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labelleizzy: (Default)
Friday, December 18th, 2020 02:47 pm
Just shower thoughts... I was thinking today just looking around the items in the shower, that there are a lot of things that I experience what you've been cultivated to make me feel guilt there are a lot of things that I live with because I feel guilt and one of the issues that I want to try and nail down, is the degree to which us the people, we the people or whatever, have been encouraged to feel guilty about more or less neutral actions, actually serve corporate interests.

Item the first: When I feel guilty about not recycling my plastic, or not doing it right. Like, feeling bad about my shower scrubby shredding and letting little pieces of plastic into the waterways. That's a little thing right? Like, a little thing to feel guilty about. And yet so many of us do.

The thing about feeling guilty about doing something, is that then we generally don't call somebody else out for the thing that we feel guilty about right? So if I'm feeling guilty about the fact that I'm not recycling enough, I'm not going to believe maybe, or pay attention to the fact that giant corporations, manufacturers, fishing industry, etc are way more at faults for the massive amounts of plastic junk in the ocean, on the land, and in landfills. As somebody once said it's not the fact that you didn't rinse your yogurt carton well enough and then put it in the recycling, that made China stop taking our recycling from the United States, nor is it why they refer to our dirty recycling.

We should be calling out the corporations.

I feel guilty about not performing femininity correctly, or enough. Because I like to wear what I like to wear, and I wear flat shoes all the time secure not always pretty shoes, I wear doc martens and I wear sandals. I wear blue jeans and t-shirts. I refuse to wear makeup, and I rarely even wear jewelry or do my hair.

When I still felt guilty about not performing femininity correctly, or enough, one of the ways that I tried to make myself feel better was by buying s***. Buying more clothes buying cute feminine shoes buying makeup that I knew I was never going to wear outside of Halloween or whatever. They make us feel guilty so that we buy their s*** It's like psychological warfare.

I used to feel guilty about being fat. If we lived by ourselves out in the wilderness, I don't know sheepherding or something, there's no reason to feel bad for being any kind of shape skinny or fat, whichever. Body functioning trumps shape whenever you don't care what you look like to outsiders. Advertisers play on our insecurities, plant seeds of doubt that we will be excluded or shunned, but nobody will love us if we don't look in a certain way. And the diet industry, profits, because people want to look a certain way. And then what happens is you have people who are hungry all the time which means you can't think well. And then what happens is if you have people hyper focusing on the size and shape of their body, which any of us can only do so much to change, genetics being what it is. And everybody is spending so much time and energy on weight loss and the size or shape of their body, that they can't look around and see that they're being duped, they're being played, they're being fleeced. ( that goes for doctors too )

If we just loved ourselves, if we knew we were safe, if we didn't live in fear. We wouldn't need to do all of these things.

Propaganda is real, friends, and it's everywhere. Between advertisements, and news that's actually a sponsored advertisement, billboards, pop-ups on your computer screen... Junk mail!

I don't have a solution, not exactly. For me I turned off the television. I stopped listening to a constant bombardment of television advertising, when I left my first husband in 2003. I don't need other people telling me what to think in that way. I need to make my own decisions about what's important to me. And for me a media fast did a remarkably good job at helping me start to clear my head.

Guilt and shame do nothing good for mental health. Figuring out how to uproot them and get them out of your life, however you do it, is one road towards peace, even contentment.

Be well. I love you.
labelleizzy: (Default)
Wednesday, September 4th, 2019 02:16 pm
old ghosts (tw: termination of pregnancy)

I was looking in the mirror one day and thought, "I would have none of this if I hadn't ended the pregnancy."

I was 25 years old when I got pregnant.
Can't decide if I should phrase that as "had an unwanted pregnancy", "got impregnated", or what. "got knocked up" isn't quite appropriate for the situation, because I can't afford in telling this story to be too flippant.

it was 1995. My dad had been dead less than a year, after being sick from diabetes and liver damage for several years, declining worse each year.
Mom and I were living together, in the house on Papaya Drive with the 1970's Spanish tile floors and the little fish pond and waterfall in the back yard. I had a great view of the green green green backyard, and had the constant waterfall noise in my ears every night as I fell asleep.


The smell and the feel of that house inform my memories of the time.

Brian and I were having sex and he didn't tell me that the condom broke, till after. Like, it still puzzles me, he says he felt it tearing, he says it was actually kind of painful for him, but he kept going.

