How to Deal with Hatred?

Four coffees for four people

I've come to expect "baby killer." I still haven't gotten used to the whole, "You should have killed yourself" or "You should be sterilized" or "You should have your tongue ripped out." But these attacks are typically on twitter, where people can see my avatar, and not actually me. It's safe to attack people in other states.

This morning, I organized some friends, rounded them up around 8am, and headed south to Portland. From there, we took a small coffee break, a small potty break, and found Planned Parenthood. There were already a few protesters lining the street. The rain was coming down in sheets.

I wasn't there for an abortion this time, but the sight of them crawled into my veins like shards of glass mixed with fire ants. Children, younger than their teen years, were holding signs of what they dubbed "Aborted Fetuses."

I was in the state of Maine. Rain was pouring down my face. Yet, for a split second, I was in Virginia on a sunny day, shaking as a friend wrapped her arm around me and whispered, "Don't listen to them, honey. Don't listen."

The caffeine kicked into my system, and I started shaking. My friends and I pulled out our signs:

"We Support You" "Honk for Choice" and "Planned Parenthood Saved My Life"

Immediately the tension in the air rose like a vibration from an amp that had just been turned on. It was almost tangible. I wasn't sure if we were going to get hurt, assaulted, or just verbally attacked. Cars began to honk for the honk for choice sign. People walked by and high fived us. And then the gentleman to the left of this picture began to call us "Willfully ignorant" even after I explained, "Sorry, actually. I know exactly what happens. I had an abortion, but thanks."

From there, he continued to insult us. Women walked passed us with the greeters while protesters accosted them. A representative from Planned Parenthood stepped out and said that it's hard for women entering the clinic to differentiate signs of support from signs of hate and malice. We decided to move across the street, where more people high fived us and honked.

And the protesters began to yell across the street, "Why did you move? Are you scared of us?!"

"We're not scared," I hollered back. "We just don't want to look like YOU."

She yelled for a few more minutes before finally giving up. Our signs began to run (turns out when Crayola says "Washable paint" they ain't kiddin). When Honk for Choice was no longer visible, and Your Body, Your Choice leaked onto the street, we called it a day.

I've spent all day going over this in my mind. My friends and I weren't there to spread hate, rather an environment of acceptance, and support for women who may be there on the worst day of their lives. It's hard for me to separate the hatred and anger I feel from my abortion experience and protesters, to what's currently happening.

I accept people have freedom of speech. I accept that they may be awful people. But it's one thing to verbally attack someone online. It's an entirely different thing to attack someone as she's walking, with her head down, through doors you may never enter.

So my question is, how do you deal with that kind of hatred?

I is for Identity Crisis

Baxter is the one who kind of put my memoir in motion. More-so, he was the one who told me something was wrong.

Let me back this up a bit. I'm sure you've gathered that he sleeps on my bed every night. And if any of you are familiar with dogs, or wolves, you know that they know female's cycles. It turns out, Baxter was no different.

My period had been late. And I mean, really, really late. I was laying on my back, when Baxter rested his head against my stomach. My heart dropped. He'd never done that before. Suddenly, I stopped waiting. I stopped thinking I was late. He was telling me was I was terrified to know.

In less than a week, I sought an abortion. I laid on the couch crying for weeks until we became homeless, until I got fired from my job, until my entire world fell apart. But he still needed to eat. He still needed to go outside. He forced me into motion when I wanted to give up.

We moved to Maine shortly after.

When we arrived, I was still fresh off a knee surgery, the abortion, uprooting our

One of the first pictures I took
of Baxter in Maine

entire lives. I couldn't breathe. I could barely stand. I felt disgusted with myself, and though through years of depression I'd said I hated myself, I truly, truly, did. Each day that passed, it took every fiber of my being not to hurt myself.

At nights, Baxter would still lay on my bed, but since the days of my pregnancy, he hasn't laid with his head on my stomach.

So, maybe I didn't want to be this person anymore. Maybe I was sick of being miserable, of putting myself in stupid situations, of trusting guys who would leave me when I was pregnant and not call to see if I was okay. Maybe...it was time for me to grow up.

When I'd arrived at the clinic, I wrote my name on a small piece of paper. That was the name they'd called me back by. Every time someone called me by that name, I heard the nurse. How could I escape from that?

And so I did what any insane girl would do. I started giving everyone another name, my middle name. People bought it, no questions asked.

I began to rebuild myself, from the inside out. Each day, I would say, "You're okay, you're okay, you can do this." I tried to be positive. And this month marks the one-year anniversary of my last round of cutting.

Baxter saved my life. He forced me into motion when I wanted to stand still and play dead. No matter what I tell people my name is, he's been there through all of it. He knows me, he accepts me, and he loves me. I've had an identity crisis. Some days, I'm still wondering who I am. But now, thankfully, most days, I feel like I'm on the right path.

