So much for a trigger warning...

Typically, I'd start any emotionally charged post with a trigger warning, but I think it's safe to say that every possible trigger has been pulled this week with blatant disregard.

Unless you've been hiding under a rock (trust me, I'm tempted), you've seen the shit show playing out in our nation's capital. For most, this can be summed up as another political circus. But for 1 in 3 of us, it's our experiences being questioned. It's what feels like an entire nation working against us, jaws clenched with fists in the air. It's reliving our experiences every time we dare to peek at social media or the news. For me, it's every bit of my anxiety, depression, and self loathing bubbling to the surface. It's feeling hyper defensive towards people that are in my corner. It's the same scared uncertainty that I felt right after my rape. It's finding that people you've held near and dear for years are not on your side, but siding with the idea that because it's been so long, it's irrelevant. It's a punch in the gut, a slap in the face. It's a reminder that when I shared my story the morning after my rape with my own sister, she went and gossiped among family members that I was just a whore with a guilty conscious. It's a bigger trigger than I ever could have anticipated. And I'm not the only one that it's affecting. (Quick side note that according to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center, in the United States, one in 3 women and one in 6 men have already experienced some sort of sexual violence in their lifetime)

It's easy to be triggered by the situation, as it seems that Dr. Christine Blasey Ford is all of us. She is living our worst nightmare, publicly. Long silenced by a society that shames it's victims for coming forward, she's also being torn apart for not reporting sooner. And the truth is, she was damned if she did and so far, she's been damned because she didn't. Her face is plastered all over the internet in obnoxious memes comparing her to animals and comic characters. She's been called a whore, a liar, and a drunk. Her story questioned and picked apart with intrusive, public questioning. She's had to compose herself, smile and be polite while reliving a violent violation of her body, while the accused was allowed to raise hell in an effort to make himself the victim. Suddenly our country feels so much like one big high school, with bullies running rampant. And my biggest fear is the freshman walking in for the first time. What message are we sending victims who are dealing with their own experiences (or will)? Don't be a bully at school, but when you're out in the real world, it's fair game?

I won't get into the nitty gritty details of the case. Partly because a victim's story does not need to be ripped to shreds through the media and politics (and certainly not on this blog), and partly because I'm drained. I'm drained with feeling like I have to defend my own story, even though no one has asked. I'm drained from trying to remind myself that the people in my corner are in fact, in my corner. I'm drained from reliving the worst night of my life every time I step outside of my apartment. I'm drained from just trying to get through, minute by minute. I'm drained from reminding myself that I'm tougher than this, that I've shown so much strength in so many areas, and this guy doesn't deserve my backbone, too. I'm drained from apologizing for my feelings. I didn't ask to be raped. I didn't ask for PTSD as a result. I didn't ask for this shit to be in my face, morning until night, because the media is having a field day. I am drained.

If you're one in 3 (or 6), and you're having a hard time right now, you're not alone. You're not alone by a long shot. And if you need to talk, you know where to find me. If that won't work, please reference the resources listed below. You've been through enough and you don't have to suffer with triggers by yourself.

Finally, in an effort to start a conversation that needs to be had (and listened to, and believed, and supported), I'm sharing my own story below. It's a poem that I wrote a while after my rape, and while raw and gritty, I feel it best captures my feelings from that night, and of every night since then. I'll give you a head's up and a trigger warning for that. If you'd rather not read it, please do not scroll past the resources listed.

800.656.HOPE (4673) -- National Sexual Assault Hotline (organized by RAINN...live chat also available on their website)

(866) 367-5444 -- Darkness to Light...they can help you find resources in your area

I read somewhere once,

that the rape will tear you apart,

but it will not break you.

She was right.

I'm still here, an intact shell of a person,

being torn apart again every night,

as I fall asleep.

As I start to drift,

the sting between my thighs,

the pressure on my chest,

the blood on the sheets, 

and your fist threatening my face

for hours.

It only took a little over an hour,

for me to silently surrender,

and bide my time by desperately searching for distraction as you finish having your way with me.

The light pole outside,

illuminating the quiet dirt road.

The ink on your neck,

that I wonder about so intently.

Did it cover the desperation of other women?

If you were crushing my spirit,

there must have been others before me.

And why didn't they blow the whistle?

Why didn't they save me from my own irresponsibility to come?

Why didn't the other women,

just rooms away, rescue me?

Oh. Yes. No screaming.

My body is so tired.

Why didn't your mother raise you better?

Didn't she tell you,

that it's not fucking polite to break

another human?

My neck is strained

from trying to focus

on anything that I can see from the window.

I can feel the blood everywhere. 

Every thrust a new violation,

and my spirit breaks a little more with each.

The tears making their silent escape,

run down my face

and sting the spots on my neck where you squeezed too tight.

This room with no door is hell,

and I find myself here nightly,

shaking, not from pleasure, but disgust.

Reliving the three hours that both broke me and made me a better human.

The feeling is heavy-

responsibility endless.

How can I be responsible for you raping me?

(Rape. I'm a goddamn statistic now.)

Well because, if your sister calls you a whore,

you must be a fucking whore.

And just when I think you're done (I've watched three hours pass on your bedside clock), you act like a 17 year old marking your territory.

Like a drunk, pissing on the street. But this time, I'm the street.

(It's not polite to piss on your mess either)

And finally you're done with me, and just starting-all at the same time.

Suddenly I know how it feels to be a stiff, soggy towel.

A mere "thing" for you to release your frustration on. 

A little while later, my first encounter with a Midwest cornfield only happens because I'm lost on a highway that runs between two,

and I can't see through the tears I'm crying,

and it's hard to operate heavy machinery when you're busy shaking from your core.

And just when the nightmare is over, I wake up and relive it all over again. Almost 4 years out from the shit show that was that awful night and morning. 

I keep telling myself that all you get are my sleepless nights. But here I am, drunk on reality,

and spilling my secrets on paper

because an hour or two of sleep a night

is enough to wreck a person.

And no one wants to hear the details of a rape,

because it's fucking uncomfortable.

So I'm silent.

You know what's more uncomfortable?

Being on the receiving end of your uninvited cock.

Having my thighs ripped apart to accommodate you.

Taking my bruised body, under a cloud of shame, into a clinic for inspection.

And reliving it every night.

I was wrong. You get everything. 

A Thought of His Own, Vol. 1

Not too long ago, I asked a few male followers to help out with a few articles, in an effort to bring men to the conversation. Because while abortion is a women's issue, it is also a men's issue. And we can certainly make more progress and spark more conversation when we all come together for a cause. I've been very excited to see that quite a few of my male followers have stepped up for the challenge. The following post is being posted unedited and anonymously. Without further ado...

