Through the Eyes of Grace

In some ways I've completely underestimated the effect the Christmas season can have on me.  Perhaps that's not totally true.  Perhaps, this year, this "far" along in my journey a more likely story is that the drama has quelled a bit that it's not so much that Christmas snuck up on me, but that there isn't that much to sneak up?  The tug of melancholy or grief isn't much of a surprise.  Maybe I'm starting to live my life in some integrated way, acknowledging Grace more regularly as part of my life now, a real part, that doesn't need drama and histrionics to come about. Healing the wounds of the abortion itself has seemed to allow Grace to be part of me, minus most of the pain.  Honestly, sometimes the histrionics still win out - albeit for shorter times and at longer intervals in between. 

Recently, a challenge was put to me for this Christmas - to think about what I'd like to give Grace for a Christmas present.  Seems manageable.  After the tumbleweed thinking of, "I could have given you life..." is stamped down, I can think of some other things that I'll hold in my heart for a while.  However, the bigger challenge was to think about and pray about and ask Grace what she might give me for Christmas this year.

Come on, really?  As I clench my fists, stamp my feet, and my bottom lip starts to stick out.

I began to contemplate the idea for a moment and then just as quickly began pushing it aside thinking that I won't have to deal with the idea until I actually sit down and clear my mind (yeah, right) and pray with big words, grand contemplation, and perfect meditation.

I should really know better by now. 

In the midst of a hum drum task of my vocation as wife and mother of which I'll spare you the details, Grace took the initiative to tell me what she wanted to give me this Christmas.  Turns out she has been paying close attention lately. 

"This Christmas, I want you to see yourself as I see you, as Daddy sees you, as all of the people who love you see you, and most of all - how He sees you." 

In internet lingo.... Oh. My. God.  Literally.

I stopped for a moment, almost out of breath, and tried to listen intently. 

"And I want you to be the person we all see and quit hiding behind who you think you are."

As I sat on the bed and the tears began to fall it was as if I felt her hand that was just on mine, softly depart and then I was left alone with her gift, maybe one of the most thoughtful and love-filled gifts I have ever received - that is if I accept it. 

In a few moments, the normal, familiar thought patterns returned perniciously.  Yeah right, see you as they see you - they all see you as just what you are... unworthy, ugly, frumpy, tired, old, stupid, wasted life, wasted career, wasted degree, fat, fat, fat, out of shape, bad mother, worse wife, age spots, wrinkles, used up whore, damaged goods, fooling everyone with your "good Catholic woman" act, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, and blah.  And that's on a normal day, not even a bad day.  And she wants me to turn that around?  She wants me to see myself as worthy of love not only from her, but from everyone? 

Therein lies the problem with what Grace desires to give me.  As Flannery O'Connor puts it, "All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful."

Amen, Ms. O'Connor. 

So now I am resisting grace and Grace, but what would happen if I accepted grace and Grace?  Let them both in and see myself through the eyes of both and each?  Grace wants to change me.  She wants me to change myself and I'm not sure I can deal with more pain, the pain I know is going to come, at least temporarily, with that kind of change.  I'm not 100% convinced of what's on the other side of that pain or change and I am fully aware that I'm never going to be 100% sure of it until it happens, until I make it happen.

It's so, almost impossibly, difficult for me to think about myself in ways other than what I'm so accustomed to at this point.  But, at the same time, my choice to view myself in the ways that I do allows me to continue to do all of the things that keep me trapped in this unhappy place where I won't even allow myself to be in a photograph with my kids because I'm afraid then there will be photographic proof and long standing evidence of how truly horrible I was.  Every once in a while, when I have a good day, and a good hair day, I allow myself to feel good for a short time.  I notice the sparkle in my eyes or I allow myself to feel good about something I did during the day, but it soon fades or becomes overshadowed by the negative.  I can stand in front of the mirror every day, putting in my contacts and applying my make up and never really see myself at all.  I never really look.

I asked someone how they get the motivation to stop the negative self talk and find a way to look in the mirror and say something positive, see something positive. Part of their answer was to "make it up if you have to." 

So, I started a made up list, that started to morph into a real list.  I'm not sure if this is how Grace see me, or how my husband sees me, or the people that love me see me, and I have no idea if this how He sees me, but it's a start.

