I, like every other woman I know, have been thinking
about abortion a lot over the last two weeks. People I respect and admire like
Busy Philipps and Jameela Jamil have unapologetically shared their stories, and
people who aren’t famous braved vicious trolls to participate in Twitter
threads and Instagram comments conversations.
I feel a little like everything that can be said
has already been said by people with much more life experience than me.
However, this blog has never been about hot takes. Not in high school, and not
now. Although I was really proud of the pun Kavanaugh-onsense.
All I can do is share my experiences and try to
process what I’m feeling. Fury, rage and hopelessness spring to mind. But this
is about to get hella personal. Here we go.
I’ve never had an abortion. I’m gay and my
experiences with men have been few and far between. But, whenever anyone asked
hypothetically what I would do, or the time I had to take Plan B last year because the guy with
the “great reflexes” didn’t time things right, I always automatically said I
would have an abortion. No question.
I thought about who would take me. My pregnant
cousin seemed like a weird choice. My roommate at the time was kind of casually
anti-abortion, but never actually said it out loud. I wasn’t sure where she
stood on choice. My best friends lived far away, and the idea of telling my
mom, after I’d finally gotten her to understand that I’m gay, was not an option.
But that’s a different, and much longer story. When I expressed this to Plan B
guy, who was an emotionally abusive asshole, he seemed offended that I wouldn’t
ask him to take me.
I didn’t realize in the past that it was possible
that this wouldn’t automatically be an option. Like feminist hero Susan Collins
says, “Roe is settled law.” Even as time went by and I saw the John Oliver segments
about restricted access to abortion and I would have conversations about how
insane it was that some places had waiting periods, or required trans vaginal
ultrasounds, I still kind of thought everything was fine. I couldn’t really
process that women were losing access to safe and legal to abortion.
Which I acknowledge is an unbelievable amount of privilege.
But when these assholes in Georgia and Alabama,
and I’m sure others, started overtly and aggressively policing our bodies, I
sat the fuck up. Suddenly, everything felt real to me. Like we know people hate
women, but I don’t think I put together exactly how much. And the thing is,
people are making very logical arguments about if you don’t give people proper
sex education, or access to abortion, or address the maternal mortality rate,
or provide universal health care or free pre-k, how the fuck are we supposed to
survive? What I think is getting lost is that the solution is clear. They don’t
want us to have sex.
That’s how we survive. We’re supposed to refrain
from acknowledging our sexuality and from expressing it freely. Women are ovens for
babies and nothing more. Except of course, when the old white men want to have
sex. Then we’re blow-up dolls. And abortion is completely acceptable as long as
their names stay out of it and their wives don’t find out.
That was a low blow, but it’s kind of where we are
right now. This shit is a mess, and I’m feeling lost about what to do. When I
feel helpless like this, I write. This blog helps with that. Kind of.
It also helps to scream in my car and donate money
and complain to my mom and read Twitter and watch old shows I love (Parks and
Rec) and current shows I love (B99). Most of all, it helps to reach out to my
sisters who are feeling these same things or whose painful experiences are
being brought up for them to live through all over again.
Stay strong. I love you.
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