I have been invited by Cara to make some comments on the subject of this blog from a man’s point of view.  I am humbled and honored by her request.  Why?  Because I doubt any man can truly understand the issues that women confront on a daily basis.  I think we can logically see many of the issues that they are confronted with, but as to the emotional aspects of it, we don’t have a clue.  We can be empathetic by sensing their feelings, but we do not and cannot experience it.  Because of that I am humbled by this request.  The fact that Cara trusts me with this awesome responsibility makes me feel honored.

Before I express my current views on a few subjects, let me give you a bit of my history.  I am currently 70 years old.  Yes, you can have thoughts and express them cogently after 50.  I reveal this because it is important to my views.  I spent my teen and young adult time in the 60’s, a time of great social upheaval.  I witnessed the rise of the women’s movement.  Burn the bra, the pill, ‘make love, not war’, etc.  It was an exciting time to be alive and to observe, and participate in, such broad spectrum change in people’s attitudes and choices.  But, it was also the time of great reflection on what it was to be human.  Why did we have war?  Why is there racism?  Can your country do wrong?  Why is there poverty?  Why are people living in suppression?  We were the original “Hippies”!  And, while we may not look it, we still think like it.

Let me begin my current views by discussing abortion.  It is rather interesting, at least to me, how my feelings have evolved on this subject.  To begin with, I was raised in a pretty typical middle class family affiliated with a fairly main stream protestant faith.  Abortion was not a typical subject of conversation around the dinner table.  Yes, there were “girls” who left school for what seemed like no reason at all.  Teenage pregnancy was a scandal.  There was no pill, but hormones still worked.  But, how dare you discuss it.  Abortion was only an acceptable option when certain conditions were present; health of the mother, rape, incest and a child that would not live outside the womb. 

When I started college in the mid 60’ things began to change for me.  I found out that some of “those girls” that left in high school did not have their babies, but opted for a very hush, hush abortion.  The pill came into existence and now the “fear” of unwanted pregnancies was reduced to almost nil.  Lo’ and behold I discovered women liked sex, too!  Freedom from fear can do that.  And I met women who decided that they had a voice, and opinions, feelings of being oppressed by men, who cared about the world and those in it.  It was the most delightful revelation I had ever had in my life, at the time.   And, the greatest part of that revelation to me was how little control these women felt they had on their own lives.  I want to be a doctor they would say, but society said, well you can be a nurse.  I want to be in politics they said, well run for the school board society said. The women were right; they were being oppressed, in many different ways.  And one of the biggest was control over their own bodies.  Abortion was still illegal and done only in rather shady clinics and backward facilities often by people who only wanted the money and cared little about the future and health of the women.  Granted there was the beginning of enlightenment.  Some physicians realized that it was better to do it in well-equipped clinics, with trained doctors. But it was very quietly done and not well advertised, unfortunately.  But that is what began my real change.  The fact that such a life altering event as a pregnancy was controlled by everyone, except the pregnant woman.  It was either go full term or break the law.  Guys, don’t even go anywhere with this.  There is nothing in any law that controls your body as long as what you do is legal.  If you do, remember Carol Burnett’s great line, “Men.  Do you want to know what it’s like to have a baby? First grab your upper lip.  Now, pull it over your head!” That’s without considering 9 months of carrying a child, as well.

The second point on this issue that hit me was the fact that abortion had been ruled illegal by legislators in all states who were comprised of a vast majority of men.  What??  There were very few women in politics then (and still surprisingly few, but it has improved).  So, what a dichotomy, men deciding what happens to a woman’s body when they become pregnant.  It’s actually saying that once a woman becomes pregnant, what she does is to involuntarily surrender herself to the state.  That’s the only logical conclusion to that situation.

After college, I headed to graduate school in Chicago.  My school was on the campus of the University of Chicago, one of the hot beds of protest against the Vietnam War, social change, outcry against racism and women’s right in the U.S.  I witnessed the riots at the Democratic Convention in 1968.  I met members of the Chicago 7; I attended services and rallies led Dr. Martin Luther King and Jesse Jackson.  I watched the power of the Daly Machine controlling the city. What a place to be in a time like that.

Toward the end of my time in grad school the hot topic in the country, along with the Vietnam War, was the pending decision by the Supreme Court on the controversial “Roe vs. Wade” lawsuit.  The basis for the law suit was the 14^th Amendment of the Constitution.  Especially the following sentence:

“No state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

It was the Equal Protection clause which the suit was based on.  The main argument against by the anti-abortion movement was that they felt that it violated the equal protection of the unborn.  So now the main crux of the matter became apparent.  Was an unborn a person under the law?  Or, was a pregnant woman not treated as equal under the law?  When does life begin?  What is life?  All important questions, but do they supersede the right of a person (read woman) to have equal protection under the law.  I won’t debate here when life begins.  That can be a scientific question, or it can be a belief question.  There are those that believe that all life is sacred, but by a scientific definition, harmful bacteria are alive and we do all we can to kill them.  People in irreversible comas, those on life support with no cognizant brain function and those with severe dementia are alive, but are the living?  Those are individual opinions that I leave for you each to decide on your own.  But, the bottom line is this; I agree with the Supreme Court in their decision on Roe vs. Wade.  Women have the full right to decide what happens to their bodies. 

However, here we are over 40 years later and the debate is still going on.  Why?  I think it can be reduced to only two reasons.  One, many men still have the antiquated idea that they are superior to woman and objectify them as things.  I actually think they do this because they are afraid of strong independent women who think for themselves.  It intimidates them and makes them feel inferior.  And, as for me, they are inferior.  Men and women are both sides of the human experience.  They are the “ying and the yang” of who we are.  Personally, I revel in seeing women as my equal. I have had relationships with many women in my life and all of them have were strong independent women who had their own opinions, thoughts, careers and personality.  Why would a man want anything else?

The second reason it is still with us is because of some religious factions in our country that hold that abortion should be outlawed because the unborn child is a “person of God”.  They proudly refer to themselves as “Pro-Life”.  But, here is what changed my mind totally on this group.  It is a quote by Sister Joan Chittister, a Benedictine nun from Erie, PA.  She holds a doctorate degree from Penn State University in speech communication theory.

"I do not believe that just because you're opposed to abortion that that makes you pro-life. In fact, I think in many cases, your morality is deeply lacking if all you want is a child born but not a child fed, not a child educated, not a child housed. And why would I think that you don't? Because you don't want any tax money to go there. That's not pro-life. That's pro-birth. We need a much broader conversation on what the morality of pro-life is."