I am intelligent.
I am funny.
I have a great sense of humor.
I think quickly on my feet.
I'm good at any job I take on.
I learn things quickly.
I am fiercely loyal.
I am protective of the people I love.
I am a pretty good writer.
I am a pretty good singer.
I am pretty good at a lot of things actually, jack of all trades.
I am a great cook.
I have pretty eyes.
I like my freckles.
I have a cute nose.
I have near perfect pitch.
My husband loves me no matter what.
My kids love me no matter what.
I'm a great friend.
I like all of the scars that I have. 
I love to learn.
I love to read.

Repeat as necessary. 

I'm already starting to feel guilty that I won't be able to unwrap this gift from Grace on Christmas morning.  I'm so, so afraid of the change I know will come with its acceptance and I'm even more afraid of what will happen if I don't.

The Progress of Pain

It always surprises me, although it really shouldn't, the depth of the pain that women still feel years after having had an abortion, even years after a Rachel's Vineyard retreat where so much healing takes place as the Mercy of God pours down in buckets.   

When I hear post abortive women express such pain, I always want to reach out and say it will be okay, this too shall pass, it will get better.  For some, this is very true. For others, myself included, the process takes longer, is more convoluted, and painstakingly slow.  Everyone's journey to healing is as individual as the person taking the steps. 

Sometimes and oftentimes, the healing journey can be very far from okay. I have come to believe that the answer exists in those not-okay times becoming recognizable, anticipated if possible, and then, with grace, manageable.  I think it's also important to have someone or somewhere to turn when those times show themselves.  I am still working on that part.  I am much more inclined to come here to write about it.  I still find it extremely difficult to just outright tell someone close to me that, hey, I'm not doing okay at the moment and I need a bit of help.  I suppose too that I don't reach out because the fear remains that I will disappointment those who care about me and who want to see me happy. 

In the wee hours of the night last night - one of those not-okay times washed over me like waves and I struggled to keep my mind above the proverbial water.  Something triggered some memories of my abortion and since it was late at night, with everyone asleep and I was alone in the dark with only my thoughts, the memory began to take over.  I was stuck on the memory of the sheer pain of my abortion.  I spoke in the story of my abortion how in 1987, there was no anesthesia offered for an abortion procedure at all.  Perhaps you could purchase some - but that was not an option for me.  I also wrote about how my abortion procedure was my first ever experience with any kind of gynecological exam or procedure of any kind. I had no idea what I was walking into.

The memory that I dwelt upon last night for hours, in and out of fitful sleep and nightmares, was the pain involved with a torture device known as a cervical clamp.  To make sure I wasn't crazy - I Googled, "cervical clamp pain," and sure enough thousands of hits appeared on the pain associated with this tool of the trade.  Surprisingly, most of the first hits were women recounting stories of having had IUD's placed or other intrauterine birth control devices and the pain they endured from the clamping of the cervix necessary to do so.  No anesthesia is given for that procedure either.

I decided to just allow my mind to go there and let whatever thoughts float in and out and I made a promise to myself that I would not respond or react, but just allow the memory to come and then, hopefully, go.

I'm not sure if the abortion procedure is akin to the attitude of health care workers towards an overdose victim whose stomach they now have to pump.  There have been lots of stories of how they make sure the stomach pumping process is not at all pleasant to make the patient never want to contemplate even trying to do that again.  Maybe the doctor who performed my abortion had the same mentality - make it hurt so as to discourage a repeat customer?

A cervical clamp is a wretched device.  Cold, metal, with teeth and it does exactly what its name implies - it clamps the cervix open - which means it stays in place for the entire procedure - and any woman will tell you that the pain is almost unbearable.  The memory of that pain is what kept washing over me last night - the intensity of it, the shock of it, the violence of it, and the shame of it.  I remember oh so vividly laying on that table, not knowing what to expect at all and then the sheer force of that clamp on a part of my body I didn't even know existed.  I remembered the tears spilling down the sides of my face and being told several times to be still and to "relax."  I remember beginning to shiver uncontrollably from the pain and thinking that it was never going to end. 

