image1-1

Since my last post I’ve received an ample amount of messages from both females and males. They’ve all encouraged me to keep writing, in some way they’ve commented positive thoughts on my character and they’ve thanked me for my courage. I didn’t expect to hear from men but they too thanked me for my post and told me about all the women they’re going to pass my writing on to. Some of my friends who didn’t quite understand how I felt before and after the abortion contacted me to say my words brought them to tears and to thank me for providing new insight. Words really are powerful and I think I’m slowly starting to realize just how powerful mine are.

One message stood out and I saved it. I don’t ever remember feeling so touched to the point of tears by someone’s words. Maybe it’s overwhelming (in a good way) for me because after years of experiencing different forms of abuse I’ve learned to silence myself. Sometimes I feel as though I shouldn’t speak and what I have to say isn’t worthy. This past weekend has shown me just how important it is for me to let those feelings go. Sometimes I’m torn between knowing exactly what and how much I’m worth and what other people tried to tell me I’m only good for.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to anyone who called or messaged me. You took time out of your day to tell me I’ve helped you but it goes both ways.

image1

Hello my loves! Coming this fall I am launching a website of my own. Many of you have taken the time to read a personal blog post I wrote sharing my experience having an abortion. However, this new website will be a platform for all women. It will focus on our individual journeys to a place of healing; our individual experience around common experiences shared by all women, and it will be a platform allowing us room to manifest empowerment, love and support. I’d like to give other survivors the opportunity to share their stories of survival. Anonymous submissions will also be accepted.

After the mass amount of views (over 1000 in 2 days), messages I received from women both thanking me for sharing my story and asking me to listen to theirs, I was reminded of just how much we are still living in silence. I understand this because I have also struggled to talk about my trauma as a result of surviving childhood sexual abuse, sexual abuse in my teens, mental abuse, and as I’ve mentioned before losing a child. The more I started to open up, the more I realized I was not alone. And it was through sharing with and listening to stories told by other women that I was able to deal with the internal struggle I was having. I am able to write these posts because I am no longer ashamed. You cannot shame someone who understands not everything is in their control and you can’t shame a fighter. Now, what I’m choosing to do is share what helped me cope, grow, accept, release, and what gave me the strength to move forward. Sharing in a space where you and your words will be appreciated is therapeutic in itself.

This is where my project comes in.

I am working with www.ankitdesigns.com to create an interactive website where women will benefit from expressive, therapeutic writing by processing their life experience, particularly trauma and transition. I am inviting women/self-identified women to share their experiences around sexual abuse, physical abuse, childbirth/loss/motherhood and relationships in a healing, healthy, and honouring environment where other women/self-identified women will have access to this content. We seek what our heart needs.

An official launch party will follow this fall – courtesy of one of my best friends Shaemara (www.shaemara.com), singer extraordinaire/store manager of shoeme.ca, (we’re using their venue in Queen West!).

If you or someone you know would be interested in sharing your story please do not hesitate to contact me.

I am excited to see what will manifest from creating this website but first, my goal is to create an exclusive online community for those of us that have survived and are ready to share how we’ve healed our hearts

Love always ❤

CONTACT: amanda@healherheart.org

image1-2

Every Mother’s Day since 2012 instead of writing posts on social media about and to the mothers I know – I started to write to the ones I know could have and wanted to be mothers.  My heart goes out to those who feel a void because their child is away from them, has passed, has been taken from them, or who had to give up being a mother because maybe she felt the timing wasn’t right. The ones who still feel a void despite how many prayers they’ve said in their head and to God for solace in dealing with their loss and the fucking pain that comes with it.

I’m not ashamed of this anymore and so I write. My friends and family know I tried. They saw me bawl my eyes out to the point where I was numb and looked lifeless. I know in my heart what I would have done if the situation were different. For God sake my child’s name is tattooed on my back. I wanted him. I hope someone takes something from this. If nothing else, understand this is such a common experience and you’re not alone.

I am very choosy with my words when I describe my experience around abortion. I say: “I have lost my child.” My child was taken. I did not choose this route for myself and without control during this time, it happened. I did not want to lay on a table drugged to the point where I couldn’t feel the pain but could hear the sound of my child being sucked from between my legs and tossed in a garbage as if my child had absolutely no meaning. To me it was still a life. This was in 2012 and still I feel pain. Four years later I still feel it. So no, if asked I do not say, “I decided to have an abortion.” Instead I say, I lost a child. This wound slowly healed (to an extent) but there will always be reminders and days that force me to reflect; like Mother’s Day.

I can’t be the only woman who feels pain on Mother’s Day. I know this because I have friends and family that have lost children. I always call or text to wish them a Happy Mother’s Day whether or not their child is alive. I understand that tears flow, I understand that regardless of whether or not you’re excited to spend the day with your own mother you think of what could have been done for you if your child took it’s form. Instead they remain a memory in your head and a soul that touched only your heart.

I’ve heard it all:

It wasn’t meant to happen for you right now.” … I understand, maybe not, but I still housed life.

“He wasn’t meant for you either, he wouldn’t have been a good father.” … I understand but I still carried our first child.

“Your child is in heaven looking over you, don’t worry.” … I understand but how nice would it have been if my child made me breakfast on Mother’s Day? I’m just trying to tell you it hurts.