Yes, the same people who want to stop every abortion are usually the same ones who want to cut programs like, early childhood education, aid to dependent mothers, after school programs, defund Planned Parenthood, school lunch programs, Pell grants, all so they can save on their taxes.  That is why she refers to them as “pro-birth”.  I totally agree with her.  I also see that many of these people are from predominately conservative right leaning Christian denominations.  They also covertly believe in segregation, few rights for women, right wing governments, authoritarian control over their churches and so forth.  They want a world where all issues have black and white answers.  There is no room for shades of grey in their worlds.  If there were, they would have to think for themselves.  They want someone else to decide for them.  They live in an Old Testament world where the laws laid down by the priests and prophets tell them what to do.  Yet they shout out, “Have you found Jesus!” (Actually, I didn’t know that he was lost)  But, at the same time they have no clue about how Jesus preached of love, tolerance, forgiveness, grace and compassion.  He makes us whole, not separated like the law.  He counted women as his equal.  He did not spend time with religious leaders.  His disciples were fishermen, tax collectors, common men. Enough said.

So, what is my conclusion?  Abortion is a woman’s personal decision.  Should she consult with those she loves?  She can if she wants to.  What about women’s rights?  It’s something all men should support, because it is human rights.  None of us will be equal until we realize that all of us should be.

Shit Show 2016

To say that I woke up excited on election day is the understatement of the century.

All of the major news outlets were reporting an expected win from Hillary Clinton. This would be my first year voting and I couldn't imagine a better election to kick off my voting career. My kids were anxious. I had been answering political questions from them for the better part of the year. There was no way that our country would vote in someone as vile as Trump, right? As much hope as I had in the American people, I was still anxious.

After work, I rushed off to my designated voting site. I was in and out within 10 minutes. It was exhilarating, to say the least. I picked my kids up from their after school program and was met with excited cheers and mock voting stickers. "Mom! We got to vote today, too!", "I voted for Hillaly Clintin!"....yes, excitement was in the air. We headed home and the questions were endless. My daughter was quite disgruntled to learn that I wasn't letting her stay up all night to watch the results come in.

By the time I got home, my stomach was in knots. It was crunch time. Within a few hours, I should have a good idea of which direction this election was going. I tried my hardest to distract myself until I could get the kids to bed and settle in for what had the potential to be a completely devastating night. By the time I was finally able to sit down and watch the news, my long distance bestie was talking me through what she'd already seen. The guy that I was (am) seeing had already caught up on what he could in an effort to be excited with me for a win, and talk me down in the event of a loss (If you knew how utterly uninterested he is in politics, you'd understand the swoon-worthiness of this). Shortly after I sat down, my mom called. I had already texted her earlier in the day to express my concern. Imagine my surprise when she called and found out that I was anxiously waiting to hear if Hillary was our new president. I have no idea what she had to be on to think that I had actually voted for Trump. Does she know me?! That phone call didn't last long.

Meanwhile, you know how the rest of the night went.

The next morning, I dreaded going to work. My co-workers and I had all done a pretty good job of avoiding politics as a topic of conversation, but I was nervous that I'd walk into a full blown celebration by some of my co-workers, and I was not in a place to deal. Thankfully, my desk mate walked in and the look on her face said it all. I nervously approached the subject with, "Well, what do you think?". You can't imagine my sigh of relief to hear her say, "This is bullshit. We've just taken 12 steps back". We had sat next to each other for months and I had no idea where she stood, politically. But I was so, so grateful to know that someone else was understood how I was feeling. We talked off and on all day. We were both devastated.

Later in the day, an older gentleman that I work with (who also happens to be one of my facebook friends) stopped by my desk and with the straightest face ever, said to me, "Donald Trump is our new Commander-in-Chief and because of that, I can grab you by the pussy any damn time I want and my Commander-in-Chief won't do a damn thing about it...". I could feel my face turn red and hot. I couldn't wrap my mind around what I was hearing and I wasn't sure whether I was about to cry or punch him in the dick and lose my job. Right when I thought I couldn't hold the tears back any longer, he continued, "....and I just want to extend my deepest sympathy to you, to your daughter, and to women everywhere. I am so sorry". I'm not sure I've ever breathed a deeper sigh of relief. He had seen my Facebook status from earlier that morning and knew how upset I was for all of us. Once he walked away, I had to excuse myself to go cry in the bathroom.

After work, my girlfriend and I had a few beers at a local pizza place. While she was on the verge of tears over her new husband not understanding how upset she was or why, a drunk guy over to our left was obviously eavesdropping and giggling about our conversation. He abruptly stopped when I finally stopped our conversation and focused on him after 20 minutes of his bullshit.

A few days later, as I was scrolling on Facebook, I saw one of my friends post a meme that said "Can we start grabbing women by the pussies yet? Or do we have to wait until he takes office?". Now, usually, I'm really good at just ignoring things I don't agree with, but this made my blood boil. I called him out on it. I wasn't hateful, I wasn't obnoxious. I just stated that it "wasn't cool" and it went from there. Within 5 minutes, two of his male friends also jumped on the status to defend the meme and I was called a "homophobic cunt". I'm not sure how me disagreeing with sexual assault qualifies me as "homophobic" or a "cunt" for that matter, but there it was. I just kept thinking, "And so it begins". That was the second time I've had to delete someone due to this damn election. The first was when a Trump supporter made it personal, referencing my domestic violence situation during my marriage and my rape. We can always agree to disagree, but don't ever make that shit personal.

I'm choosing to focus on the men who understand how devastating this election was for the majority of women. I don't have any room in my life for men who support sexual assault, homophobia (ironic, right?), or any of the other things that Donald Trump has come to stand for. I'm choosing to focus on what *I* can do to better our situation. I'm focusing on my children. I'm focusing on educating myself. I'm anxious to see exactly what kind of changes are coming our way. I'm relieved that Trump has already started backpedaling on many of the promises he made to the Republican party. It doesn't speak highly of the importance of honesty to him, but it's a relief either way.

What are you doing to balance out the changes that are coming? What are you doing to fight for those whose rights are at risk? What are YOU doing?

The Moral Choice

Unless you've been living under a rock lately, or avoiding Facebook for the sake of your sanity, I'm sure you've seen all of the pro-life propaganda that has been flooding the media, thanks to Donald Trump's incredibly inaccurate (and irresponsible, if you ask me) description of late term abortion. One of my favorites is this one that popped up across my news feed multiple times yesterday:

I'll be honest, I couldn't bring myself to read the actual article. But you can clearly see, it's an article saying that Hillary Clinton is telling people to deny their Christianity and their beliefs to support abortion. 

Now, I realize that many of my followers do not believe in God. And that's fine, that's their choice (see what I did there?). I, on the other hand, grew up in church and had a deacon for a father. I don't go to church anymore, but I still consider myself God-fearing. With that being said, I thought this would be an interesting topic to explore.

