Which category do I fit into as a mom if I have one daughter dating a woman, another who has a partner who using pronouns They/Them, and yet another who is utterly and completely boy crazy?
Am I Pro-Life because I love them all equally? Or am I Pro-Choice because I trust them to make their own next best decisions?
What box do I check as a woman if I became unexpectedly pregnant with our 5th daughter during the 2008 Recession that left us filing for bankruptcy, reeling with financial hardship, and wondering how we would feed yet another mouth, (this being the 7th), as I carried her to term without question.
Am I Pro-Life because we knew she was meant to complete our family? Or Pro-Choice because I know how babies are made, but wanted to give Natural Family Planning the good old fashioned college try?
How would I be labeled if I terminated a pregnancy at age 19 while on the precipice of preparing to receive a 4 year degree, my folks' retirement within grasp? Vehemently, I refused to pass this life changing consequence onto them, as it was mine to bear.
Am I Pro-Life because I chose my parents? Or Pro-Choice because I chose myself?
Each of these decisions has broken and molded me on a soul level. For many of us It's called "on the job training", and some shifts build more character than others.
We clench and grasp and grip to our values like we’re trying to board a 747 that is ready for takeoff, but act as though it's a single engine with room for only 12.
Surely, there is room for all the passengers to board the plane and arrive safely at our destination.
Faced with difficult conundrums in this thing called Life, my extremely wise friend Deb asks, “How can I breathe love into this?” Seems simple enough in execution, but perhaps a tad more difficult in practice. I need help in this area. Maybe we can try it together.
Inhale peace into that big beautiful Buddha belly without worry of sucking in. Exhale out all the labels / categories / bullshit that is weighing us down.
* ** *** **** *****
We just breathed love into it. The “it” is you. And me. Good job us. Now let’s rest. We’ve done enough today. This loving thing isn’t for wimps. We can breathe more love into “it” tomorrow and those that follow.
I See You Marching, Little Soldier, and if you need a nap, I can hold your pack, Michelle
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