The memory of that pain can cause me to just about jump out of my skin even at the loving touch of my husband.  I hate the idea of that fact with every fiber of my being.  It's a confusing and complicated memory and one that I'm finding difficult to heal. 

I am several years overdue for my annual GYN exam - and I keep putting it off longer and longer - and these kind of memories are the reason.  I've had to have a cervical clamp several other times for other procedures and even though the bedside manner was completely different and the reasons completely different - that memory of that first pain remains and it's mentally and physically excruciating.  What's more is that I'm afraid to tell the person doing the procedure of my past and why I'm just about jumping off the table the minute any procedure starts - even something as simple as annual exam and pap smear where it's all over in a matter of minutes.   I'm not sure how they will react.  Will they understand my anxiety and proceed with care, or will they not care at all? 

I'm not sure why I chose to write about any of this today, maybe just to get it out there and out of me.  Maybe just to share the reality of what those who have had an abortion go through.  Perhaps just to let other post abortive women who may read this know that it's okay to not be okay sometimes. 

I'm not sure what time I actually drifted off to a restful sleep last night - but I remember one of the last thoughts I had before I did and that was that I am not the sum of my abortion and all of the pain that came with it - the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual pain. I was reminded this past weekend of the words of Blessed PJP II, "... we are the sum of the Father's love for us."  I pray that today and every day I remember more and more that these painful memories do not make me or break me.

7 Quick Takes

7 Quick Takes - Hosted at www.conversiondiary.com

--- 1 ---

I apologize that I have been horrible at blogging lately, I've been horrible at writing lately.  I feel as though I've been horrible at most things lately. Which, of course, isn't entirely true.  My children are fed and clothed.  Hubby is fed and clothed.  Dog is fed.  It's been a struggle lately coming to terms with the choices I've made in my life the last decade or so.  I work part time because I always felt that my number one priority is being a wife and mother.  I'm not so sure anymore.  I want it to be, but I can't help but feel run down with the day to day.  I have other interests and volunteer activities that keep me busy and engaged in adult conversation, but the problem is that then I often feel as if everything in my life is gets maybe 10% of my attention and nothing gets 100% or even close.  I find myself doubting ever making the decision to not work full time the past 12 years or so.  I think about where I could be in a career, how I should have gotten my master's degree, and how much money I could have made so my husband wouldn't feel all the financial pressure.  Would have, could have, should have. 

--- 2 ---

I have begun seeing a spiritual director and it's been a great process thus far.  I won't share most of what happens within that context because I'd like to keep that space a bit private, but I will share one of my "homework" assignments that I was given last month - that I completely failed to do.  Well maybe fail isn't the correct word - outright refused to try is a better description.  I think it's something that a lot of people struggle with, however, especially people with pain in their past or decisions they regret, or standards they feel they will never measure up to - so yeah, that's just about everybody.  My assignment was to look in the mirror each day and say to myself, "Self, I am loved and I am beautiful."  I wouldn't even attempt it.  Why? Because I don't feel loved and I feel even less beautiful.  I just kind of ignored the whole idea until my next meeting with my director and we talked about why I can't do this.  The discussion led to a lot of thoughts that I'm dealing with now as far as why don't I feel loved and beautiful? Do I even want to feel loved and beautiful?  Do I really want any of it?  Now, my new assignment is to, if I can, just look at my eyes in the mirror.  Just look myself in the eyes, ignore all the rest of me (thank goodness), and concentrate on my "windows to the soul" and try again.  I'm kind of scared.  Who am I kidding?  I'm terrified. 

--- 3 ---

I haven't been writing on my blog recently and have hardly taken pen to paper, but I do appreciate all of the comments and emails I have received from people who have said that my blog has helped them, or touched them in some way or that they too have had an abortion and appreciate my honesty and what I have to say.  It's always better when I don't feel alone in this.  I'll try to do better this month for those people who have asked me to please keep posting.  You are all in my prayers -  even the whack-a-do's whose comments I don't publish - you know who you are. 