Many of you know that I have not always been pro-choice. I used to be, what I would now consider, a pro-life whacko. I wasn't out protesting at clinics, I wasn't sending death threats, but MAN, the topic would get me heated. Looking back, I realize that I only felt that way because that's the way my mind was programmed growing up. I'm certainly not blaming this on religion, but those were my parents' beliefs and it takes kids a while to make up their own minds on complex issues. When I first began to question those pro-life beliefs, the biggest hurdle was my faith. My church had taught me that abortion was wrong. No ifs, ands, or buts. When I think back on it now, I can pick out a few instances where abortion wasn't wrong for a few members of our church because apparently their cases were the exception (funny how that works, huh?). But regardless, I still believed in God, I still believed in the idea of Christianity. How could I be okay with abortion? So the internal struggle began.

Now, the article I previously referenced, states that we the people must deny our faith and any Christian values that we may have, in order to support abortion. I'm not having it. As someone raised in the church, I'm fairly familiar with the Bible. And when my internal struggle began, so to speak, I did some poking around on this exact topic. Let me make one thing clear: THERE IS NOT ONE SINGLE SCRIPTURE THAT SPECIFICALLY CONDEMNS ABORTION. NOT ONE. What the Bible does specifically reference is the sanctity of life. So let's examine this. Here are a few scriptures that many pro-lifers like to use in reference to abortion:

Jeremiah 1:5 : Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born, I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.

This does not reference abortion, but the sanctity of life. It clearly means that every life matters. And it does. I have never met a woman who has had an abortion that did not recognize the gravity of her decision. Whether she believes that the fetus she's terminated is "alive" or a person or what have you, she understands the gravity. She understands the potential of what is growing inside of her. My personal interpretation of this scripture is that it is to provide comfort for those who find themselves feeling lost or obsolete. I'm not sure why many pro-lifers see the word "womb" and automatically relate it to abortion.

Isaiah 49:15 : Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! 

I think this scripture speaks for itself. I'm honestly not sure how this gets brought into the abortion debate. If a baby is at it's mother's breast, it has already been born, eliminating the correlation to abortion. Am I the only one who sees this as a reference to neglected living children? Again, in my opinion, this is a scripture meant to comfort those who need it.

Psalm 127:3 : Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him.

Kids are great! I have three of my own and they make my life so much fuller than I ever thought possible. Boom. That's it.

I'd like to point out that while all of these scriptures specifically referencing the sanctity of life, no Christian is out supporting Syrian refugees, protesting the death penalty for murderers, or working to improve things for single mothers with new babies. Instead, I'm seeing Christian protesting Syrian refugees, pushing the government to expedite executions, and shaming single mothers for being on welfare. Funny how that works, isn't it?

So we've looked at the Biblical side of it, or at least part of it (I don't have time to blog all of the times that the Bible references children). Let's examine a few scenarios:

• A little girl is raped. Through absolutely no choice of her own, she becomes pregnant. Carrying this pregnancy means compromising her body that is not mature enough to support a pregnancy...which could easily lead to difficulty carrying wanted pregnancies later in life. It also means compromising her mental health, which could result in suicide (a sin, according to the Bible). It is immoral to force her to carry the pregnancy. Bottom line. There is no question as to whether or not this warrants an abortion.

• A woman, married, gets pregnant by her abusive husband. She fears for the baby's life once it's born. There's a good chance that this child will die regardless of the decision made. It can be abused and murdered after birth where there is no doubt that it will feel every second of suffering that it endures, OR, this woman can go to a clinic and have an abortion early in her pregnancy where the fetus will feel nothing. Again, no question of morality here.

• A young couple decides it's time to expand their family and they get pregnant. 20 weeks into the pregnancy, they learn that the baby the woman is carrying has Turner's syndrome, which means it's kidney's aren't functioning, it has cardiac defects, and the lungs are effected. There is no chance that their baby will survive long after birth. And while it is alive, it will struggle. It will be in pain. And it will greatly impact the parents to watch their child suffer and die in their arms. Which is worse? Euthanizing the fetus and ending the pregnancy, or carrying to term and watching their baby die? Again, in my mind, there is no question.

These are all extreme cases, but they happen daily. Making a baby is not a perfect science. And relationships aren't always as happy and easy as they should be. Real people find themselves in these very real situations on a regular basis. However unfortunate it may be, that's our reality. And for these extreme cases alone, we cannot allow abortion to become illegal. And many Christians who consider themselves pro-life support abortion in most of these cases.

So what about the "other" abortions? The majority of abortions. Then it becomes a different kind of moral issue. If you don't support it, that's fine. But women will find a way to terminate unwanted pregnancies, regardless of whether or not they're legal. Is it moral for a Christian to fight to outlaw abortion while knowing that women and girls will die trying to terminate their pregnancies, whether it be due to DIY abortion methods or going to unsafe providers? No. It is not moral, by any stretch of the imagination, to outlaw something that will force parents to lose their daughters, children to lose their mothers, and husbands to lose their wives. And if you, as a Christian, can't wrap your mind around that, wrap it around this: Separation of Church and State:

(Referenced in the First Amendment of the United States Constitution): 

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."

(Shockingly enough, this does not only apply to the Muslim faith, but to all of us.)

As always, any feedback is welcome. And please feel free to share!

Because Life Doesn't Always Offer a Trigger Warning

A few months ago, while clearing out an old email, I came across some old emails from 2010 that included images. Eager to see if it was old baby pictures of my littles or some pictures from a drunken girl's night, I opened it.

Suddenly, it was 2010 and I was back in that cold bathroom. I could hear the video games being played in the next room. I could feel my hands shaking, head throbbing, face on fire, and the panic of trying to document the situation with pictures as quickly as I could before he caught me. I was back on that bed, curled up and crying with the door locked, hoping that he didn't try to come in. I was 23 years old with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I couldn't believe what I was looking at. I didn't recognize the girl in those pictures, but I felt her. I felt her pain and her fear. I felt her hopelessness, I felt her desperation. I knew this girl all too well. My mouth fell open and I immediately felt those all-too-familiar knots in my stomach. Within seconds, I had to run to the bathroom to throw up. And after that, there were tears...lots of them. It was so hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I was looking at my former self. And my former self....she was a trainwreck. If you told me 6 years ago that I'd be sitting half way across the country, looking at these pictures, and trying to process the fact that this was me, I wouldn't have even laughed. I would have been angry at you for tempting me with such an impossible idea.

I don't know that girl anymore. It's hard for me to fathom that she ever existed. But she did, and the indention in my forehead, the scar on my shoulder, and the knot on the bridge of my nose all prove it. I was, at one time, the girl I always told myself I'd never be. I was a statistic. I came out of it, not only alive, but swinging. Hard. And you know what the scariest part is? Until the very moment that I opened those emails, the only person in the world who knew about them (other than me), was the girlfriend that I sent them to for safe keeping. My family didn't know. My abusive partner didn't know. My neighbors didn't know. Because that's what domestic violence does...it isolates you. It lies to you and tells you that you deserve it. It reminds you how alone you are and how little anyone cares. Domestic violence is a cunt, plain and simple. And the only way to get ahead of her is to talk. Talk to your best friend, talk to you family, talk to a therapist, a doctor, a stranger...it doesn't matter. You have to break out of that cycle of destructive thinking and convince yourself that you are NOT alone, you do NOT deserve it, you ARE worthy of help, you are worthy of a life, you are worthy of security...and you CAN pull yourself out of it, because no one else can do it for you. Take a look at some of these stats (courtesy of the Huffington Post):

4,772,000 -The number of women in the US who experiences physical violence by an intimate partner every year.

