Sewing the Seams of Healing

Way back in April of this year I wrote about my teddy bear with the seam rip in the neck. He's been fixed! Probably about a couple weeks ago. I hand stitched the seams together. It was rather bittersweet while I was sewing. There was a feeling of happiness that he would be all fixed up and better. Yet, I couldn't help but feel a bit of sadness. I couldn't pinpoint the cause or why.

Teddy bear all fixed and better!

Perhaps my bittersweet feelings are due to my own broken seams. My broken and busted seams. Yes, after 20 years I have finally pinpointed the hurt and despair caused by the abortions. And really, knowing the cause is not only the first step in healing, but it is also three quarters or more of the healing. Once the cause of deep seated old hurt is located, the healing can be begin.

Not saying it is sunshine, lollipops, rainbows, roses, and pink unicorns flying out my butt. In fact more like a Generation X kid scraping their knee and grandpa putting Mercurochrome on it. All the while telling you "it won't hurt. I used this as a kid, fought in World War II and I'm still alive. You'll survive." Yeah, no. It stings. It stings like hell.
Back to the healing. That first moment of realizing what has been "wrong with you" for all those years is a definite sting. You could be in the middle of the most mundane household chore or running errands and bam! out of nowhere the memory hits. Smacks you up like you have been smacked in the face by an anvil. Or at least that's how it happened for me.

As you can see from the photo above of the teddy bear (still no name for him). He still has a few places that need some more repairs. Those are his scars. Those scars give him character. They show the many years of love. I too have scars. Perhaps my scars give me character too. But those scars sure as hell ain't from love. Lust, maybe, but most definitely not love.

I have more thoughts on my healing process, but I can't really bring them to focus and arrange in a cohesive manner. Plus it might run off to be a bit off topic from this post. I will add a part two or three or four or more to this. Let the healing begin!

Run, Run Away!

So I was in bed, reading. More than halfway through the book "The Case for Life" by Scott Klusendorf on my Kindle. While the book is about how to speak the pro-life message, and not really personal stories or healing, an unrelated thought popped in my head. That happens to me quite often. I felt the need to stop reading and share said thought.

See, I still have trouble connecting twenty year old me to fortysomething year old me. It is hard to explain, but the best I can do is to describe it in that memories related to the pregnancy(ies) don't quite feel like memories; as in I remember them as through myself. Almost as if I know this deep dark secret about someone I once knew. But that someone I knew was not me. I hope that makes sense.

Anyways, I had this overwhelming thought that if I could go back in time to meet "this pregnant young woman" I knew twenty years ago, and after hearing of the "family intervention" I would shake her at the shoulders. I would tell her to run away from her family. I would tell her to cut off all contact with them. Maybe even tell her to cut contact with "Matt." I would tell her to be like Lot's wife and not look back...

Look her in the eye. Tell her, "Look at me, really look at me. I am you. You, who you will be in more than twenty years. When your family made known their desire to abort your child; you are wondering if this was your only chance to have a child. You are wondering what your life would be like if you give birth or if you abort. You are trying to picture yourself in the future. I have sad news for you. You will get pregnant again. Next time, it will be your "choice." There is more, much more I can tell you. Things that won't be pretty. Your life won't go too smoothly. You won't ever have children. Your not going to meet any men worthy of marrying. I don't know what will happen should you decide to take my advice and keep your child. There are no guarantees. But I truly believe your life will be more fulfilling should you keep your baby, or at least put her up for adoption. I can tell you for certain you will spend the rest of your life hurting should you carry on with an abortion."

She's Missing

On my bedroom dresser is a photo of four generations of "girls" in my family, me, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother.  It was a studiophotograph taken in the late 1970's. I believe I was about three years old then.

Taking a day to just chilax today, was stretching out on the bed cat style. Meaning instead of lying in the specific spot for my head on the pillow and my feet placed at the foot of the bed, just lying down in any position I felt comfy. Looked over to the dresser. Saw the photo.

There should have been such a photo that would have included Ana and Hanna, along with myself, mother and grandmother. But there is no such photo. Because they were not allowed to be born. And ironically, that is because of a decision made by myself, my mother, and grandmother.

There never would have been a five generation photo that would have included my great grandmother, even should my daughters had been born. My great grandmother passed on the summer after my first abortion. She didn't know I was ever pregnant.
I do wonder how she would have reacted to news of my pregnancy had I told her. I am sure she would have been saddened by the fact that I was pregnant before marriage. But would she have been disappointed in me? That I am unsure of. Would she have supported me in a decision to keep my child, or put her up for adoption?  I suppose these are things I will never know.

I was Once Pro-Choice...

The following will be rather disjointed and slightly out of order...

Pro-Choice. What does that even mean? I suppose it could mean anything to any people. So many labels. Pro-Choice. Pro-Life. Pro-Abortion. Anti-Life. Anti-Abortion. Some of these labels are self identified, by individuals and organizations. Some of these labels are thrown onto "the enemy," by individuals, organizations, media and pundits. So much of "don't call me this, call me that," "that label sounds cruel and heartless," "this label sounds more kinder."