--- 4 ---

I've been absolutely dumbfounded at the Catholic "blogosphere" the past few months.  Sometimes it's hard to even tell if we are all on the same team.  I'm astounded by the derision that exists and the meanness and harshness with which everyone defends their opinion about absolutely everything.  I get it, I am hell bent on some of my own opinions on some matters.  But, I don't get the extremeness of opinions in our Church.  And the same topics come up in my Twitter feed every day after day.  Aren't we supposed to all be part of the mystical body of Christ?  Christ must be suffering from severe body dsymorphia right now.  I don't know if I should love Pope Francis or hate him. I don't know if I should sneer at crying babies in church or offer a helping hand.  I don't know if I'm a heretic because I prefer face-to-face confession.  Should I demand that my Priests be pretentious and untouchable or the huggable, warm and fuzzy variety?  I wonder if I'm a bad Catholic because I don't homeschool my kids.  Should I feel superior now that I receive communion on the tongue (even if it took me months to work up to it and I still get so nervous about it?) Should I listen to Michael Voris or Mark Shea?  Ugh!  Can't we all just get along?  Maybe that's why I haven't been writing lately - I'm afraid I'm going to get attacked by my own kind in a place where I should feel the most safe and secure.  I feel bad because I fear I'm not strong enough to withstand any criticism.  I applaud those of you who are, but could you all get together and come up with 7 Quick Takes about the Church we can all agree on?  Thanks.

--- 5 ---

I recently finished a fantastic and extremely helpful book that someone recommend to me.  Dawn Eden's, My Peace I Give You, is an excellent read.  Ms. Eden offers ways to find help and healing with the lives of the Saints.  Although I did not suffer from childhood sexual abuse as  Ms. Eden did, everything that she speaks about in the book would be extremely helpful for anyone who has suffered from abuse or trauma in any way.  I found myself reading and re-reading paragraphs and chapters as I thought about some of the things that have happened in my life.  Having had an abortion is definitely a sort of abuse, and having one at the age of 17 would seem to make it even more so.  Ms. Eden gave me a lot to think about regarding forgiveness and also about living and reacting from a place of woundedness versus from a healthy place.  I'm not quite there yet.  Sometimes I doubt I ever will be, but Ms. Eden has offered me hope in some areas where I didn't have any before.  She's given me some new things to consider and a way to deal with some things that keep coming up all the time.

--- 6 ---

And now for something completely different... the other day in the car, my eldest asked me, "Mommy's what's a condom?"  Now, this is not the first time she's asked such a direct question and I'm glad that she feels she can ask me - but, holy cow, can we have these discussions while not driving the car?  Geez.  Anyway, I asked her where she heard the term... at recess, of course!  Her friends refused to tell her what it meant.  I explained it to her in the best way I could and she found it to be completely disgusting.  At present, she finds all of these discoveries essentially disgusting which is fine by me at the moment and for the next ten years.  I am grateful to have these discussions though, as my mom, to this day, has not uttered the word s-e-x in my presence more than twice that I can remember.  If I would have asked her what a condom was - I shudder to think what her response would have been.  So, a little pat on my back for one small success as a parent - my kid is, obviously, not afraid to talk to me about all things sexual.  Let's just pace ourselves, shall we?

--- 7 --- 

So, the theme this month on Facebook is to spend each day posting what you are thankful for. I didn't take on the challenge.  Not that I'm not thankful - I just hate doing what someone tells me I have to do.  But, I'll take this last quick take to concentrate on what I am grateful for even if I don't see those things that are right in front of my nose every day.  I'm thankful for my life and for waking up every day healthy and warm with a loving husband by my side and a devoted canine who is just so damn happy to see my eyes open each morning.  Never underestimate the power of a wagging tail.  This can not be taken lightly in my case because of the suicidal ideation that I often suffer from - waking up each day and realizing what a gift it is to be alive is huge for me.  I'm thankful for my children, all three of them, for when they drive me crazy and for when they don't.  I'm thankful for my home and all the things in it because, though I constantly complain about the things I don't have, the things I do have are ridiculously excessive.  I'm thankful for this journey and for where every step has led, the good, the bad, the ugly, and the sublime.  I'm thankful for my beautiful Church and the sacraments and for each time that I am privileged enough to partake in the Eucharist and feel Him enter my body and soul and heart so completely and so overwhelmingly that it brings me to tears just about every time.  I'm thankful for all of the people in my life who have helped me along the way and who have held my hand.  I must admit I'm afraid that once I'm "healthy" or "fixed" from all of this that you will all disappear because I won't need you anymore.  I'm thankful for eyes that can see - and hopefully I'll use my sight to look in the mirror soon and realize that I'm worthy of something... anything, and hopefully one day, love.