1 in 4 - The number of women who will be victims of severe violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime. 

1 in 7 - The number of men who will be victims of severe violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime. 

Worldwide, men who were exposed to physical violence as children are three to four times more likely to perpetrate intimate partner violence as adults than men that did not experience domestic violence abuse as children. 

I wish I could post a step-by-step of how to survive...how to break the cycle, or even how to grow the pair that you're going to need in order to save yourself (because it won't be easy). But honestly, I can't remember. That whole period of my life is such a blur. Partly because I drank a good bit at night to numb the pain, both physical and emotional, and partly because I'm just now beginning to realize that I am damn good at putting things out of my mind when I don't want to deal with them.

For now, I can do a few things. I can share the pictures here. I can talk here. I can throw it all out into the abyss of the interwebs and hope that someone, somewhere will read it and realize that she (or he) is strong enough to survive. I certainly did not experience abuse in it's worst forms. In fact, I'm lucky compared to many, many women. But the ugly truth is that it still happened. And the uglier truth is that while this post does include one, real life doesn't always come with a trigger warning. A lot of times, life decides to knock you on your ass and watch you squirm when you least expect it.

**TRIGGER WARNING**

The following pictures were not from the same occurrence, they weren't even from the worst of them. But they're the ones that I had the guts to document. The ones of my face were from being headbutted and slapped after an argument related to an affair (I still have a knot on my breast bone from being kicked in the sternum after I fell down) and the others were months later, after having an empty car seat thrown at me when I walked away from an argument. #RealLoveDoesntHurt

This shit doesn't necessarily get easier to deal with. It still hurts to know that I was in that position. It's still scary to think that it could happen again with someone else. And it still has the power to leave my stomach in knots when it crosses my mind from time to time. But here I am, confronting it and sharing it with you guys in the hopes that it will help someone else confront it as well. 

If you are a victim, or suspect that someone else is, please reach out. The following resources were found by doing a simple google search of "Domestic Violence Hotline":

• You can TEXT the Crisis Text Line at 741741. Just text "go". You will receive a return text with their terms of service. You let them know what's on your mind, and then set you up with a crisis counselor via text. I texted them myself to see how it all worked. This is a great option if you're a little scared to reach out. The texting option still leaves a bit of a barrier. It's free, 24/7, and confidential.
• The National Domestic Violence Hotline offers tons of resources. And what I really like is that when you visit the website, you immediately see the following pop-up:

• The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence: This website provides a red pop up in the lower right hand corner of the screen that reads :Safety Exit. Quickly exit the site if in danger. (Yes, people, it is that serious) Visit this page for resources.

The Incident

Earlier last year, I was scrolling through Facebook when an article caught my eye. The headline read "I Named my Rapist on the Internet". It was an intriguing read and an even more intriguing idea.

If you've been a long time reader, you may remember that in 2014, I posted an article about becoming a statistic in that area, myself. It was so intimidating to have it out there, I removed the post a few days later. I just couldn't bare seeing it in black and white. I couldn't handle the idea that I had given him power by acknowledging it. I couldn't face it at all. It probably didn't help that I had posted it within a month of the incident. But since I read that article last year, I've noticed a few things:

1. I still refer to it as "the incident". I have a real issue giving it the power of calling it the "R" word.

2. My "incident" and the millions of "incidents" that happen on a yearly basis is a huge topic in the area of feminism and I haven't been able to stomach posting it on my own feminism-based blog.

3. Once I get to the point in a relationship that I have to explain that "hey, you can't do that...it's a trigger", I feel the need to apologize, regardless of how patient and kind-hearted the guy in question may be.

4. The relationship complications, the fairly common nightmares, and the self loathing I tend to feel from time to time pale in comparison to the guilt that I feel over not turning him in.

5. It's time to face it.

The idea of naming your rapist is a matter of accountability, of letting go, and of releasing yourself as a victim. Rape is taboo. There are so many questions. For example, the night after it happened, my best friend (who happens to be a nurse at an abortion clinic) and I were in her kitchen talking and I asked the only question that was bouncing around in my mind: Was it really a rape if I didn't scream?

I don't know how it happens, but sometime during that God-awful event, a seed of doubt is placed in our minds, as if somehow we're to blame. It's a heavy feeling, wondering if you even have the right to label it a rape. But finally, after 2.5 years, after spending endless hours milling over every single detail of that night in my mind over and over again, I'm comfortable with the idea that yes, I was raped. I was violated. I said no. I tried to talk sense into him by naming every reason in the book that we shouldn't be having sex. I pushed as hard as I could, only for him to exert little effort to push back into me. I came out of it with bruises on my thighs and an entire body that ached for days. I was raped. It's that simple and that gut wrenching all at the same time.

          

                                                              Dustin G.

Too Soon?

I went to a new gynecologist today (I know, but it's relevant to the post). She was going over all of the basics, and asked if I had ever had the HPV vaccine, Gardasil. I explained that by the time it got popular, my doctor told me I was too old. She asked if any of my children were girls and if so, how old was she. Yes, she's 9. She asked me if I had considered getting the vaccine for her. I was stunned. "Of course not! She's only 9! We haven't even had the sex talk, much less considered a vaccine for an STD. Are parents actually doing that this early? I can't even wrap my head around that". If I wasn't stunned enough already, what she said next nearly made me fall off the table...."What I can't wrap my head around is that I had a 9 year old girl on this same table last week telling me that she had already had three sexual partners. We need to start having these conversations earlier and earlier". I took the pamphlet that she offered on my way out.

Nine years old. Three sexual partners. Let that sink in for a minute.

I don't about your children, but my nine year old still spends hours playing with her Monster High dollhouse and trying new nail polish designs. Sure, there have been moments where my immediate thought is, "Whoa, kid, slow down!". I've noticed that she likes to try and wear outfits that I think are too old for her, that she'd give her right arm for me to let her wear make up out of the house. I know that these conversations are coming, and they have to be had. But.....she's nine. My mom never had "the talk" with me, proper. She answered questions that I would ask....and those questions didn't start until I was 12.

When did you have "the talk" with your kids? What was your approach? Is 9 years old too young to receive a vaccine for STDs? Let's hear it!

Christianity Under Attack!