He told me afterwards that he thought I wanted him to, to keep going, which yeah, who doesn't wanna get off, but seriously WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE DOESN'T TELL HIS GIRLFRIEND THAT THE CONDOM BROKE. I still ... *makes incoherent rage noises*

You know how I learned that the condom broke? I reached down to hold the top of the condom when he went to pull out, and the horror of it was that all there was to hold was the ring that was the top of it. That was all that was left. … we had to dig inside my vagina and find it to pull it back out….

I could try to put possible reasons on what he was thinking, maybe it was as simple as HE wanted to get off too so he kept going even without the condom.

But I don't really wanna think about his alleged motivations because **I** was the one who wound up pregnant.

I felt the change in my body almost immediately. Within just a few days after the "accident," my boobs got bigger, the nipples got softer and more tender. My pussy and labia were constantly hot and tender, and I just had this internal *awareness* low in my pelvis and belly. And I had so many feelings about all of it.

mostly I came to a sudden and crystallized awareness that, more than not wanting to have to raise a child, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with BRIAN. And I knew immediately, at a gut level, that in some way or another, no matter what else, I'd have to deal with Brian forever if I chose to have this kid.

and it was almost inconceivable anyway, (heh, yeah I went there) to think of having a kid. You spend so much of your early adolescence and twenties controlling your fertility really tightly, worried about the what-if. And sex is mostly fun, mostly meant to be fun, when you're not in a serious relationship and *planning* to have a kid…*

I had done research for a paper in college into medical side effects of being pregnant, it's no kind of easy walk in the park! There's real risk of gestational diabetes, blood pressure problems, varicose veins, digestion issues, likelihood of daily vomiting over months, *massive* mood swings and hormone changes, I mean the number of side effects you have to suffer through for a WANTED pregnancy, not to mention the non-zero risk of DEATH, or single parenthood, or ... all the different ways your children hurt you or break your heart.

That little... blue line on the pregnancy test. Oh my god. Possibly the scariest thing I've ever seen, and I already even KNEW. Like, there was no MISTAKING what my body was doing. I had this swirl of emotions going through my brain and body.


And I left the test on the bathroom counter, under a sheet of newspaper.(back when we still took the paper) Like I had zero idea how to talk to my mom about this. I was terrified I was going to be a disappointment to her, but I knew without thinking that if I *didn't* conceal this test, she would find it and know and help me. (and it turned out that she did find it, and she did help me, which I'll talk about at the end)

I can't even tell you about all the other things I was feeling then because even now, 25 years later, it's still hard thinking about that time in my life; emotional chaos and turmoil, still angry and grieving my father's death, along with everything else. I know I haven't quite forgiven myself for my own ignorance (and what feel like bad-choices when I am being hard on myself).

Though, trust me I do know all about the extenuating circumstances. I know why I made those bad choices especially because I have gotten therapy and done a lot of self work over the last two decades. I can see my own patterns and recognize where those impulses arose from and I don't let that part of myself drive the bus anymore, because I've healed a lot of those childhood injuries, or at least mostly healed them. Largely through talking and writing, both writing the blog and longhand and poetry. All kinds of ways.

I was 25, and Brian was 28. Theoretically that was old enough to know what we wanted, but both of us were dumb and inexperienced in relationships. We'd not really thought and especially not talked about what we wanted at the time or at any time in the future. We were just slinging along together because I think both of us thought we were the best we could do.

But we were old enough to decide if we wanted to have a child together and we met at Tower Cafe in downtown Sacramento to talk about it. about two weeks after the condom broke and a few days after I had taken the test. I'd said "we need to get together and to talk face to face" and he said yes, so we scheduled it. We hadn't even sat down properly at the patio table when Brian said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?" and I said yes. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went but I remember it wasn't a difficult or stressful one.

We were unanimous, that we didn't want to have a child (together), and we were both relieved to find that out. That neither of us had to try and convince the other to keep or to terminate. We were agreed to terminate.

I made the appointment. I had to stay pregnant for a total of eight weeks before the hospital could perform the procedure. I don't remember why that was.

To his credit,(Brian) did take me to the appointment, and did get me home safely.

My mom, and this makes my eyes fill up with tears, had a heating pad, an extra blanket, and she'd set up her bed, the big bed, for me to have a nap. She brought me a bed tray with my favorite tea, some toast with jam, and a little rose-bud in a little vase. I absolutely did cry from that, and everything else.

Brian stayed with me there on the bed until I had the snack and fell asleep. It was dark when I woke up, and he wasn't there anymore, and I was disappointed and angry, but realized there was really only so much I could expect from the guy.

Mom was good to me. No judgment, no anger, just support. She had my back. I had her back. We were a good team back then.