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Not even my mother?

I haven't written anything for quite a while, actually not since the anniversary of my abortion on August 22nd.  I just haven't felt like it and for me, I have to feel like it, otherwise whatever comes out seems forced or contrived.  Over the last week I've been jotting a few notes down here and there, starting to shove that writer's block out of the way little by little.  But, today, after this, I'm not even going to try to sound like a good writer.  This is about the heart and the pain and the woundedness and loss that comes with having had an abortion.

A few months ago I wrote about how to win the prolife fight.  I felt pretty good about what I wrote and a few outlets had even picked up my little opinion piece.  I started to feel again like maybe I am doing some good work here.

Then stuff like this happens.  Today, I scrolled down my Facebook feed and came across the video, "An Interview with an Unborn Child."  Okay, I'll watch it.  The first graphic was okay and not the blood and gore that so often accompanies these types of things.  I hit play.  I watched it all the way through one time and felt my neck start to flush and the lump in my throat begin to form.

I watched it a second time and started to talk back to the video.  I watched it a third time, angrier by the moment, trying to write down some notes, blinking back the tumbling tears that refused to stop falling. 

This video, my dear friends, can destroy a person.  It can destroy me.  And before you go on and on about how people need to hear the truth and blah blah blah... allow me to just give you my, albeit one sided, perspective.  This video presumes a hell of a lot of things - all of which are wrong in my case and I'm guessing for millions of other postabortive moms. 

First, watch and then I'll tell you why.

 

 

Let me tell you something, not a day has gone by since August 22, 1987 when I have not thought of my daughter.  Not. One. Day.  And that's not a cliche'.  That's truth. 

I have heard her screams over and over and over and over and over again in my mind and heart and soul for 26 years.  When I seem to forget the screams, I will force myself to remember them.  Her greatest pain is my greatest pain.  The assumption in this video is that not even the unborn baby's mother knows his pain.  Wrong.  Wrong even for the woman who celebrates her abortion as her right and claims relief when it's over.

I know who Grace is.

I know her.

I love her. 

Grace experiences my love every single day.

Death is the only kiss this "unborn baby" claims to have known or will know. 

I kiss Grace with every thought, with every prayer, with every tear, with every breath of mine.

Yes, she was torn from my womb and I never held her or saw her, but she remains with me because I am her mother.

Even before I spoke the word abortion out loud in the first step toward healing decades after my abortion, I knew her.  I loved her.  I have spent the last years learning that this love for my daughter is real.  I have learned how to love her and not have it destroy me.  I have learned that my love for her and her love for me surpasses our circumstances. 

This is the kind of prolife propaganda that assumes that every woman who walks into an abortion clinic is doing so of her own free will, with a premeditated plan, exercising her legal right to have an abortion.  This kind of prolife crap is what reopens the wounds of abortion for women who have tried to heal in every way possible and still remain weak no matter how tough they seem. 

I walked into an abortion clinic that August morning, at the age of 17, because my mother told me to and I had no choice.  I was a child carrying a child.

I get it.  I know what the prolife side is after with this kind of message.  I know I'm supposed to consider myself part of the "choir" and they aren't really talking to me when they put this stuff out and pass it around Facebook and everyone chimes in with their comments about how freakin awesome it is. Everything I've ranted about above, I know in my heart.

Even for the woman who walked into the abortion clinic and walked out relieved and claims to this day that it is the best thing she ever did - she knows somewhere in her heart that she is a  mother and she does love her child, but no where in this video or countless others is that mentioned.  There is no mercy here.  There is no forgiveness here.  There is no hope here.

For the tender conscience that has spent years piecing together hope and faithfully grasping for just an inkling of mercy or an ocean of it, this video is capable of making it all evaporate with some clever wording and haunting background music. 

Why?  Because you never fully heal from abortion, not this side of heaven, and this kind of video can be like a stake through the heart.  I just keep saying it over and over in my mind.  I know her.  I love her.  I know her.  I love her.  I know her.  I love her.