This morning, I opened my email and found an email from a church that I used to attend. Now, don't get me wrong. I still consider myself Christian, still God-fearing, but I've found that my own opinions and views and conscious have taken me a bit "off the path" from what I was raised to believe.

The headline of the email was "CHRISTIANITY UNDER ATTACK!" and it provided three dates to back up the claim. The second claim was "January 22, 1973: Roe vs. Wade. Abortion became legal and the unborn child has no voice". This made me giggle for a few reasons.

At this particular church, I know of two women off the top of my head who have had terminations. One, terminated an ectopic pregnancy. The other, was a 15 year old girl who's grandmother (who also attends this church) forced her to have an abortion. I was friends with the girl and I remember exactly what she was told, "Get rid of it or you're out!". Christian like, huh? I'm willing to bet the number of women in that church who had had elective abortions or terminations for medical reasons would be astounding if they hadn't been scared into silence their whole lives.

Now, going back to the wording, "and the unborn child has no voice". What about the women who are raped? The 12 year old whose uncle takes advantage of her? Where are their voices? Are they allowed to have voices, but not the other women, who's abortions we deem "unacceptable"? And how dare, we, as Christians, judge someone so harshly, be so high on our horses that we think that we have the authority, the audacity, to decide for another woman what is best for her and her family?

I suppose there really is no point to this post other than OMGIHAVEN'TTALKEDTOYOUGUYSINFOREVER and that this particular email just happened to get under my skin. I hope all of you guys are hangin in there, kicking life in the balls as needed.

In the News...

So there's all sorts of interesting news buzzing around the feminist movement right now. My Facebook news feed has been blowing up with stories from Jezebel, HuffPost Women, and all sorts of other news outlets.

First and foremost (and this is huge), the ridiculous South Dakota abortion ban (you know, the obnoxious one that would have outlawed abortions after a fetal heartbeat was detected?) was ruled unconstitutional. Big win here, people. The law was passed last year and immediately (because, well...DUH) challenged. This ban was just about the strictest in the nation when it came to limiting abortion access for women, as a fetal heartbeat can be detected as early as 6 weeks (a point at which many women don't even realize they're pregnant). Seeing as abortion access is already extremely limited in this area of the country, if this law would have gone into affect, it would have completely ruled out the option of abortion for many women.

Today, Mississippi governor, Phil Bryant signed a bill to ban abortion starting at 20 weeks from the start of a woman's last menstrual period. He did this because, well, Mississippi hates abortion and they've done a fantastic job of making it damn near impossible for women to have safe, legal access to abortion care. *Facepalm*

Last week's episode of Game of Thrones has feminists and rape victims raving mad due to a consensual sex scene from the novel which was turned into a very odd rape scene on the HBO series. The episode's director defends this by saying that the sex depicted is consensual by the end of the scene. I won't lie. I am completely confused by this whole shitstorm. And I'm saying that as both a feminist and someone who has been affected by rape.

A few days ago, RH Reality Check asked the question: Is Being a Pornstar Feminist? Now, this is hardly "news" (though it stems from the story regarding the Duke freshman who was recently outed by a fellow student for doing porn to pay her college tuition).
This is quite interesting to me, as I think this question can be answered either way and still be correct. What do you think?

And finally, something that pisses me off to no end. Iggy Azalea (an Austrialian artist) stated in an interview at New York's Hot 97 on Tuesday, that she had to stop crowd surfing at her own shows because her fans kept trying to finger her. Finger her! At her own shows! I read this and immediately, the big red neon sign in my head started flashing "What...the...FUCK?!". How is it that these "fans" (which Iggy said were both male and female) find it acceptable to FINGER a performer?! Someone that they supposedly "respect" and admire. Iggy also stated that she now wears three layers of protection underneath her pants, shorts, or skirts now. This pisses me off and breaks my heart all at the same time.

That's all for now, people. If you've got any interesting tid bits that I missed, feel free to shoot them my way either here in the comments. On our Facebook page or email me at athoughtofherown@gmail.com.

Lindsey Creekmore vs. Jon Bruning

Many of you will remember that early last summer, I posted an article about Lindsey Creekmore. The RN on staff at the clinic operated by Dr. Leroy Carhart.

On Wednesday, March 19th...Lindsey will finally begin her hearing with the Nebraska State Board of Nursing to determine whether or not she will lose her nursing license. It goes without saying that Lindsey needs all of the support that she can get.

The news was released last May that Nebraska State Attorney General, Jon Bruning, had filed a 12 page petition with the state to revoke Lindsey's license. It is important to note that Jon Bruning has a long history of holding a strong pro-life stance.

Included in this post is the original news clip that I viewed when I found out about the allegations last year. Since then, I've gotten to know Lindsey personally and have spent time at the clinic (as you all know). Anyone who knows Lindsey, knows that these allegations are false. Anyone who has spent time at the clinic knows that those allegations are false.

I am absolutely confident that Lindsey will come out on top of this situation, but in the meantime, she needs all the support she can get. If it's possible for you to be in Lincoln for the hearing, please plan on doing so. I will post more details, such as times and any updates that I get as I get them. Please share this article/hashtag with as many of your pro-choice friends/family members as possible.

#ProLindsey

Lindsey's News Interview

A Day in the Life: Clinic Days

It’s 6:30am and typically I’d still be sleeping. But today, I’m wide awake, lying in bed, stomach in knots, and praying to God that I’ll have the energy to make it through a 17 hour day. I know that today will easily end up being one of the most exhausting days of my life, but I’m ready for it. I’ve been waiting on this day for months, one could even say years. Later today, I’ll go to work for my typical 8 hour shift, but first, I’ll spend a few hours learning how an abortion clinic operates-from the inside.

If the idea of observing at an abortion clinic isn’t enough for my mind to process, I won’t be observing at just any abortion clinic. No, I’ll be observing at the clinic owned and operated by Dr. Leroy Carhart (and staff, respectively). Dr. Carhart has been a major player in this movement for years, as he is one of the only remaining abortion providers offering late term abortion services. Because of the late term options he provides, he’s also spent years being the target of violent pro-life extremists, even falling victim to arson at his ranch in 1991. The fire killed 17 of Dr. Carhart’s horses. Paintings of those horses now decorate the walls of his clinic.

For the last few months, I’ve held the title of "intake specialist" for the clinic. Simply put, this means that I obtain information, by phone, for women seeking Dr. Carhart’s services past 21 weeks gestation. In addition to this position, running this blog has also kept me involved in this movement (albeit, on the outskirts) for almost two years now. But for some reason, I feel that by exposing myself to the protestors who are bound to show on this particular morning, I’m involving myself on a whole new level. By meeting these women face to face and hearing their stories and observing procedures, I feel like I’m entering an entirely different arena. It’s a heavy feeling and I’m intensely aware that by the time I leave the clinic today, the views that I’ve spent the last three years defending could change. And still, I can’t bring myself to miss a moment of it.

