June 4, 2024

Part of the Fabric of Everything

At this time of year, in the celebration of the ten day span between my children’s birthdays, and with my own birthday on the horizon (which reminds me of turning 23 when I was pregnant by accident but didn’t know it yet, and then also of turning 43 on the day that Roe vs. Wade was overturned, ending 50 years of federally-mandated abortion access for American women), obviously I am thinking about my own reproductive choices, especially the abortion 22 years ago that I was lucky/naive enough at the time to even take for granted, to suppose that decisions about my body—to choose when I did or did not want to be pregnant—were mine to make—as opposed to some evangelical MP from Saskatchewan, an activist judge in Florida, Dr. Seuss-quoting members of provincial parliament who went straight from their home-schools to the legislature, or any other random dude on Twitter.

I don’t talk about my abortion as much as I used to, which was perpetually, which was because it seemed like the matter was urgent, and it was, but also I got tired of saying the same things over again, robbing my words and stories of their meanings, and I also realized that Performing My Politics was not actually a sustainable way to live my life. And so over the past while I’ve been seeking quieter, more human and ordinary ways to embody all the values that are important to me, to not be making noise for the sake of noisemaking, because there is so much noise, and I don’t think it’s helping.

And what I mean when I say “I don’t talk about my abortion as much I used to,” is that I don’t talk about it here, on the internet, that I’m not longer yelling about it on social media, that I’ve stopped standing on a soapbox because the view wasn’t great, and real human connection was limited, but abortion still just as much a part of my ordinary life as it’s always been, part of the fabric of everything. The marriage that would never have happened had things not transpired as they did, the children who would never have been born, the perspective I would not have been afforded (once upon a time, I was a person who said things like, “I’m pro-choice, but it’s never a choice I would make for myself”), the stories I would never get to live and tell.

I’ve realized that my children understanding how abortion was integral to the story of our family is far more important than any social media post I’ll ever write. That conversations with friends over coffee are what matters too, discussions that give others the courage to put words to their own stories and dare to stay them out loud with their own friends and loved ones, and that we don’t always need to be blasting our politics on loudspeakers and screaming on placards, and that powerful things can happen in a chat in the cereal aisle. That small things can add up, and life is a long game, and so I need to find a way to keep going, to not wear my story out, to not wear myself out.

If you’re curious about my story, however—it you see your own story reflected in it, and/or if you aren’t ready to tell it widely and require an intermediate step OR if you simply don’t understand at all how a person can be grateful for such a thing as an abortion every single day (I really am!), and are compassionate and curious—we should talk, like humans do. (Please reach out if you are interested!)