I don't like contemplating alternate universes for this story. Like, the what-if game doesn't work out well for me.

in 1995 I hadn't gone back to school to get a teaching credential.

I hadn't met my first husband, or even the boyfriend before him (who was and is a better human being and more thoughtful and kind than either Brian or my first husband).
I hadn't started my spiritual journey that gives me so much richness and meaning in my life (and which I was turned on to by the boyfriend I mention above)///
I hadn't started getting therapy for my relationship with my dad and my inability to grieve him or to get out of the anger stage of the grief.

My mind shudders away from the idea of having had to raise a kid in the conditions we were living in. Not that those were horrible, but it would have been stressful, hard work. And while I know motherhood is supposed to have its rewards, I just don't even know how I would have coped, without the skills that I have been able to acquire BECAUSE I didn't have a kid...

It's this fork in the road that my life took, and I DEFINITIVELY chose the one path and left the other path behind.

I'm glad I am HERE. I'm glad that THIS is what it is. I'm glad to have Eeyore and my priesthood and Burning Man and a lot of beloved friends. I'm glad to have the writing, and the making and the sewing and the dancing, and the work toward social justice.

The ability to choose when and whether to have a child is HUGE in your ability to determine your life's path. HUGE./// 12 Minutes

I don't have any kind of snappy ending, except that I am grateful that I got the chance to have the choice about whether or not to have a kid, and I will continue to fight for other people's right to chose whether to have a kid or not.

NOTES Performed this on the spoken word stage at center camp, Burning Man 2019 Mon August 26. One woman thanked me and cried. One man told me about, before he knew he was gay, his girlfriend got pregnant, and when she miscarried, they also cuddled in bed with the heating pad. And a couple that were pregnant (8 months) and beautiful "the first one I've carried to term"
But the last person said, "did you do this as a TED talk? It feels familiar" and I said no, it was a blog post and he said "huh well I guess we know what comes next"
SQUEEEEEEEEE

TAGS abortion, actions have consequences, anger, becoming, challenge, children, choice, dad, death, designing my own life, feeling some feelings, feelings, guilt, karma, life is good, making things, mom, open hearted, pagan practice in everyday life, paradigm shift, parent, past lives, pathwork, personal cartography, pregnancy, probably more than you really wanted to , sad, self, self-worth, spirituality, state of the liz, stomping brain weasels, stream of consciousness, taking care of business., truth falling out of my mouth, what doesn't kill me makes me stronger, words, spoken word, burning man
labelleizzy: (crafting)
Saturday, September 2nd, 2017 08:08 pm
y'all, if you've broken yourself and you still have pain, may I recommend seeing a good chiropractor?

*emphasis on GOOD*

I probably don't, almost certainly don't, see Larry often enough, given the number and range of my life of dislocations, injuries and breaks. (and they're all on the right hand side!)

Like a really thorough massage, when I go and lie on Larry's table, the end result has always been a drastic decrease in pain, drastic increase in flexibility, and an ongoing process of continuing indirect adjustments that my body does for itself after the direct treatment.

tonight I had a nice rich orgasm followed by a lovely nap, and then I was stretching around in bed as I usually do nowadays when I wake up, and two things adjusted themselves in my wrist, and my ACHILLES TENDON that's been tight and giving me grief for months and sometimes, makes me hobble really bad for an hour after I wake up.

y'all, it just went CLICK and I'm gonna test it in the morning but I think it's settled back in where it's supposed to be!

and yesterday my left shoulder just stretched forward and to the side and went CLICK and I have +15 degrees of flexibility going backwards now on both sides. just WOW.

I keep forgetting how many times I've broken this body of mine in various ways. this car wreck of NYE is the first one in memory that I didn't contribute to with some kind of impulsive action. There's a lot less, as in almost none, self blame in this case. I've just been working on healing, and healing minus blaming myself is actually not too bad at all.

but yeah. During this process I worked multiple times with medical doctors, the orthopedic doc, the physical therapist, my massage therapist, the chiropractor, and twice a week with my trainer at the gym.

healing is hard goddamn work and I'm trying like hell to not feel guilty that I have the resources and time necessary to try and heal up properly. If I were still employed in the education profession I would never have allowed myself this time energy and attention to heal as completely as I have while underemployed; that culture is hip-deep in a guilt and martyrdom complex of sacrificing yourself for the kids and I ain't about that anymore. sixteen years is plenty.

I'm healing and I refuse to feel guilty about this.

Note to self: remember the isometric stretches and counter stretches to encourage the tight places to relax.
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