After leaving home, I stop at the store and load up on energy drinks before heading to the clinic. Once I hit the interstate, my anxiety kicks in. I can’t stop the constant stream of thoughts from going through my mind: What should I expect? How crazy will the protestors be? Will this make me emotional? Am I going to completely humiliate myself and pass out? Will I leave just as strong in my beliefs as before? The questions are endlessly streaming and I can’t wait to find the answers.

It seems like it takes an hour to get to the clinic, but in reality, I’m there within 15 minutes. I arrive around 7:40am to what appears to be one protestor, an older man who seems to have placed signs in the grass with phrases such as "Abortion Hurts Women" and "Men Regret Abortion". If that isn’t annoying enough, he’s also holding a sign that reads, "Today is Kill Day!" in big, bold letters. Once I manage to get into the parking lot (while reading these signs), I realize that there are two women who are on the grass in front of the parking lot praying. I park my car and try to stall because I know the man has zeroed in on me. Within seconds, another car parks beside me and a man and women get out and enter the building together. I finally suck it up and get out of my car and instantly the man is yelling at me, "Don’t kill your baby! Let us help you! You’ll never forget this day…the day you murdered your baby!" In all honesty, I have no idea how to react, so I just mutter that I’m not pregnant and that I’m an employee. He doesn’t believe me, shakes his head and keeps yelling at me not to kill my baby. I walk away and head up the stairs that lead to the clinic entrance. The praying women are waiting for me. They’re very nice and I have no problem telling them that I’m not pregnant and that I work at the clinic. They instantly seem surprised that I’m talking to them and express interest in having a "real conversation" with me for my blog anytime I’m free. I awkwardly walk away and as the door closes behind me, I hear them tell me that they’ll be praying for me.

I’m finally inside the clinic and I feel like I can take a breath. I’m excited to see the girls, but I can’t help but notice the atmosphere in the clinic. There is one patient there, in addition to the couple from the parking lot. No one in the room seems to be any kind of noticeably emotional, though there does seem to be an awkward silence lurking in the room. GMA is playing on the t.v. in the waiting room and Lara Spencer’s perky voice is all that seems to cut through the uncomfortable silence. I laugh to myself at the thought of how excited I am to be here, while all the other girls in the office are discussing one’s recent overnight stay in the local haunted house. It’s about this time that I realize that in my nervous rush to leave the house, I forgot my notebook, so Lindsey (Dr. Carhart’s Director of Nursing) sets me up with a clipboard. I immediately start making notes and she laughs at me. I’m determined to not forget a single detail. Lindsey informs the other girls in the office that I’ll be following them around the clinic today and that I’d like to sit in on educations and procedures. After what felt like forever, the work begins.

By the time I sit through my first education, another patient has arrived. There is no single characteristic that any of these women visibly share. There is a young, married couple that seems down, a girl who is alone and seeking a medical abortion (the abortion pill), and another girl who must be somewhere around my age, who is accompanied by her best friend. They all appear to be from different walks of life. I’m asked if I’d like to sit in on the education for a F.I. (fetal indication) patient and I jump at the opportunity. It turns out that the young married couple (who I previously saw in the parking lot) is there because they just discovered that their baby has a chromosomal abnormality. The woman is devastated, the husband tries to remain stoic, and this is the first patient that I feel some connection with, even though we never speak to each other directly.

Finally, Dr. Carhart arrives and almost immediately jumps into action. I walk into the first patient room to find an older woman, calmly lying on the examining table. Her pregnancy was discovered so early that she did not qualify for a medical abortion. I stand discreetly in the back of the room by the door, so not to make the patient uncomfortable or be in the way. As the woman is being prepped, Dr. Carhart comes into the room and speaks with her, ensuring that she’s comfortable with her decision. All that’s going through my mind is, "This is it. This may change everything. I’m not sure I’m ready for this". By the time those thoughts play out in my mind, the procedure is over and the woman is getting dressed. I’m called over to examine the products of conception (POC) and to my surprise, I see nothing recognizable. Immediately, I wonder why people are willing to kill doctors over this.

The third procedure that I observe is not an actual abortion procedure, but the administration of Digoxin to the fetus and placement of laminaria for cervical dilation. It’s the young married couple. I walk into the room and notice that instead of the patient being distraught, her husband is. She is calm and it’s his turn to cry. He holds it together quite well, holding her hand and speaking with the doctor. Dr. Carhart is incredibly sympathetic to their situation and speaks to them like this is a personal situation for him, as well. It is obvious that they appreciate his compassion during such a difficult time. These types of situations are what originally opened my mind to the pro-choice movement and it’s hard for me to process how this couple must be feeling. After speaking with the husband, Dr. Carhart takes his seat and is given the instruments needed for the procedure. Once the ultrasound screen lights up, the husband buries his head into the examining table and his wife strokes his forehead. The room falls completely silent and as soon as the first part of the procedure is over, the husband falls apart. It’s clear that his heart is broken. I’m still standing awkwardly in the corner, not wanting to make anyone uncomfortable or be in the way, but I notice that he’s looking for something to wipe his face and he’s too distraught to notice the box of tissues that had been sat on the head of the examining table for him. I quietly step over and hand him the box. He’s grateful and thanks me. In the time it takes me to take three steps back to the corner, I’m sure my heart is about to burst through my chest. In handing him that simple box of tissues, I feel like I’m officially involved. Part of me feels ridiculous; part of me feels grateful to be a part of it, even in some small way. I know I won’t be there to see how this couple handles their procedure the following day, and I make a note to ask Lindsey to keep me informed of how they’re doing. And suddenly, it’s real to me. I don’t know these people…I don’t know their story, but it feels personal. This really is a needed service. I like to say that I knew that before, but for some reason, now it’s really hitting home for me.

I see one more F.I. procedure before the day is over. It’s for a couple that I didn’t see earlier, but again, the husband is by his wife's side and it makes me appreciate Dr. Carhart’s way of doing things. The couple is laid back. They discuss their other children with us, the wife jokes and tries to make light of the situation, but keeps bursting into tears. The husband remains calm and strong for his wife. Once Dr. Carhart comes into the room, he asks how she’s doing and she dissolves into tears and says, "This fucking sucks!" Dr. Carhart agrees with her and tries to put her at ease. He handles the situation beautifully and it’s amazing to watch his bedside manner. He ensures that this is the route the couple wishes to take. Throughout this procedure, the patient tries to lighten the mood by making jokes and I admire her for working so hard to hold it together. We all end up jumping in to help lighten things up. In a matter of minutes, this procedure is completed and Dr. Carhart leaves the room to help his next patient.

