Tag Archives: shame

oh the shame, the SHAME!

Standard
oh the shame, the SHAME!

As this is the first year that I am independently purchasing my kid’s school supplies, clothes, and general new school year BS without the aid of my student loans, suffice it to say things are rather lean…. So I told them to go through the first week with minimal supplies and figure out what they actually need rather than me just spending asinine amounts of money on things the Manchild will lose and the Girlchild will not use and I will just purchase the needed stuff later…

The Girlchild apparently made an editorial comment about this at a friend’s house so the friend’s mom bought her some supplies. DOH!

Way to make me feel like shite. YAY!

So I texted the girl’s mom to tell her thank you and explain my thought process rather than letting her think I was just a poor muthatrucka…I don’t think she believed me.

Then, as I am now an indentured servant with $23478398475845 in student loan debt to Sallie Mae (and considering the fact that my beautiful paid off car was accidentally killed because I forgot about the &*^*^%^* timing belt which caused me to need to buy a new car and have a car payment)…. I have NO effing expendable cash…. So I am down to using credit cards to buy groceries. Yay.

I go to Winco to buy groceries, spend an hour shopping, unloading, ringing up, and DOH!

Winco doesn’t take credit cards.

The shame, the shame.

F**k me.

Someday I will have a really awesome job with a really awesome salary. Until then, I am a poor muthatrucka. White person poor, but poor all the same. Relativity boys and girls, relativity.

Advertisements

Rape, abortion, politics and me.

Standard
Rape, abortion, politics and me.

I read something earlier today that made me think a lot about the ramifications of a Romney led country; given the statements that have been made and the stances historically taken by the GOP. Many jokes have been made, gallows humor I suppose, about the white republican males knowledge of my genitalia and sensitive workings of which I couldn’t possibly be allowed to control, you know, as a woman.

But at the heart of it, I am fearful. And THAT frightens me.

I am frightened of what a Romney led Supreme Court could do to Roe v. Wade. To strides made in wage equality. To strides made in marriage equality. Veteran’s benefits equality. Military service equality. Equality in general.

And I also believe that I am rather experientially qualified to speak to a lot of it.

What in particular frightens me most is the seeming need to take away a woman’s right to choose if and when she can have an abortion. If and when she can have birth control and how much it will cost. Et cetera.

You see, my own mother was the product of a rape. And according to (R) Todd Akin, a “legitimate” one at that.  But her mother was poor. She was from backwoods Missouri and lived in a time when if you got a girl pregnant, you married her. So marry her rapist she did. She gave birth to my mother either right before or right after she turned 14. My mother was treated with hate and resentment by her own mother, a mother that was a scared and traumatized girl who was subjected to repeated abuse by an evil adult man. When my grandmother finally got away from him, she sent my mother and her little brother with him. My mother represented everything evil about her adolescent and teenaged years so instead of protecting my mother, she projected upon her. She rejected her repeatedly. She allowed her to be abused by him as well, however in her defense; I don’t know if she even realized what he was doing. This is the world my mother grew up in. This is why my mother is  irreparably broken. Why my mother will always be a child mother, as described by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes. She cannot deal with life in any healthy way. My mother allowed those cycles to continue. In her own misguided way, perhaps even facilitated them. Our family has a systemic history of sexual and physical violence.

I am a survivor of sexual abuse. I am a survivor of rape. I chose to have an abortion when I was 21, to terminate a pregnancy that was not the result of rape or incest and my life was not in danger. I simply could not afford another child and decided not to have it. As I sit here today, ripe with all my book learning and fancy education in social work and criminology, despite my lifelong passion and commitment to end the cycle of my own abuse, my own daughter was abused. But we are survivors, she and I. She is actually the one who inspired me to write this, as I am sure certain family members who could read this may be less than thrilled that I wrote it and am publishing it publicly. But I will not continue shame and secrets. Those things give power. I refuse to participate and facilitate. I now understand transgenerational trauma. My mother has never been anything but a victim in her eyes. She wouldn’t know how to be a survivor. She has never allowed herself to be validated as one. And after years of trying, I gave up on fixing her to follow my own path.

A path that had my grandmother been financially or theologically able to control; never would have been. She told me more than once when I was younger that she had prayed for a miscarriage, a stillborn, anything while she was pregnant. Had she been granted that, my mother never would have been born. I would have never been born. My daughter would never have been born. At least not in these specific situations. I have the benefit of my beliefs, which in the most simplistic of explanations are as follows: I believe in energy and the human need to name it and I also believe that energy never disappears, it merely changes. I also believe that we have some control before we are born in choosing our circumstances. This shapes my conscience the same as your beliefs shape yours.

