Telling Dad About My Abortion...Almost!

Sometimes it’s hard to come out as an abortioneer. We know that. And sometimes it can even be hard coming out to family. I never kept my abortioneering work a secret from my immediate family, but I still haven’t told my dad about my abortion. Okay, you’re probably wondering why I am worried about it or care about telling my parent. I mean, I don’t owe it to him or anything. I was in my 20’s when it happened. It’s not part of my job description as his daughter to let him know many years later, “Hey, dad, remember the time I dated that total asshole? You know, the one you hated? Yeah. Yeah. THAT one. Oh, no! Not THAT one, the OTHER one you hated. Well, errr, - uh – yeah, I had an abortion.” Shock and awe!

The thing is: I keep few secrets from my dad. We’re close. Despite this, he hasn’t ever been super supportive of my work or of abortion. He even calls the clinic “the gut and suck.” I’ve heard equally snide comments over of the years about women who have them, the procedure, you get the point; so, when we went to a poetry slam a couple weeks ago where Lauren Zuniga performed “To the Oklahoma Lawmakers,” I was nervous. (Seriously everyone, if you don’t know who she is, you need to.) I’ve mentioned her before to you all, but if you love her like I do, you can never tire of watching her. So, for some ear, eye, and heart candy, here you go.

Though I believe art can be a platform to share ideas and even transform beliefs – if not just challenge them – I was scared about my dad hearing this poem. I shifted in my seat, scratched my neck, and worried he would make another dismissive remark about abortion (which, of course, I take a little personally). Instead, during our drive home, he told me that “To the Oklahoma Lawmakers” was his favorite poem and performance; when pressed, he said it was because “everything she said was true.” I really couldn’t believe it. In fact, I said: “Who are you and what have you done with my dad?!” For the first time in over ten years of my work as an abortioneer, my dad and I spoke honestly and openly about abortion. For the first time in over ten years, I felt he finally got it. Finally understood the humanity behind abortion. Finally got ME. And for the first time in many years, I felt like I might actually be able to share with him that I had an abortion (without being judged) – not for me, really (not in the sense that I need to share my experience) – but so that he can further understand, put a face to, abortion and let loose of stereotypes. Judgment.

All I know is I am grateful for art. For poetry. For spoken word. I will never be able to stop being grateful to Lauren Zuniga. I feel I owe her. And I hope she reads this. Art can transform you. It can transform relationships. Miraculous? Yes. Proof? Dad doesn’t call the clinic “the gut and suck” anymore. And I think sometime soon, we’ll talk abortion again.

P.S. If you want to watch more of Lauren Zuniga, check her out here on YouTube.

My Abortion Commitment

This work has had a profound impact on me. Sometimes that impact has been like the sun stretching its rays into my heart; other times, it's been more like smashing head-on, full-force into a brick wall. I suppose, like love, or relationships in general, it takes work. You go through phases: the passionate awakening (I've found my calling!); the honeymoon (this is such a great organization!); the growing apart a bit...the stretching (well, there are some things that aren't perfect about my employer and sometimes I'm uncomfortable with xyz). Sometimes that stretching bends you, makes you flex between two worlds: abortioneering and "home." You may feel you can't keep stretching without something having to give. You may feel you don't belong fully in either world. You might leave said organization. Leave abortion work. Separate yourself more from "home"/non-AB work. If you can find a balance - one foot in each world - it's cool. Feels good. Real nice.

This work has stretched me. I'm more compassionate. Less judgmental. More open to life's experiences in general. I have a core belief that as women, we know what's best for ourselves. We could do with a bit of self-gentleness: we don't have to be perfect. And through this realization, I've learned the virtue of being kind to strangers. The power of just listening. Of just being present. And simply: kind. I learn from our women. I've watched many of them find their own Spring through abortion: they are reminded of who they are. What they want out of life. What they want from themselves. And from others. My own abortion was a lot like a wake-up call ("this man in my life is not someone I should be a parent with. Maybe he isn't someone I should be a partner with, either").

These lessons and values helped me decide what kind of people I want in - or out - of my life. I try to parent this way, too. I want my child to be compassionate, kind, and to care. I hope my child will respect women and not be super judgmental. If I manage to bring these concepts into parenting, I will forever thank my abortion relationship. My beautiful, romantic, warm-fuzzy abortion story. The one with the sun inside me.

Moving onto "I'm in it for the long-haul/totally committed to you, dear abortion," has long-term impacts that aren't always positive. I try not to stress too much, because I don't want the tender balance between abortion and my personal world to snap. I don't want to bring my work fears home. I don't want them literally on my doorstep with my child fearful of personal safety. I want to feel confident in developing relationships within my community without being the abortiongirl. I don't want to get outted to my neighbors or my child's teachers. I fear kids at school/teachers/parents will say mean things about abortion, about my work, about me as a parent, inevitably hurting my child. This balance between abortion and home becomes more tenuous.

Nothing's perfect. More compassionate, yes; but I'm more anxious, too. Granted, I can calmly handle an emergency. I know what to do if there's a bomb threat; but I'm the type that gets silently worried, waiting for the "next bad thing" to happen. Basically, I'm the victim of the type of relationship where abortion threatens to leave me. Shakes me up so I don't get comfortable in my job for too long. Insecurities abound: will abortion stay legal? can we keep doing abortions in the second trimester? oh, shit! parental consent! oh, shit! mandatory waiting period! oh, god, insurance might not cover anymore. am i going to lose my job? will those fucking protesters just stop their stupid 40daysoflife? will our business be the next to go under in this bad economy? It's like whiplash: Stop.Go.Stop.Go. Now: FIGHT!FIGHT!FIGHT! Stop.Breathe.ItWillBeOK. FIGHT!FIGHT!GO!GO! Exhausting.

When you're tired, you make compromises. Something has to give. How to give all the light I've learned from this work, while protecting those I love from the dark parts? I struggle. And I don't know what this phase in my relationship with abortion is called. We're not as close as we used to be. For better or for worse.