Was It Ever My Choice?
Kumusta Tita Slut,
I come from a very conservative family here in the United States. It took a while for them to even come to terms with my bisexuality. Eventually they opened up to the idea of other sexualities beyond straight. It’s been about 5 years since I came out to them, and they’re slowly easing up to it.
That said, I feel like I should have waited a little longer when I told them I had an abortion a while back. It seems that they’re not taking that as lightly as me being bi. They’ve kicked me out of the house, and I’ve moved in with my boyfriend who, by the way, supported my choices.
I miss my parents, but whenever I try to reach out to them even when we see each other on the sidewalk they ignore me and pretend that I’m dead.
I feel that nothing is in my control any more. How do I get back in their good graces? Or is there even a chance they can accept me and all of me?
Signed,
Hanging On
Hey HO,
Let’s go!
Just kidding.
Okay, Tita. Serious face.
Oof. I’m not sure that Tita is the right person to ask since I myself can’t get pregnant. I took that piece of shit out of me years ago when blood started coming out of it. I was like, “Nope. Don’t want this ever again.” But I am glad that you felt safe enough to ask this old crone.
Let me first share with you a quote that I think your conservative family might enjoy.
“The ‘unborn’ are a convenient group of people to advocate for. They never make demands of you; they are morally uncomplicated, unlike the incarcerated, addicted, or the chronically poor; they don’t resent your condescension or complain that you are not politically correct; unlike widows, they don’t ask you to question patriarchy; unlike orphans, they don’t need money, education, or childcare; unlike aliens, they don’t bring all that racial, cultural, and religious baggage that you dislike; they allow you to feel good about yourself without any work at creating or maintaining relationships; and when they are born, you can forget about them, because they cease to be unborn. You can love the unborn and advocate for them without substantially challenging your own wealth, power, or privilege, without re-imagining social structures, apologizing, or making reparations to anyone. They are, in short, the perfect people to love if you want to claim you love Jesus, but actually dislike people who breathe.
Prisoners? Immigrants? The sick? The poor? Widows? Orphans? All the groups that are specifically mentioned in the Bible? They all get thrown under the bus for the unborn.”
Mic. Drop.
That’s from a pastor.
I understand that the whole Roe v. Wade debacle has caused a serious uproar in the US and the entire world. It’s absolutely bullshit and morally repugnant that someone is forced to go through the painful process that is childbirth so that some toothless little asshole can ruin your life for the next 18+ years. If you can’t abort it in your local area, you can always send your kid to the bright sunny skies of Sandy Hook. Or Uvalde. Or Tulsa. Or Chattanooga. Or Philadelphia. Or Highland Park. Or Buffalo. Or San Jose. Or Boulder. Or Atlanta. Or Milwaukee. You get it.
I’ll never know what it’s like to have to go through that, HO. And I’m sorry that you’re going through that right now. But what I hope is that you can find some respite in the fact that I can share with you the experience of having my body under constant scrutiny.
I was a chubby kid and I was bullied a lot for it. I got sick with a lung infection which caused rapid weight loss. I was made fun of for it. I gained muscles as an escort, and I was fetishized for it. Nobody paid attention to what I had to say. I was once told by a client that my job was to “sit there, look pretty, and be quiet.” Gaining the weight back after retiring from escorting and taking up pole dancing, I’m now the “inspirational fat pole dancer” as if I’m supposed to serve as some sort of statement. Can I just live?
I say this not to make light of the seriousness of the state of reproductive rights, but rather to make an attempt at connecting with your story on some level. I hope I didn’t make it tasteless. And even if I did, you kind of knew who you were writing to.
We’re not put on this planet to make others happy. We control our happiness. We control our bodies. And we control our choices. If those choices make our loved ones unhappy, then so be it. They didn’t love us at all to begin with. Unconditional Christian love always comes with fine print which rarely ever comes from a loving place. It’s even more difficult when that type of love comes from our parents, the figures in our lives that we see as heroes and forget that they can also make mistakes. We see our parents as infallible, perfect human beings and shine a bright light on the darkness of humanity. That is until we remember that they’re people too. And just like people, they will make mistakes. Mistakes and poor choices. Sometimes those choices will haunt us for the rest of our lives.
To be honest, HO, I’m not so sure there’s a possibility of your parents ever forgiving you for your choices. Maybe they will! I’m a slut, not a fortune teller. What I can tell you is that when you make a choice that’s best for you, the road ahead will look slightly less daunting compared to when you make choices that are aimed to please other people. I’m glad that you were able to make a choice that benefits your health rather than some lousy parasite that grows in your body for the next nine months. Your life and your health are of the utmost importance. Don’t let anyone else take that away from you. I know that’s easier said than done considering your “sUprEmE” court fucked it up. But you mentioned that you had an abortion, so I can rest knowing that you’re in a state where abortions are still legal.
At the end of the day, I think what matters most is that you’re alive and you’re well. Things might not look so smooth right now, but if I’ve learned anything from my 20 years on this planet (lol, who am I kidding) it’s that nothing lasts forever. Not pain, not pleasure, not even the seething conservative hate that leaks from your parents’ pores. There’s always, me. Your favourite chaotic Tita who will indulge your every toxic whim.
Mahal kita,
Tita Slut