So, in believing this way I can say that in some other way, I would have been born. Or maybe not. The baby I aborted? Was born later. I remember reading a Dean Koontz book once that had a boy who I believe was labeled as autistic, but in reality he was some amazing dimensional savant who, in one scene of torrential downpour, was walking with numerous other characters and yet he was the only one that didn’t get wet…When they asked him how he avoided the water, he replied “I just walked where it wasn’t raining.” I’ve digressed, but my point is that similarly to TV shows like “Fringe,””Lost” and any other amazing multiversal show created by JJ Abrams, every choice we make can be made different somewhere else. Theoretically, in some other dimension where my grandma was able to have an abortion, where she was allowed some semblance of a normal childhood and my mother was never born to her to be resented and broken, I was never born. My daughter in turn, never was either. And I am OK with that. That is a choice that I believe my grandmother should have been able to make.

But for a man, any man, who can never experience what it means to be carrying the product of a rape and be expected to love it and cherish it as a gift of some God to determine legally who can make that choice is absolutely wrong.

For a man, any man, who can never experience what it means to be carrying a child that you don’t want, can’t care for, are not ready for, know you will not be able to be a proper parent to and yet be expected to love it and cherish it the way it deserves because of how HE feels the LAW should be, is absolutely wrong.

I can see this issue from every female side. I do not understand how these men can dictate from a position of ignorance. Some of them are well educated. But they cannot know what it is like.

I am for equality, in all choices. To be able to choose whether you see a pregnancy which results from a rape as a blessing or a curse, to keep it, terminate it or put it up for adoption is the most intimate and difficult of choices. And it should be a personal one. And the same should be said about a pregnancy that is the product of a one night stand. A relationship. A birth control mistake. A statistical anomaly from perfectly taken birth control. A broken condom. It should not be one that is made in the legislature. It is not one that should be made by men who have no idea what is going on in a woman’s life.

Becoming a parent is a huge decision.

You know that bumper sticker that says “A world of wanted children would make a world of difference.” Ponder it for a moment.

Why would you force someone who wants an abortion to have and raise a child when you already believe they are wrong, misled or evil because they WANT an abortion? You already know they don’t want or have decided they can’t have the child. Otherwise, they wouldn’t want the abortion. Just slow down and think.

Human Rights courts have determined it is a violation of human rights to not allow someone who is raped to have an abortion.

So many things are going on in the government, in society, in the world that seems to be attempting to exert power over others. Has the pendulum really swung back so far that we are going to start going the other way? Are the men so worried women are going toward equal that they need to start oppressing us again? Sexually? Legally? From the vaginal ultrasounds before an abortion to Paul Ryan’s not even wanting IVF to be legal, we could be moving backwards. I just wish more people were understanding what could potentially happen. What the damage could be. Back alley abortions. Unreported rapes. More babies in dumpsters. Infanticides. Suicides. Should we bring back the foundling wheel?

Oy. I could go on and on. But I suppose I will close with a quote from Hillary Clinton: “I have met thousands and thousands of prochoice men and women. I have never met anyone who is proabortion.”

It’s the little things that get me…

Standard
It’s the little things that get me…

*if you are a mamby pamby that gets grossed out, don’t read this*

 

I went to Fred Meyers to get some stuff in preparation for the return of the girlchild. As I was going in there was a girl who had a sign that said “Homeless, just need a hotel for a couple days.”

Now normally, as I am pretty freaking poor, I can’t give them money or anything more than a kind word or a smile. But something about the shame on this girl made me look twice. She couldn’t have been more than 19, 20; but her eyes looked so rueful, it reminded me of my own broken childmother. The girl had blood on her pants but being a woman, I knew she hadn’t murdered anyone and she wasn’t hurt (if you catch my drift.) Now, it was at that point that I realized I had never even thought about that aspect of homelessness. I immediately thought, I wonder if homeless girls ever get pregnant to avoid this? I realize this is a ludicrous thought to you now, but the one time that I was truly homeless, I was pregnant and did not have to worry about such things. Now before you get all “Awww that’s awful!” It was the perfect time to be homeless really, given what this girl was dealing with. Any other time that I was “homeless” it was more of a youthful choice, a rebellion and I knew plenty of places I could go for a week or shower or clean clothes or freaking tampons. It broke my heart. I didn’t have the money for a hotel room, but I did get the girl a pair of clearance pants and a big box of the tampons she wanted. A temporary comfort. It’s the little things we in our first world problem world of cable bills and cell phone overages that we don’t think about often enough. Things like tampons. Clean clothes. A place to wash.

And next month, hopefully she will either have somewhere to be, money to buy tampons or be able to steal some before she is too embarrassed to go in the store.