Tuesday, November 15, 2016

My two abortions. #shoutyourabortion

This blog is connected to my business website. Everything I do in my personal life, I do proudly and do not hide, everything I do in my business, is colored by my own ethics and who I am. I cannot, and will not, separate them.
I realize that this forum is mine to use as I wish, but I also have held back in the past. I didn't wish to offend, to alienate, and frankly...to lose clients.
But that has to change. If I do not speak out then I will be doing a disservice to myself, my community, and womankind in general.
In light of the current political state of the United States of America, I have realized the importance of not sitting idle, or staying silent, the importance of sharing our stories.
I have written and erased this blog many times. It is a deeply personal experience. It is an experience that so many share. So here is my experience.
When I was 24 I moved to Yelapa Mexico, from San Francisco California with my best friend. I was thinking I'd get a job, fix up a little casa, maybe meet a guy. It was a care-free time of my life, but also a very wild and uncertain time.
It all began well, I got a job, fixed up a little casa, and met a guy. We were having a great time.
A couple months in I realized I was pregnant. I had used protection, it did not work. The relationship also did not work, things had gotten bad and I was extremely upset. For just a moment I recklessly thought, what would happen if I just had this kid? Maybe things would work out with me and the guy. Maybe my measly pay would get me through if it didn't. Maybe...it would absolutely fucking ruin my life!
I knew very quickly that I had to return to the states and terminate the pregnancy. I was broke, and I had no return ticket. I called my mom and told her I needed her to help me get back. She didn't ask why, she put it on her credit card, and she got me back to California.
I had arranged for an appointment at Planned Parenthood (where I had been getting my paps and birth control since I was 17).  I arranged for my good friend to take me. The day before my mom asked me if I was pregnant, moms know these things. I felt ashamed that I didn't successfully avoid it, that I had to ask for her help, that I was slinking back home with my tail between my legs. But I felt no shame or remorse about the procedure scheduled for the next morning. I only felt relief. And no person in my life, including my mother, made me feel anything but supported. I was extremely lucky and privileged in this.
The worst part about the whole day, was having to wait in the office, the procedure was easy and smooth (later classified "like butter") and I was treated with nothing but the utmost kindness and respect. Thanks to the doctors and staff that risk their actual lives to provide that safety for us.
A couple months later, I moved back to San Francisco, I ended up working as a photographer, doing burlesque, learning to swing dance, making amazing art, curating and producing shows, and gaining a whole group of awesome friends, I had a full and wonderful life of freedom, living in one of the most amazing cities in the world. That all, because of my rights, that someone fought for.
Almost a decade later I, once again, moved back to Yelapa. Now a very different person and for very different reasons. I began to run a large property with rentals, it was a huge undertaking. After 2 years of running the business and just getting the hang of it, getting out of an abusive relationship, and reconnecting with my old flame from 2004, I found myself pregnant again. I was on birth control, I had not gotten pregnant once in my decade in San Francisco, go figure. I was, once again, very sure that I was not ready to become a parent. This time I was able to buy my own ticket, and had wonderful girl friends to stay with in SF, to come with me to my appointment, I planned to visit family after and then return to Mexico and work in a week. It was to be an "abortion vacation", all was set!
3 days before my departure I started heavy bleeding and debilitating cramps, I was still in Yelapa, I was scared, and not sure what I should do. I called Planned Parenthood and they talked me down, gave me really good info of what to watch out for, and told me just to keep my appointment. I was having a "spontaneous abortion" which is the technical term for a miscarriage, which apparently happens all the time without women even knowing they are pregnant.
So still in a lot of pain and feeling very weak I got on a boat, got on a plane, took the train to my friends house, and relieved went my appointment the next day.
When we arrived, we saw protesters out front. It actually didn't dawn on me until I saw their large photos of mutilated bloody fetuses, that they were pro-life protesters. I could not believe it. This is the Mission district, in San Francisco California, in 2014!
Do these people have no lives? Do they really think they are going to deter people? Do they realize that their photos are totally inaccurate? Do they have a reason to be playing Bing Crosby christmas music? These were my immediate thoughts.
As I walked by, ignoring them, a woman approached me, close enough to touch me, and told me "You have other choices", I responded "You don't know what the fuck is going on with me! I happen to currently be miscarrying!" she then advised me that Planned Parenthood wasn't a real doctors office. Instead of further engaging, I just turned around and walked in.
The poor receptionist apologized and I told her it's fine, they don't phase me, it's like a crazy drugged-out person yelling at you on the bus.
But as I saw each girl come in, many young, alone, looking very distraught, I remembered my privilege, my luck of amazing support, my absolute surety that I did not want to become a parent at that time. These girls might not have that surety, they may be being pressured by family to continue with a pregnancy, they may want to be parents but know it isn't the best thing for them or a potential child at that time.
I wanted so badly to tell them it was ok, it was nothing to be ashamed of, they could be parents in the future if they wanted to. But I stayed quiet, had my uterus cleaned out, went back to my friends house, ate ice cream, had some visitors, and felt just fine the next day. Happy, ready to move on and get back to my routine. Which I did, and have, and not with one tiny bit of regret or shame. Until I saw the campaign #shoutyourabortion by "Lady Parts Justice League", people were telling their stories. I felt it was too personal, too controversial, that I would be judged. So even though I personally have no shame around it, I still felt shamed.
Why should I feel shamed by people who do not know me? And if I am judged by those who know me, do I want them in my life? Should I feel more shame because it wasn't that big of a deal for me? Would it be better if I had been wrought with guilt and if it had been a hard decision?
The truth is, I should not, I will not, I do not feel shame. If one wishes to shame me that is their burden to bare, not mine.
I do not disrespect women who wish to be mothers. I think it is something amazing, scientific and magical. To grow a person inside you. To love and nurture that person into adulthood. It is wonderful thing. I crave it at times myself. I am lucky to be an aunt/tia to some incredible offspring. I adore children and they adore me.
But unless a person is ready and wants this, it should not be forced, that in itself is a start to a hard and painful life.
I will not force women to have abortions, no one will force me to have children. It is our right, as women, to decide when we become mothers. You will not take that from us.