And what keeps me alive is the fact that I know that she knows me and she loves me.



Of Scars & Thoughts

On this anniversary-eve of my abortion, I'm trying to redirect my most negative thoughts.  I'm trying to think of the way my life has changed over the last few years, since I've begun talking about my abortion, since seeking help and healing and mercy, since acknowledging my Grace Anne in a real way.  There are many things I am grateful for since taking the first step on this journey, but I don't often reflect on the positive things.  Maybe the medication is starting to work a bit, as I've found myself today ticking off a list in my head of very positive things.

I've mentioned before that I'm grateful for the invisible scars that remain from my abortion experience, even though I don't always tap into that gratitude.  About a year ago I had surgery for some skin cancer and ironically I have a not too pretty scar right above my heart.  Because of the irregular shape and size of the incision, the scar is quite ragged, but I've taken a liking to it.  It's become a tangible reminder to me of the stitched up scars on my heart beneath.  I have scars from two Cesarean sections from having my two girls, I've come to think of this one above my heart as Grace's scar since I never gave birth to her.  Scars can be a reminder that our past is real, or so they say, and I'm grateful that Grace has become real to me and I wouldn't change anything that's happened in the last few years. This ugly scar that is in plain sight for all to see has become a reminder that my wounds don't change how anyone feels about me.  The wound heals, the pain subsides, but it still itches sometimes.  It will here forever, it's just part of me, but it's not all that I am.
After I first spoke the word abortion out loud to the Good Father who then wrote down the number for Rachel's Vineyard and gave it to me, my life was forever changed.  I began this journey that continues today and will forever, which is okay because I've learned that the journey won't end this side of Heaven.  I've also learned a lot that makes the journey bearable down here.

My faith has blossomed on this journey in countless ways on this post-abortion walk.  I've rediscovered my Church in so many, ridiculously beautiful ways.  I've learned more in the last three years than I ever did in years and years of CCD classes. I've read and read and read some more, anything I could get my hands on.  I've read the Bible - not cover to cover, but I'm not afraid to open it anymore and I actually understand some of it.  I try to read the daily readings every day.  I've learned to really pray the rosary.  I've learned to pray, period.  I don't think I'm very good at it, but rumor has it, Jesus doesn't care.  I've learned how to love God with all my heart, all my soul, and all my mind - and how that doesn't mean I love my husband or children any less.  I've learned to love most of my neighbors and have compassion for people I hadn't before.  I've learned so much about our beautiful Mass and what it all means and symbolizes.  The Eucharist has become so very much a part of my life and those few seconds after each communion are some of the most joyous moments in my life - just to be with Him and in Him and Him in me.  I've studied and learned the truths of our faith and I'm all in with every single one of them.  What a relief to know what is true and what is not.  I've learned what thoughts I have and "voices" I hear are of God and which aren't.  I've learned to stop the thoughts that aren't of God and I'm getting better and better at it.  I've learned that the fear after a sweat-inducing nightmare can be quelled with a quiet Hail Mary said over and over until I fall back asleep.  I've learned that memories are just that, memories and the only power they have over me is the power I give them.  I've learned that I am never, ever, alone.  I've learned that Jesus really does love me and He really does listen to me and He really cares about what I have to say.  I've learned that I was created in His image out of His love for me.  I've learned that I can speak to Mary about all of my fears about being a good wife and mother and she hears me and comes to my assistance.  I've learned that most people who I tell that I've had an abortion react with love and kindness and understanding.

This is just a bit of what I've learned and discovered on my journey so far.  I kind of can't wait to see what else I learn and discover, and I'm fully aware that I can't learn or grow if I'm too depressed to even get out of bed.  So, I continue to be a work in progress, but for now I seem to be progressing in a positive direction - even now - on this night.

So, tomorrow I will mark the anniversary of my abortion by spending my day as God willed my life to be, as a wife and mother, as a daughter, sister, and friend.   Then, hopefully tomorrow evening I'll be able to go to adoration and sit with Him for a while.

Thank you, Grace, for leading me to all of these places along the way and meeting me there.  Thank you Jesus for the scars I bear from wounds that haven't killed me, but have made me stronger and brought me closer and closer to You.