief when they arise, shed tears of joy and laughter, too. Breathe in the moments, good or bad. Live the adventure.

    You may look back on your past and realize there were presents you wish you'd claimed, but because the joy was mixed with pain, you decided to leave them out of your precious bundle of moments, out of your life story. You suddenly pine for the sweet memories of Grandma's fresh bread, even though you've run away from the pain of rushing her to the hospital and her subsequent death for years.

    Un-presenced parts of our lives lay in wait as memories.  

    Memories have many purposes.  Some are blueprints and instruction manuals, and some are precious jewels set aside to be savored and cherished forever. But many - so many - are actually bits of the present never attended to, lying in wait, clamoring for their turn to take their rightful place as one of the moments of your life.  

So then, when you go to be present, the purity of your present moments is hijacked by the past.  You want to feel the sweetness of the cool breeze, but instead you remember that time in the cool breeze you hid outside listening to your parents fight.  Or maybe you find yourself watching your life from the outside - safely dissociated into the ethers. Maybe your mind doesn't even remember in language, but something in you does remember.  So instead of pleasure you feel inexplicably sad, scared, vulnerable, or just emotional.

    It's okay.  Your present might be being present with the past for a moment, or longer.  You're reclaiming the moments of your life.  Under the painful memories, you'll unearth beautiful ones you thought you lost.  You'll reclaim your present and your life.

On the Bother of Emotions

    It's so easy to say "if it wasn't for emotions getting in the way..." something about life would be better.  I hear this so often.  Relationships would be easier.  People would agree with my personal political views.  People would make good decisions, be kind, et cetera.  Or maybe if it wasn't for emotions, life would just be better.  No suffering, no pain, no heartbreak, no grief.  Darn emotions.

    Well, if it wasn't for emotions, where would be all the beauty of life?  The things that make it feel good, beautiful, worth living?  What would be the purpose of a relationship?  Why would we care about politics?  Why would we care about being kind?  Our minds offer us so much, but they're not the receivers of joy, pleasure, contentment, or love.

    If anything, our minds like to talk us out of those good feelings.  "This can't be love," says the mind, "it doesn't fit the description I was given."  Same with joy, fulfilment, satisfaction, humor.  What the brain does beautifully:  senses what felt good and figures out how to continue or repeat it.  Senses what felt bad and figures out how to avoid or eliminate it.  Weighs and names ambivalence to figure out which categories it goes into and how to prioritize it.  The best business partner the brilliant emotional being could ever have found.  But on its own... floundering for purpose and meaning.

    So I say, if emotions provide me with sadness, frustration, despair, desolation... they also provide me with all the good stuff of life.  So - if I'm gonna do this Life thing, I'll take them, arms open.