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Exploring the many layers of Mexico


Having recently returned from an adventure of visiting the interior of Mexico; Puebla, Cuernavaca, and Mexico city, all I can think about is what a truly beautifully layered country Mexico is.
From it's cities, to it's food, to it's people, amazing me that the layers never cease. There is a feeling of something hidden, secret, achingly painful and elaborately beautiful. Cities built upon other cities, cathedrals built upon pyramid temples, plain building facades hiding exquisite gardens and homes filled with foods of pre-hispanic roots, spiced with flavors of the orient, augmented with meats of animals introduced from far away lands across oceans.
There is a kinetic energy of creativity and movement that never stops in these ancient cities, as if it would fall right apart under your feet, or explode in a rain of volcanic ash, if you don't keep moving. People work so intently, sweeping, selling, story telling through murals, weaving, food, dance, everything they do. People stroll and chat, hawk their wares, sing and dance, and generally bustle in a strangely contradictory relaxed way.
I had the chance to spend a few days in Cholula, Puebla with some of the most lovely artists I've ever had the pleasure of spending time with. Welcomed into their shared living space with all the beautiful traditional hospitality of any good Mexican home. As I arrived late on a rainy night, I was delighted to find they had prepared both pipian and mole sauces, with fresh bolillos (rolls), we drank home made lavender infused Pox, moonshine made with corn and sugar cane (I had arrived with a gift of our own moonshine from the Yelapa area, Raicilla), and was given a cozy room to call my own. The next morning well rested and ready to search out breakfast, I find in the kitchen there is pan dulce, coffee, juice, and eggs being made.
I realized the thing that I thought was special treatment the night before, is just the way it is. It's the way it is in almost every house in Mexico I've been in throughout my whole life. Of what little there may be, offer half, always have something to offer, always have tortillas, bread, beans, coffee, juice, something...and most importantly, always graciously accept what is offered.
These artists work constantly on new projects doing murals in the streets, around every corner is a surprising colorful piece of art. Cholula's walls are covered in murals, many new and vibrant, some peeling off the wall, all unique and equally enticing to the eye. Beautifying their city and at the same time protesting the oppression that is felt by the people of Mexico. Fighting the same fight that ancestors fought, over land, over exploitation, over religious repression, always working to conserve and celebrate indigenous culture.
There are so many levels of different creative pursuits that I had the luck to experience on this trip. After leaving Puebla I arrived Sunday evening in Cuernavaca, Morelos and knowing that Sunday in any plaza in Mexico will be full of life, I went directly there. I happened upon a group of young dancers doing traditional dances of Mexico. These dancers didn't miss a step, even when the heel on the shoe of a girl broke, she continued dancing perfectly, smiling and putting her full heart into it. I saw dances from at least four regions of Mexico, each one with it's own ceremony and significance. Each one danced with the expertise and heart that clearly showed the love and passion they felt for their heritage.
It was a lovely few days of wandering the terraced, verdant, and hilly streets of Cuernavaca, the city of eternal spring, with it's many gardens, amazing food, museums and a people that are clearly proud of their beautiful city, and very happy to share it with visitors.
With the true luck of a journey meant to be, I happened to be staying my last night in Mexico city on the same night the Cracovia 32 swing club has their weekly social dance.
Welcomed into their space where they hold events from swing dancing, to circus school, I stayed the night, met new friends, joined in on their dance class, and finally tired from travel, I went to bed and was lulled to sleep by the big band music drifting upstairs from the dance floor.
My last day before flying home I spent wandering the streets in the area of Coyoacan, drinking coffee, eating pan de muertos, buying mole in the market, soaking up the feeling of being in the blue house of Frida and Diego, somehow feeling as if just being there connected me to the culture and creativity that they cultivated and thrived on in that space.
I felt overwhelming emotion a few times while roaming through the restored rooms of this historic home. I wasn't sure why I felt my chest tighten and my eyes sting with tears when I walked into the kitchen, or when I saw the bed where Frida painted her self portraits, laying there using a mirror she installed in the canopy. It struck me as odd that I would have such emotion for a place, for people, for a time that really had nothing to do with me and my life.
As I sat in the lush and lovely garden where so many people of interest, famous, not so famous, artists, politicians, philosophers and various vagabonds had surely drank morning coffee, shared mescal while lamenting lost loves, strummed guitars, argued opinions, generally celebrated and mourned the complicated human existence, I realized the emotion I felt was not just nostalgia for things past, it was for the experience I had over the last week, it was for the longing I have to continue traveling, creating, loving, and the knowledge that right in that moment, I was one of those people in the lush and lovely garden, and that knowledge reminded me that I have my own garden, my own art, my own companions to argue opinions with, my own complicated and layered history, just as every person in this world does. That feeling is equally wonderful and overwhelming, to know that we are all complicated, connected, perfectly imperfect, layered and many faceted beings.
Mexico is a country that does not let you forget that. On every corner, in every house, in every city, there are unique and distinct traditions, and at the same time, there are traditions that are the same in every place here, one being the hospitality that is a proud part of this place, the hospitality that brought down the great empire of Aztecs who welcomed the conquistadors into their cities, hospitality that eventually integrated all the colonizing cultures into one fascinating, vastly varying, and completely lovely layered country that is Mexico.