A Call For Submissions

 I've been blowing this blog up a lot with the whole abortion debate, and politics, and other fun things. In order to focus The Submission Process more-so on writing (and ranting about the real world), and less on politics/changing the world, I'm starting a new blog, AbortionChat, and right now, I'm calling for submissions.

Really, really excited

The idea behind this is I want to hear from everyone. ProLife, ProChoice, Pro--whatever. Male, female, puppy, etc. I had a meeting with some folks from Planned Parenthood, and basically, we want to spread some grey area. Abortion is no longer a black and white area. There are people out there who say, "I'm against it...unless in case of incest." So, I want to know why you believe the things you do, why are you for/against abortion? Did someone close to you have one? Are you involved in the church? Were you raped? Do you have a little girl who you want to be allowed to make her own decisions with her body?

With that said, I'm hoping to launch this here new blog sometime in March. I'd love if you'd stop by. Even if you don't want to tell your story, maybe you can connect with someone else's.

Have an awesome weekend. It seems like Baxter will...

#AbortionChat

We are women, hear us roar

Last week I had a meeting with a representative from my local Planned Parenthood on how I could get involved. He told me why he wanted to work with the non-profit organization, and why it's important that health centers offer a wide variety of sexual health services. I told him my story.

From there we discussed what we dubbed, "Grey area."

The truth about abortion/carrying a fetus to term/opting for adoption is that the questions are no longer black and white. It's no longer a simple line of, "Are you pregnant?" but more so "Why are you pregnant?"

There are factors that determine pregnancy or abortion rates:

*Marriage
*Rape
*Contraception
*Failure of contraception
*Incest
*Eating disorders
*Mental health
*Genetics
*Your own parents

This is just a small list but dissect the words. There can be happy healthy marriages, and there can be domestic abuse marriages. Rape no matter how you put it, is awful. The bottom line is that there are women walking into clinics around the nation seeking a medical procedure. Many are judged. Many, like me, are screamed at by protesters holding signs on the sidewalks. The truth is, I don't know that woman, so who am I to pass judgement on her circumstance? Is she going there to end her pregnancy? Yes. But the real question here may be, why?

This Tuesday, February 12, 2013 at 9pm (EST), I will be hosting an #AbortionChat on twitter. If you have questions about the procedure, if you want more information, or if you want to gain knowledge from the safety of your own computer, please join us, we'd love to have you there. All we ask is that you keep an open mind.

The Truth About Sex

Some really cool things were said

Last Wednesday, I dragged the boy to the state capital and we attended Moving Choice Forward for Maine; a small gathering of ProChoice advocates sharing why they're passionate about women's rights. There was free coffee, free cake, and free condoms.

There, I met a representative from Planned Parenthood, and we chatted a bit. (I had called him a few days before to see if all the speaking slots had been filled, he said that I may be able to speak at a future engagement.) Standing in the crowd, I listened to women share stories. I heard about Margaret Sanger living in a time when women shoved knitting needles inside them to terminate unwanted pregnancies. I remembered considering the same thing during my pregnancy. And as I listened to these women and men talk, the more amped up I got thinking about being able to share my story with others.

Stoked off of this new development and how awesome it would be for my memoir and platform, I was bubbling when I went to work. During a co-worker's lunch break (and because she knows about my experience in abortion), I told her the news.

"What will you talk about?" she asked. "Abstinence?"

I reeled back, thinking of my teenage years pushing the boy I loved off me because I was waiting for marriage. "No...that doesn't exactly....work."

For the remainder of the day, I started more fully considering what I'd say if given the chance. Would I talk about my own abortion and how it saved my life? Would I talk about being Pro-Life until fully faced with the decision myself?

My favorite of these is "Trust Women"

And then I told the boy about having an abortion, and braced myself for him to bail out, to yell at me, to tell me I'm damaged, or worthless.

But he didn't. He barely flinched. I asked what would happen if I did the speaking gig, and he said, "I'd be there to support you."

It made me think. I was brought up in the church to believe that Harry Potter was demonic, and gays go to hell, and sex before marriage makes you something of damaged goods. Therefore, an abortion makes you something less human.

But it's not true.

I deserve this life. I deserve a nice boyfriend (who when I'm pissed off at the coffee shop surprises me with hot chocolate). I deserve to think of myself as a woman who had a medical procedure because I made the decision that I do not want children. It doesn't make me damaged goods or less human.

It makes me human.

The truth about sex then, is that it happens. It can be fun. It can be romantic, or kinky, or awkward, or anything you want it to be. The only bad sex is the sex that isn't consensual. It's okay to be in a relationship and do the deed. It's okay to have a one night stand if that's what you're in to. It's also okay to remain abstinent for religious or personal reasons. Be human, make choices, but make sure you know why you're making these decisions.