That being said; let's focus mainly on the Pro-Choice label. Seems to have gone through many definitions since my abortion in 1995. Mainly, I have thought of it as someone who doesn't "personally support abortion, but supports other women's 'right' to abort." Of course there are others, from both "sides," who could explain the definition better.

I had always considered myself Pro-Life; since high school, at the time of my pregnancy with Anastasia, and even after the abortion. Ironic, huh? Yeah, I was Pro-Life, yet I couldn't even keep my own child, my flesh and blood, alive.

I recall sometime after the second abortion watching some sort of docudrama about Margaret Sanger, founder of Planned Parenthood, on Lifetime Television. You know, the network for women, about women, by women; or something like that. Actress Dana Delaney played the so-called "heroine." Off topic, but they did quite a good casting. They do resemble each other quite well.
Back to the subject at hand. While watching the movie the "big bad lawmakers," media, society, and law enforcement was being meany-weany to her. She was talking to doctors and "medical experts." Doing "research." Making housecalls to women who were doing the supposed coat hanger abortions on themselves at home. Oh I was sitting in front of the TV just rooting her on.

That's not even the worst. I was going through a cruel period in my life. I recall watching Maury or Sally Jesse, this was the big age of talk shows in the mid 90's. The show was girlfriends and ex-girlfriends revealing big major secrets. Believe it or not, I had the cruel fantasy of someday I would go on the show and reveal both abortions to "Matt." LORD forgive me!

Then, at some point I went through a black out period in regards to the abortions. Totally forgetting about them. Didn't think about them at all. Yet still, I considered myself Pro-Life.

Fast forward a decade or so. I started getting involved politically. I identified as a Republican. Got involved with political meetings. Did some volunteering for a few campaigns. Went to conventions and such.
Did quite a bit of conservative blogging. No, I will not reveal the old blog. It has been taken down, no more to be written there. One of the Republican and conservative issues is the Pro-Life cause, more or less. Again, remember, I was thinking myself Pro-Life. Yet in a few of my posts I was lamenting "why is everyone so obsessed with abortion."
It is rather hard to explain, but I had forgotten my abortions yet simultaneously remembering I had had abortions. My attitude toward those talking about Pro-Life was "stop obsessing," "yeah, abortion is bad," "but it's going to happen anyways," "it's been going on since just about the beginning of time," "focus on the economy."
I still believe there is a correlation between economy and abortion. But both need to be focused on. Believe it or not, I still considered myself Pro-Life. I don't even know if I supported making abortion illegal at the time.

In conclusion, many of those on the Pro-Life end of things say that if one does not believe in making abortion illegal and is whole heartedly against abortion for all then really you are Pro-Choice or Pro-Abortion. Basically, I have come to believe that yes I was once Pro-Choice.
I am now wholly and fully Pro-Life. I would like to talk more about how I came about that view. But I need to fill in a few gaps. It would have to include the beginning of my breakdown. That was not a one time thing. It was a slow process leading up. I am not sure I am ready for that. Perhaps I am. But it would take some sit down time to think and pray for the right words.

Hey You!

When you kill a child you also kill her mother, and sometimes father. If not physically, in the soul. And by "you" I am not just talking about the actual abortionist, but yeah, him too. Nor just his "assistants," but yeah, them too.

YOU are society. YOU are the politicians. YOU are the psychologists and sociologists. YOU are the "oh so enlightened" "inclusive" church that embraces "feminism."

Closer to home; YOU are the parents of the pregnant woman. YOU are her other family members. YOU are her husband, boyfriend, lover, or whatever. YOU are her teachers or advisers YOU are her boss or coworkers. YOU are her friends. YOU are her roommate. YOU are her neighbor.

Where were any of YOU when she needed you? Maybe YOU talked her into the abortion. Maybe YOU litterally forced it upon her. Maybe YOU were nonchalant about it and told her it was "her choice." Maybe YOU weren't even there for her, acting as though she weren't even pregnant. Maybe YOU tried to tamp her enthusiasm when she showed excitement towards her pregnancy and talked of the future with her baby. Maybe YOU thought you were doing "the right thing" when telling her to abort.

And YOU, don't think YOU are being let off the hook. Yeah, YOU, the woman in the mirror. I'm talking to YOU also. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Unless YOU were forced against your will, YOU are not totally blameless. YOU could have done something to save your child(ren). Couldn't you have? Didn't you know about other options? Did YOU even make an effort to check out other options? What about pregnancy care centers? What about adoption services? What about churches, or other religious organizations? Did YOU mention any of this to those around you trying to convince YOU to abort? What was there reaction? Why didn't they want YOU to research said options?

Just Me and My Teddy Bear

Sometimes I have feelings of empty arms. Like I want to reach out and hug the air or something. I have felt the need to reach out and hold someone or something since before my breakdown of 2014, never knowing why. Now I know it was the desire to hold my Anastasia and Hanelore. I will never be able to do that in the earthly realm. There will never even be suitable substitute for that ever even. But I have found something that is the best that can be, for now. MY TEDDY BEAR!