These are reoccurring thoughts when I’m bombarded with everything I see leading up to or on Mother’s Day. I am fine most of the year. I love my mother, I appreciate all of the women in my life. I appreciate those who have blessed me with children that call me aunty, sister, or friend… but my void still exists.

Many judged me. I wore a cross and people told me to take it off because I killed my child.
My older sister told me that I killed my parent’s first grandchild and so I should be ashamed of myself and my actions. She said I don’t deserve to be a mother ever again. What she and many didn’t understand was that I was verbally abused constantly by the person I was with, I was forced into a situation I didn’t want and I was forced to decide whether or not it was worth bringing my baby into a situation with a man I knew wanted my child dead anyway. I tried.

The strongest woman can suffer from mental abuse. It’s a cycle people don’t understand unless you’re there and have experienced it yourself. Not everyone can even tell what’s happening until it’s far into the game. After I found out I was pregnant nobody knew about my sleepless nights. They don’t know I cried every single night and begged him to change his mind. I begged. They don’t know that he also went back and forth. They don’t know he called me everything aside from my actual name while his child was in me. I didn’t take that from him because I wanted to, I took it because at this point I was stuck. I drank myself to sleep for months because I felt numb and couldn’t handle the pain. The insomnia wouldn’t pass so I drank and I cried some more. They don’t know he chose a name. They don’t know we decided we’d fuck what his parents thought. They don’t know he changed his mind after he said he would protect me. They don’t understand I didn’t know what to do.

Zemara, the mother of my God daughter, called me the morning she knew I was going through with it. She said, “Amanda if it’s money I’ll pick up an extra shift at work.” Dervan, my brother/one of my closest male friends, said he’d fill in as my child’s father because the man who fathered my child didn’t want to be. My little sister Natasha said she would be the support I needed even if I couldn’t get it from him. I remember Natasha would bring me broccoli to eat all the time because it was my craving. The afternoon I came home after having the abortion I remember her calling me as I was going to my room to tell me she saved the broccoli from her meal for me to have. I shut my door and I cried my eyes out.

At the time your head isn’t on straight. You start panicking because what you thought was your main support system failed you. So I cried some more and I did what he said. I didn’t want to raise my child alone. I didn’t want to be a single mother. I didn’t come from a single parent house hold and I wanted my child to know both parents. And so I terminated my pregnancy. Not because I was weak; because he left me and I was scared to do it alone.

My experience with my own pregnancy does not mean I have a hard time being happy for new and existing mothers around me but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take some time to get here. I avoided newborns for a while; I didn’t go to my cousin’s baby shower because I couldn’t handle it. I cringed every time I heard a child cry and it wasn’t mine. I had many conversations with myself. I had many conversations with my friends and I had many conversations with my mother who told me she experienced a similar situation and nothing besides crying herself to sleep every night helped her too.

So I continued to cry until I didn’t have it in me to cry anymore.

Not choosing to be a mother when God presented me with the opportunity is not something I should allow myself to be punished for, for the rest of my life. It just wasn’t my time as much as I wanted it to be.

For those of you who are here, who have been here, or who are struggling to cope: what helped me was talking to my baby. I apologized to its spirit and I apologized for being irresponsible. I said sorry for not being as safe as I could. I apologized for it’s conception and I apologized for bringing it into a situation where both people involved couldn’t handle the responsibility. I spoke to God from my bedroom. I spoke to my minister in church and she told me to punish myself was an even bigger sin than to let my baby go.

I am not less of anything because I am not a mother when I could have been. I am not less of a Christian, I do not need to take my cross off, and I do not deserve to be punished. My child is in my heart and although I’m sorry, I would not have been able to provide the life I wanted at the time. This does not make me weak, this does not make me selfish, this does not make me less of anything. This makes me a woman who tried her best, who is still resilient, and who understands her capabilities – I wasn’t capable at the time. After understanding this, I chose to let myself heal.

I’ve fucking hated Mother’s Day since 2012 and this is okay. Maybe I’m still healing in my own way and again, this is okay. I don’t need to say sorry anymore. If you’re still healing, I promise you it gets a little better every day. Give yourself time. Abortion, miscarriage, stillborn – a loss is a loss. Pain can’t be differentiated even if you want to categorize it – pain is pain. This day is for us too. We might not be celebrated in the way we’d like but we know what it feels like to talk to a child, to talk to a spirit we know we’ve created. Whether or not they’re here, they love us and we love them. Even if the human form of our children did not manifest in our arms. We’re forgotten on this day because what we created cannot be seen but there was a life in us too.

I harboured an immense amount of guilt. It’s one thing for other people to punish you but punishing yourself is the worst possible thing you can do. I’ve taught myself to release myself from my own mental scrutiny and guilt. This does not take away from how I feel/felt about my child and it shouldn’t for you either.

If you needed a refresher; this is why on Mother’s Day I posted: “Today, thinking of all those who don’t fit the Mother’s Day norm. Those who miscarried, aborted, or gave up for adoption. To those women who don’t have children but have helped raise others. To those who can’t make babies so they blessed the world with other talents. To those who weren’t ready to be mamas, but gave birth regardless. To those single fathers, step mothers. To the children who have lost their mothers. Whatever it is, love to you on this day.”

Happy Mother’s Day to ALL women. I love you.