Our Bodies Are Our Own

Grandma, Me and Mommy 1962

PLEASE NOTE: this story is difficult to tell and includes details that may upset some. I have decided to share it because I believe the time is right. I know many will disagree with my personal feelings on the end result, but I hope you will respect my Mom’s truth. I have carried this story in my mind most of my life. When I think of it, I see everything as if it was recent. Some stories should be kept personal and private, but this story needs to be told NOW.

I was around 3 to 5 years old and my Mom and I were living with my Grandparents. I still remember everything as if it was yesterday. My Grandma and Granddaddy were on a vacation. It was just my Mom and I at home. I remember wondering where my Mommy was and looking around for her. I knocked on the bathroom door and Mommy told me to go to my room. Since no one was home I was feeling very lonely but I did what my Mommy told me too.

I don’t recall the exact amount of time, but after what felt like years to my little girl self, my Mommy called out for me. She asked me to call her good friend Shirley. I was little, I didn’t really know how to call anybody and I didn’t have any idea what a phone number was. I remember a feeling of worry and being afraid. Since I could not figure anything out, my Mom had to come out of the bathroom and get the phone number for me. I had to call “Miss Shirley” and ask her to come right away. I honestly remember feeling so stressed. I had never dialed a phone, let alone called Miss Shirley and Mommy seemed very upset. Children tend to react the way the adults react and I remember that the stress and worry was causing me great distress. Once I finally dialed the phone and Miss Shirley answered I kept repeating what my Mom had said. Basically it was “please come, I need your help”. Miss Shirley did come and eventually things calmed down. But my little girl heart was changed that day. The innocence that I had when I woke up that morning was diminished.

I remember my Grandparents coming home from their trip and Grandma being angry about a giant blood stain on her living room carpet. I also remember my Grandma literally beating my Mom. This wasn’t the first time I had witnessed Grandma beating my Mom but this time and one other time (and a different story) were horrifying. My Mom tried very hard to clean the spot but eventually my Grandma had to get new carpet.

At some point in my life I remember Mom telling me that she had aborted a baby that day. She shared that she had used a hanger to rid her body of the fetus that was from her boyfriend an (abusive animal) “Joe V”. She had used a HANGER inside her body because she had no options. I would share more about the abusive loser my Mom was with at the time, but this is really about having a Choice.

I have to be honest and tell you that I believe everyone should CHOOSE what happens to their own body. I don’t agree with anyone  (man or woman) deciding for another what they should do or not do with their body. I say this because I watched my own mother suffer for years because of what she did to her body that day. If she had been able to choose, I don’t think this would have been her first choice. I understand that you might not agree with a choice someone else has made or is making. I go through this everyday when I’m out and about and see some of the things people CHOOSE to wear, but it is NONE of my business. I realize that clothing choices are a much less weighty subject then the right for a Woman to decide for herself what she will do with her own body and somehow I feel if this arrow was pointing at a man, they would change their minds real fast.

So thats it, thats my piece of mind for today. If you disagree, I hope we can still be friends and respect each other. I still like you.

(Respectful dialogue is welcome and encouraged in comments)

Life Is what happens while your too down to care

So a little over two years ago I I hit an invisible wall. I pushed away (perhaps ran away) from the person I have always been. I was a person who engaged with others and invited people over, made new friends, volunteered, cleaned my house, grocery shopped, made  meals and even exercised. Oh and I wrote a blog. I tried as hard as I could to stay who I was but it only made things worse. I felt bad, sad, mad all the “ad” words and nothing was fixing it.

I dug an internal shelter in my mind and started burying everything I was. I felt bombarded with self loathing, self doubting, and disliked most things I once enjoyed. I was convinced that it was everything, but what IT was. I went to the doctor and didn’t like what they said, so I went to a different doctor who put me on medication and then I became even more of a different person but I convinced myself I was doing much better. It’s medication, it is suppose to fix you, Right?

Over the last couple months, I have stopped all the meds and ramped up my exercise routine. I have started doing things I haven’t done in so long I’m embarrassed. I cleaned my front kitchen window for the first time in two years. Now I find myself openly joyous at how clean my front window is. “Look, everything outside is so sunny and green!” I’m seriously a little nuts about it, but I don’t care. I feel more like myself than I have in years. I will say some of my past issues have returned. I talk to much, my brain goes nonstop and I make friends with strangers. The making friends with strangers is basically locating someone who at the moment who is in a similar situation or contemplating a similar purchase or just some poor soul that crossed my path and can’t escape.

I know what started the downward spiral, but its not important. What’s important is that when it started I couldn’t fight it. I would just lean in to the feelings of bad, sad, and mad and thats where I lived. It became my place to be. Being depressed is not a funny thing. It’s this cold, dark and moldy place that basically claims you as its own. I couldn’t really talk to my friends or family about it because I just could not coup with people sweetly telling me I was going to be ok. I did NOT want pity and I did not want to be treated differently. That last bit is tough, because I was different and a bit weirdly uncomfortable and snarky. There is no way to bring it up that “I” realize I was a HOT MESS. I just plan to move forward with me, who I am, who I like and who knows ME best.

 I’m back at this blogging thing and I assure you that you will hear from me at least once  a week. The best part is I am GLAD (which is another “ad” word) and that has been missing from my life for too long. Being better doesn’t mean I don’t still have things to work on. I’m still a bit feisty, which may not be a bad thing. I have never been great at sticking up for myself (except with my husband LOL).

Basically my living game is back up and running. It’s been a long road but I don’t regret walking it. It was like walking on a road where the trees block most of the light. Your ok, it is pretty, but it still doesn’t feel ok.  All you really want is more light. That’s where I’m at now. Stretching, doing a little upward dog, downward dog and soaking up spring like a sponge. AHHHH, so good to be a little bit more me again.

(Please don’t be shy to comment, hearing from you will motivate me to annoy you with my writing even more.)