Finally, I’m standing in for my last procedure of the day. This woman, probably close to my age, is farther along than the rest of the surgical abortion patients and I’m curious as to why she’s waited so long. It doesn’t take long to figure out that it was a financial issue. As she talks with the staff, she’s clearly concerned about any extra costs that she may have to pay. I’m instantly irritated because I know that this service should be more readily available and affordable for women who need it. For women living paycheck to paycheck, an unexpected pregnancy and termination (if she chooses that route) could unravel everything that she’s worked so hard to gain and it appears that that may be the case for this patient. As Dr. Carhart finishes his paperwork after the procedure, I scribble a few extra notes down and start to get my papers together.

Back in the office, I’m gathering my jacket and papers when it starts to set in that the last few hours have changed the way I feel about this movement. The protestors, the patients, Dr. Carhart…all of it has left me with a feeling of overwhelming pride in this movement. For the doctors and nurses and staff members who are willing to risk their own well-being in an effort to provide a safe, dignified place for these women to go in their time of need. Even for the women who are brave enough to recognize that they made need to utilize their right to choose. As I start to leave the building, I remember that protestors will be waiting and suddenly there’s a sickening churn in the pit of my stomach and I feel nothing but disgust for these close minded zealots. How could anyone meet one of these women and dare to judge them? How could they assume that they know what is best for these women and (possibly) their families? What makes them think that they have a say when it comes to a woman exercising her freedom of choice? This time when I walk outside, there’s a different woman by the door and again, I have no problem speaking with her. I’m a little more confident this time around so when she starts preaching, I politely (yet, somewhat sarcastically) tell her that I disagree with her. I state that I CHOSE to have my children and I wouldn’t dare try to take that choice away from another woman. I walk away, and am again told that they’ll be praying for me.

By the time I get in my car and start to leave the clinic, there are about 5 protestors hanging by the entrance. I have to stop for oncoming traffic and while I'm stuck there and they're trying to hand me pamphlets, I crack my window and start blaring Ani DiFranco's "Lost Woman Song". It is ironically appropriate for the moment and I can't help but smile to myself. Yes, the first part of my day is over and instead of feeling exhausted, I'm feeling energized and more confident in my beliefs than ever. There is no way to justify taking a woman's right to choose away from her. Ani DiFranco had it right when she said, "They keep pounding their fists on reality, hoping it will break. But I don't think a one of us leads a life free of mistakes". 

Abortion isn't going anywhere. And outlawing it will only result in more lives lost. The real question of morality lies in whether or not we (as a society) are willing to let women needlessly die?

I can officially say that I know this movement from the inside...which leads me to this: I support the freedom of choice and the physicians and clinic staff that make the choice possible. Where do you stand?

Women on Web

If you're up to date on your abortion research, you know that there are still countries in which abortion is strictly illegal. And the consequences can be severe, to say the least. The women who reside in these countries clearly don't have many options when it comes to terminating pregnancies.

A few weeks ago I received a message on the blog's facebook page from a young girl who was desperate to end her pregnancy, but was in a country where it was illegal. She needed help. She was terrified. She came to me, a simple blogger for help. That should tell you just how desperately she needed resources.

I knew of one possible resource for her. One option that I had learned of about a year earlier that I never thought I'd have to utilize (or help someone utilize)...Women on Web. Women on Web is a website that, depending on whether or not a girl or woman meets certain requirements, can set a patient up with an online consultation with a doctor, and then can mail the women medications to end her pregnancy.

As simple as it sounds, this one website is making a huge impact in the lives of desperate women. If you'd like to contribute to this amazing organization, you can do so by visiting this link: https://www.womenonweb.org/en/donate . In order to run such an operation, they can use all the financing they can get. And women around the world will benefit from your generosity.

If you have any similar resources, please private message me on facebook or send an email with links to AThoughtofHerOwn@gmail.com.

What are we teaching our daughters?

About a week ago, right after my 6 year old started 1st grade, it occurred to me that this is the point at which we usually start telling our little girls that the boys on the playground are mean to them because they "like them". A few years later, we start wondering why our daughters start choosing to spend their time with assholes. There's something wrong here.

For some reason, I can't stop thinking about this. We (as a society) are teaching our daughters that it's acceptable for boys (or men) to treat them like crap because it's basically a sign of affection. What the hell are we thinking? Personally, I want to teach my daughter to kick a boy in the shin if he's mean to her on the playground. Of course, the school systems tend to get a little asshurt over those things these days.

We can't keep teaching our daughters these things (consciously or unconsciously) and wondering why we're seeing so many good girls with assholes, so many bad relationships, and so many girls devaluing themselves in order to stay in these shitty relationships. Let's start teaching our girls to value themselves....to reserve themselves for guys that respect them...that it isn't a sign of affection for a boy (or guy) to be a shit to them.

How do we start changing these "norms"? How do we start the process of breaking the cycle? Let's talk!

Life and Change

The last month of my life has been a whirlwind. I went from being a married housewife in Atlanta with three small children, to being a working, single mom of three about 5 minutes outside of Omaha. To say that my life is changing is the understatement of the century. I could look at all these changes in a negative way, but I'm choosing not to. I'm choosing to look for the silver lining. And there are many:

Since moving here, I've made some of the best friends that I've ever had. In fact, I would say that my family has expanded. I've had the opportunity to meet someone I've admired for years. I'm finally getting the chance to see this amazing movement from the inside. And finally, I'm spreading my wings for the first time in years. It's the best, most terrifying, mind boggling feeling I've ever had. It's definitely a lot to wrap my mind around.

In the first two weeks that I was here, I was invited to Dr. Carhart's clinic on a day when there were no patients. I was able to get a behind-the-scenes look, and I'll be honest...I was as giddy as a 14 year old meeting her favorite pop star. Lindsey (Dr. Carhart's nurse that I wrote about a few weeks ago), showed me around and loaded me down with all sorts of pro-choice gear. A week later, I went back to the clinic and was able to meet the man himself. Remember the giddy 14 year old? Yeah. She was back in full force. I'll admit, I was kind of star struck. He pulled me into an empty waiting room and asked me how I was doing (he had already been filled in on my situation), asked me about my kids, the blog, and let me pick his brain a little. He was as amazing as I expected. He also offered to let me bring my kids out to his ranch sometime soon, since my daughter loves to ride. And the icing on the cake? I got to watch his copy of After Tiller (FINALLY! Expect a post about that soon!). Color me happy.

This post doesn't have a whole hell of a lot to do with abortion. But my life is changing. The posts may start coming a little slower. I hope you guys will stick around and keep sharing the blog and the page with your friends. I still have a lot to say!

Lindsey brought a cake over for my dad's birthday on Sunday!

The pre-4th party was a blast!

Love!

Still stoked about this shirt! Not so much about the lack of make-up >.<

More gear!

Happy babies!

He's pretty sure he's going to marry Lindsey...

Notice how blurry the picture is? Yeah, my hands were shaking...