Deep-rooted issue rises to the surface

When tragedy strikes in my life, it makes me re-think a lot of things.  Especially when I have the time for it, like being unemployed right now.

On one hand, it’s not the time to re-visit issues that have severely affected my mental health, because I’m already pretty down.  But on the other hand, it’s the perfect time for it, because it’s like killing two birds with one stone.  I can know for sure that I’m not sugarcoating my issues when I assess it at a time like this.

Speaking of killing, that’s my deep-rooted issue.  I randomly started Internet-searching abortion stories today and ended up crying after I read about a 16-year-old, who used abortion pills and said, “I passed my baby on a towel.  My mother knew I couldn’t just throw it away or leave it, so she put it in a little wooden box.  We buried it with my Nan, who recently passed… The only thing that keeps me going is that I know I can visit it whenever I want and that one day I’ll be able to meet it and hold it in my arms.”  That was what did it for me today.  I started crying.

I killed my baby when I was 18.  It would be turning 10 this coming December.  I don’t think often of what would have happened if I’d kept it, but the thoughts that come to mind when I do are mainly that my child would have been of the oldest of my friends’ children, and would have been a role model for my nephews.  But like I said, that doesn’t come to mind often.  What mostly comes to mind when I remember my baby is the fact that I was stupid to let it happen in the first place, and that I should have kept it once it did.

I had been fooled into believing it was “just” a clump of cells.  I had been fooled into thinking we have the freedom to kill a human being as long as you haven’t actually seen it yet.  I had been fooled into thinking my child was better off dead just because of my age and financial situation.  And now I pay the ultimate price for my foolishness.  I was misinformed.  My brain had been molded since I was a child to believe that it’s either A) Become a mother, B) Give it up for adoption, or C) Abortion.  I’d always thought it was just as valid an option as A and B, until after I did it myself, and realized it’s all a lie.  If you have any conscience, it haunts you forever, even when you think you have forgotten it for a long time.  I’d rather work super hard to maintain my child’s life than deal with the bitter loss that followed.  It wasn’t like breaking my arm, as I’d thought.  It’s not a mere “procedure” as the Planned Parenthood reps liked to call it, one that ends with recovery.  No.  It’s much more than that.

I don’t cry over my baby very much anymore, but with what I’m enduring recently, I was in downright tears.  Times like these remind me of the healing that is left to go and may always be.  My face completely red and literally drowned in sorrow, I immediately shut my bedroom door and sobbed into my pillow, thanking God for his mercy when I don’t deserve it.  Thanking him for giving me a good life when I don’t deserve it.  Thanking him for simply holding me while I cry this out yet again in my life.

After a few minutes, I got back up and continued folding laundry like I’d been doing before I started searching the Internet.

The least I can do is share my experience so that someone else may not suffer as I did.  If you end up pregnant, whatever the circumstances, you should not kill it unless medically necessary.  Even if you’re raped.  Your trauma will only be compounded.

There are some things we can’t control.  It sucks to force ourselves to move on to a different task when such important things have happened in our lives that trump all these menial chores.

What matters most in the world is loving people and leaning into God.  We can’t do this on our own.

Take out the trash, take a shower, get your exercise.  But when we die, what will be left?  Nothing but spirit.  Think of where you’re actually headed, and act accordingly.

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