 

The story of my teddy bear:

 I've had him for as long as I can remember. I am over 40 years old. So I know he is at least 35 years old. He had been in storage for quite a few years. I think there may be a metaphor coming... But I digress. On to how he came to be and why he is special. 

He was made by my great grandmother. I loved my great grandmother. I was very close to her. So I am sure he was made when I was real small. I do not recall her giving him to me. I am sure I would remember if I had been old enough. 

You can see he has a  major rip in his neck.

I should get that fixed before his head just pops off one these days while I am hugging him. How did he get that rip? On Christmas my mother and I got in a big fight. (We are working on things. Starting to bond. But there are ups and downs in that) I was frustrated. I felt like busting out of my skin. I was angry and frustrated. Grabbed the teddy bear by the legs and hit his head on the footboard of my bed. Then the seam at the neck popped open. There is also another seam or two that were there before the neck bust.

I know how to sew. Both hand and by machine. I used to love sewing. There are many things I used to love doing. But now I just don't feel like doing them anymore. A part of me doesn't want to stitch him back. He is broken, like me. We are somewhat matched, I suppose. I want to be unbroken, but I don't know how to be. The teddy bear can be fixed up with a few stitches. But there really is no healing formula for hurting people.

He doesn't have a name either. I suppose another match to me. Obviously I have a name. But sometimes I feel like I don't. As though I am just an anonymous figure getting through life, without an identity.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with anxiety. No feelings. Neither sad, happy, mad or angry. Just there. Sometimes I will read from the Bible or a Psalm or two. Pray. But there are times when reading just seems a chore, or I am unable to open my mouth to pray. Those are the times where I just hold the teddy bear and fall back asleep. In fact I was holding him in front of the computer, while contemplating writing. Set him on the desk. Now I am holding him again as I finish writing this post.

More about Grandma!

Yesterday I posted in regards to my grandmother being the one who first wanted me to have the abortion. I suppose I did say some not so nice things in regards to my feelings about her. Not that I am making excuses, but my emotions are rather raw right now. I am confused. This is not the grandma I know/knew.

Grandma's are supposed to be nice and kind and caring and patient and loving. And knit things and cook big meals and stuff. Or at least that's the stereotype.

When I started remembering the abortion I wondered why she never "rescued" me from my mother. Thinking that she was just a "go along" during the "intervention". Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that she would want that for me. That she wouldn't have wanted to hold her own granddaughter's child. I was wondering why she never called me up and "snuck behind my mom's back" to take me somewhere to get info on alternatives to abortion, should I not keep my child. Well I guess I know why. Ain't it just a kicker, huh?

My parents are divorced. I may have mentioned that before, not sure. As a child I spent many days after school at my grandparents' while my mom was still at work. My mom always seemed busy with one thing or another. Grandpa was usually watching TV or fixing his car or fixing something else. But my grandma was always there. Maybe it was just to go shopping at the mall or grocery store. Sometimes she would take me with her to help her mother run errands. It was always nice to have lunch with my grandma and great grandma. Sometimes we would just sit in the living room watching soaps or Phil Donahue. Sometimes I would help her cook.

So this revelation just smacked me out of nowhere. I can not seem to wrap my head around it. Why would she want to hurt me so bad?

Grandma!

Is it wrong for me to say I hate my grandmother? My 90 year old grandmother that is. That I currently do not want to see her anymore? That I hope she dies before my cousins have kids of their own? Does this sound bad? It does to me. But I can't help it.

A lot has been going since my last post, and definitely since I started blogging, off and on. Having blow ups and reconciliations with my mother, and another blow up. See, a few weeks ago I found out something major that changes the whole narration of Her Views Turned on a Dime. I found out that the abortion was initially my grandmother's idea.

Supposedly, the story goes that after my mother and I told my aunt and grandmother that I was pregnant my grandma took my mother aside and told her I should have an abortion. Why? Because she wanted to hide my pregnancy. She didn't want anyone to know I had sex with my boyfriend. And, and, I can't say for sure, only speculate, but I think there was some vanity going on. She wasn't 70 yet. I honestly think she thought she "wasn't old enough to be a great grandma."

She's never even said anything to admitting to the abortion being her idea first. Even after me finally admitting to being bothered by it. I recall after my mother came for a visit I told her about a fight I had with my mother. I made mention that my mother's true anger is at Planned Parenthood. As I thought my mother had talked to Planned Parenthood before the "intervention." My grandma didn't correct me and admit it was her.

She told me I needed to move on and forget about it. I explained to her that I did that for twenty years. That I eventually broke down and remembered. I told her about the first dream I had about Anastasia and Hanelore. She told me dreams don't mean anything. And the abortion was for the best. It was God's Plan! Really?! God plans for people to have abortions?!

Pisses me off! She doesn't even care that two future generations are gone for the from the family, because of some dumb image idea! That she doesn't care how hurt I am feeling. That she has no clue what it was like to have my legs in a stirrup with a vacuum up my cooch!