I Chose Them

Grappling with a future that doesn’t guarantee body autonomy or the right to choose when and if to have children

The story of my life as a human capable of reproduction began at the age of eleven. Technically, I got my first period two weeks before I turned eleven, but as it did not return for several years after that, it was not a big deal to me. Looking back now though, especially as I watch states across the country introduce legislature criminalizing power over our own bodies, it is rather terrifying to consider the fact that I have been able to reproduce for twenty-seven of the thirty-eight years I have been alive. And I am not going to lie. Terrified has become a rather permanent emotional state for me, over the last few weeks. By this time next month my eight-year-old daughter will be living in a country that doesn’t guarantee her reproductive freedom and that absolutely guts me. And this really goes beyond being an issue of politics, because it is obviously so much more. It goes beyond being an issue of religious or medical freedom. It is an issue of human rights and medical safety. The female reproductive system is complicated enough, before we even bring sex into the equation, much less pregnancy and all the possible complications and risks associated with it. Everyone born with a uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes is already subject to lifetime of monthly exertions that range from inconvenient mess to incapacitating, excruciating pain. How dare anyone else try to regulate what goes on inside our own bodies when we suffer enough as it is?

Of course, when and how parents have conversations about the reproductive system and sex is entirely personal, but it has always been my approach to handle it like I would any other scientific discussion. It is system with functioning parts, each with a purpose. No need to attach shame or even to make it seem particularly exciting. I try not make any topic taboo, but at the same time I do make a conscious effort to filter the content I allow out of my mouth when I am speaking to my children. It is certainly not ever my intention to overshare. But I never want them to feel awkward or nervous about asking me for information, so while I do wait for them to ask me specific questions before I volunteer too much information on subjects that may me too mature for them, sometimes I try to get ahead of certain subjects just to let them know it’s OK to bring those things up to me. I cannot remember the class in detail but whatever they were teaching in Sex Ed in fifth grade gave me the distinct impression that sex ALWAYS resulted in pregnancy and that was something I very much wanted to avoid at all costs. Perhaps the teacher was a bit over-enthusiastic in her efforts to convey the severity of the situation, but the message landed. And there is never been a more important time to ensure my children are armed with all the knowledge they need to make informed decisions about their bodies.

I am positive that when my oldest, Alako, was little I was much more assertive in my desire to inform him of all things, for better or for worse. Now that I am a little bit older and my parenting style has evolved (which means “changed over time” not “improved”) I find that I am softening a bit in my delivery, but my desire to inform them about the world and the way they function in it, socially and physiologically has not diminished. And sometimes I discover educational tools I can apply to my parenting, even when I am not necessarily looking for them. I actually borrowed a lesson from a certain social media app (that I no longer have on my phone and shall remain nameless) to explain having a period to my daughter. The video was a popular one, so you may have seen it: the person explained having a period as the body putting up decorations for a party and taking them down if there is no party. Every month the “decorations go up” in case the guest of honor arrives. In this case, I am assuming the guest of honor is the fertilized egg, but the video did not go into much detail there. If no guest arrives, the body takes down all the decorations and has a period.  While this is obviously an extremely simplified version of what is actually happening the body, it made enough sense to my daughter that I heard her repeating it to her big brother, who in turn wasted no time in huffily assuring her that he, “already knows that and please go away.”

               And it’s fortunate for my sons, that they happened to be born without the body organs that make them pawns in a dangerous game played by old men. It makes me feel helpless, and angry, and desperate. Because it is appalling to me that the wishes of a fundamentalist minority can impose their religious will on the governmental policies that dictate the lives and bodies of a larger majority of citizens, especially in a country that clearly delineates a separation of church and state in its very constitution. How is any mother supposed to feel, knowing that in some states in our country miscarriages, which are suffered in 1 in 4 pregnancies, will be criminally investigated as intentional terminations of those pregnancies? Birthing people are being criminalized for existing in their own bodies. And as the mother of a young daughter, I refuse to see her victimized by her own biology, however far into the future my cause for concern may be. Which makes it immediately horrifying to witness parents already facing criminal persecution for loving and supporting their transgender children in their quest for self-actualization. No one, NOT ONE HUMAN, deserves to be victimized for existing in their own body, in the way that is medically and psychologically safe to, whether that requires an abortion, an IUD, hormone therapy or a gender-affirming surgery.

I worry about my children, especially my oldest who is quick to remind me that he is fast approaching middle school, not having easy access to birth control. I worry about it in both in terms of their protection against pregnancy once they become sexually active, but I also worry about what will happen if my daughter happens to need it for other medical reasons. I worry, just like any mother worries, that my words of advice and experience may not be enough and that she may become pregnant regardless of what I try to teach her about safe sex. And if that ever happens for her, at a time when she is not ready, if for whatever reason she needs a different option, I worry that lack of access will affect her more negatively than the experience would have otherwise. I worry about complications with pregnancy and ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage that ALL require medication which may no longer be available to myself, my child, or any other birthing person in this country that may need access to them.

I know that we live in a state, and in a part of that state, that will continue to provide and fight for medical access for all who need it, for as long as possible. But I cannot help but wonder when that will end? How long will it be before we are too afraid to share our stories for fear of persecution? Of course, it is important to remember that we do not owe the world our stories. We are not required to share our deeply personal life experiences. It is not our responsibility as humans capable of birthing or transitioning to humanize these issues for everyone else. But in this particular circumstance, ignorance is not bliss, it is serious danger. We must find a way to continue educating our youth about safe sex choices and birth control, even in the face of religious conservatism that threaten to strip these freedoms away. The only hope I can find is in the continuous reminder to myself that the majority of people in our country do believe in body autonomy and the right to choose what happens inside their own body. Period.