Why I wake up early some Saturdays (let’s get uncomfortable). {Repost
*Originally posted on my artist blog 9.23.19
My alarm goes off at 6:30am. It’s Saturday morning, and even during the week, I don’t wake up until 8:15am or so. It’s winter, so it will be another couple of hours before daylight. I layer up in long johns, leg warmers, thick socks, long sleeved shirt, a sweater–-You probably get the idea of how dressing in layers works. I grab coffee and then drive 25 mins to a clinic, where I’ll spend the following two hours standing in the cold, voluntarily getting yelled at by strangers who hate me.
It’s cold. And I realize I should invest in warmer mittens. I’m standing on a curb at the entrance of a parking lot. It’s 7:40am in early January, in Minnesota. I’m bouncing up and down a bit, because in my mind that makes me warmer (I haven’t researched the science of this too thoroughly yet). The first bit of dawn is starting to show. A fresh faced young woman of maybe twenty turns to me, her arms wrapped around herself also trying to keep warm. Her and a friend had driven down from Saint Cloud to be here. They woke up around 4am.
“So, why do you do this?” She asks with genuine curiosity. I take a breath as I figure out where to start. Its that kind of cold that just freezes your face and the inside of your nose, “I’ve been very disheartened with, well, like everything over the past couple of years. Moving to Canada isn’t really an option, and one of the only ways I’ve found to help fight depression and a constant feeling of utter defeat is to put time and energy into something I’m passionate about. One of those issues is women’s reproductive rights. I can’t build houses. I can’t provide medical care to children in foreign countries. I can’t donate insane amounts of money to anything. But this is something that matters that I’m capable of doing with my limited skillset.” She nods knowingly and smiles. We continue to chat off and on between clients.
One commonly hung protestor’s sign at the clinic.
I escort at a clinic that provides abortions 1-2 Saturdays a month. This means, I’m one of the people who serves as a barrier between the women wanting to receive factual information regarding their health and pregnancy options, and the yelling strangers screaming lies and shaming them. They remind people of God’s eternal love and compassion by judgmentally condemning them to hell as baby killers. An abortion is never an easy choice. I never know what exactly brings clients in, and honestly, it doesn’t matter. I’m irrelevant. I’m only here to be the kind face, and a non-judgmental barrier between women and protesters.
My first clinic escort shift was almost a year ago, the Saturday morning after Kavenaugh’s supreme court confirmation. And I can certainly assure you, that morning I had no reservations about ignoring insults and fake science from obnoxious angry old white men. Because I was pretty fucking tired of men not believing women, men thinking we are their fucking property, and men incessantly working to exert control our bodies.
“Oh! You say you’re so pro choice!” He yells with his crazy-bedraggled-old-man-eyebrows. “But you don’t give them a choice! You don’t let them take my information!”
This is categorically untrue, for two reasons.
No. 1: Escorts are trained to not interact with protesters, we don’t talk to them, we don’t touch them, we don’t take their information. In turn, we don’t stop any clients from taking protestors’ information. We remind them that they don’t have to, but clients have their own autonomy, we’re simply there to support them and walk them safely from their vehicle into the clinic.
No. 2: This clinic has actual doctors with FACTUAL information, and tell women all their CHOICES, the medical side effects, how far along they are in a pregnancy, etc. As opposed to the fake women’s clinic with its deceptively similar name right across the street that does offer “Free ultrasounds!” (From humans who aren’t required to have medical training or adhere to HIPAA privacy regulations) If you’re unfamiliar with the concept of fake women’s clinics, or “Crisis Pregnancy Centers” please take some time to educate yourself, because they receive tax benefits, and intentionally mislead women. Don’t feel like reading? John Oliver does a great piece about them.
My point is, we don’t want women to have abortions. We also don’t want them not to. We want them to receive truthful and safe medical care, from trained and licensed professionals–whose only objective is providing healthcare that best meets the needs of each individual patient. Humans deserve to genuinely know all their options, and make whatever choices accordingly.
Abortion is a rough topic. I realize this. For a decade as an artist military spouse, I kept myself as toned down and neutral as possible, because it was the easiest way to blend in, socialize, and not be a hassle for my [ex] husband’s career. I didn’t want to alienate friends, acquaintances, and art clients who are likely put off by my pro-choice feminist rhetoric. However, we are living in tumultuous times. While blending in and remaining neutral are the easiest and safest things to do–it’s a silence I’m uncomfortable living in. It’s a silence that makes me complicit in my own oppression.
Abortion is not a black and white issue. It would be so much easier to navigate this topic if it were. But it’s not.
It’s not as simple as, “You don’t want the baby?! Why did you have sex then?” Fundamentally, women are also sexual beings, they do and should be allowed to enjoy sex. But the far more uncomfortable responses to this question demonstrate the grey.
“Because my birth control failed.”
”Because I was raped.”
”Because he lied about a vasectomy”
“Because he removed the condom without consent during sex.”
”Because I did want this baby, but it’s developed without lungs and won’t survive past birth.”
or “Why not just give it up for adoption?” Again, fundamentally speaking, women are autonomous beings, we aren’t simply mindless vessels with no purpose other than perpetuating the species. Carrying a child full term can be life-threatening for us. The US has the highest pregnancy-related mortality rate of industrialized nations, and the odds are worse if you are a women of color. The lack of compassion involved with how casually some treat the idea of a woman (or child, I guess at this point, since we no longer allow exceptions for rape and incest) putting her life on hold, while jeopardizing her health for nearly a year to carry the progeny of a human who violated her body is mind-boggling.
”My mental health and body aren’t able to recover from the PTSD of sexual assault while carrying my rapist’s child to term.”
”My job doesn’t offer appropriate health care to meet my prenatal needs, and I can’t afford to carry out a pregnancy”
”I’m 10.”
”I wanted to carry my baby to term, but it developed without part of its skull and is incompatible with life.”
I’m not attempting or expecting to change anyone’s mind on this subject (because I won’t). I guess I’m hoping people can at least acknowledge that there are far more layers and nuance related to abortion. And honestly, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a little part of me is scared. As utterly heartbreaking as it is, mass shootings have become almost common place. In turn, violence and threats against abortion clinics are also on the rise. And I know, if the unthinkable turn of events occurred and I was killed supporting other women’s right to their own bodily autonomy–some people, somewhere will think, “Good. She deserved it. One less self-righteous femi-nazi bitch murdering helpless babies.”
To them, I’ve already been vilified to the point of no longer being perceived as a human being. My death would be beautiful righteous justice for unborn. But I’m not a ‘witch’, a ‘murderer’, a ‘heartless bitch’ or any other number of things I’ve been called.
I guess, I’m writing this because I am a human being. I volunteer in this role because of my immense compassion and sensitivity to the suffering of others, not because I lack it.
I’m a woman. I’m intelligent, worthwhile, and relevant. I’m human.
We all are, and we deserve to be treated with compassion, dignity, and respect.