​Last night, you came to me and cried. Your sobs were soft, filled with conversations and questions of "why aren't I good enough?"
In this situation, I didn't have the answers. I didn't know what to say. Of course, I encouraged you that you are good enough, but other people aren't. But you won't remember my words; you will remember your feelings - your feelings are your truth, and I am not about to tell you your truth isn't correct.

Honestly, if I were faced with your situation, I would feel the same heartache. I suffered from rejection, but not to the same extent as you.

Life hasn't dealt you the best hand, and I take responsibility for the part I've had to play in this. There are times when I have let people in, thinking we could trust them, and my judgment has been incorrect. Me having to make the call that they are not our people has hurt you. They've gone, and their lack of effort has hurt you. Or their actions while they've been with us have caused you harm.
And, I could say they needed to control their behaviour, which isn't my fault (which is true), but I'm not about to pass the blame onto them to deflect from my wrongdoing - that of trusting those who never deserved our trust. I shouldn't have let them in. I should have slowed down to protect your heart because you are still learning how to do this; it's my job to teach you. And you, with your sweet nature, you trust whom I trust. I can admit where I've gone wrong, and Alexis, although I've apologised to you in private, I want to do the same here.

I am sorry for the people I have let into our lives who should never have been there. I'm sorry that you've been affected by my poor judgment. I'm sorry that my efforts to determine who is and isn't safe have impacted you so deeply. I will keep trying to do better. But Alexis, remember this: as people come and go, and I will not. I am solid, I am secure, I am not going anywhere, ever.

Last night, though, that was different because this one had nothing to do with my actions or who I've let in. It's more about where you have been removed from.
Your heart, so fragile that you repeatedly put it back together, was cracked again last night. Little bits of it break off, falling away, which we won't be able to put back on. We will keep the pieces of your broken heart in a jar on the shelf; we will admire that the brokenness hasn't destroyed you but has made you stronger, softer, sweeter, and kinder. The shattered pieces will glimmer in the sun and

Anyway, all of this got me thinking.
Thinking about all the hurt, pain and suffering people go through.
Two people can face the same situation and circumstances in completely different ways.
There are two types of people in the world.
Those who get bitter.
Those who get better.

This is my theory. Sit with me as I unpack it. Those who get bitter are victims. They believe the world is against them and everyone and everything is conspiring to harm them.
There often isn't accountability for actions or the ability to reflect on what can be done differently next time.
The glass is always half empty, and instead of seeing the beauty that can come from a storm, people see only the destruction caused. Tricky times don't become a catalyst for change or growth.

Now, in no way am I saying we should embrace toxic positivity. There are times when things happen, and they just hurt. There isn't a moment of positivity. These times don't make sense, and not only that, we don't want to make sense of them. They just hurt.
However, after a certain time (and there isn't a definitive answer to how long that time frame should be), we need to work out how to move forward and not let it destroy us or our hearts. There comes a point when we need to say, "The storm doesn't define me; how I rebuild will define me. I will define myself."

And this is when a separation occurs in people - will you continue to sit in the hurt and be bitter?
Or will you define the storm and become better?
Will we not ask the question of how we were hurt but how we grow?
I can look back on every person and thank them for something they have given me. I can also look back and see what they have taken from me.

Let me give you an example -
One person gave me the resolve that I will never again compromise my relationship with you. However, there is a little piece of my heart that is terrified to trust another person with you or Solomon.

Another person took away my right to feel safe in my own home. In turn, when we left, I learnt it was up to me to set the standard for our home—a place that is full of safety and love, even when we make mistakes.

Someone made me beg for respect and left me with the ability to walk away when simple human respect isn't offered.

To become better, we must look beyond the harm that was caused and the lessons learnt during these experiences.

One of my favourite trends currently is 'no revenge', because...
This is the ultimate bitter or better flex - The power of saying "no revenge (bitter), because (better).

So here we go -
No revenge because we're too focused on healing.
No revenge because we will show off the love we deserve.
No revenge, because our hearts are the fullest they've ever been.
No revenge because we've never laughed so hard, danced so often, rested so well or loved so deeply.
No revenge because I can pour that energy into our family.
No revenge because your demons are scarier than mine.
No revenge because saying "goodbye" to you meant saying "hello" to me.
No revenge because we were taught which type of people to let in and which type to avoid.
No revenge because all I want for us is to become the best versions of ourselves.

No revenge because seeking revenge would make us bitter, and we're here to get better. 

​I have sat in many rooms where there have only been females. If anyone thinks men talk inappropriately, you should hear females talk (every female reading this is nodding). We are awful, and our words and comments are appalling.
I have been a part of more than one conversation: "What would you do if you were a man for a day?" I'm sure anyone with an imagination can think of what kind of things were said, but some of the most popular is "sleeping with whoever I want and being called a hero instead of a slut" and "laying in bed and doing nothing without feeling bad".
But other things come up...
I would go for a run at night.
I would wear what I want, how I want.
I would sit on a bus with headphones on.
I would not have to share my locations with my friends.
I would walk to my car without holding my keys as a weapon.
I wouldn't make a phone call when I'm feeling uncomfortable near someone because I wouldn't feel uncomfortable.
I wouldn't have to convince anyone I know what I'm talking about. 

So fast-forward, I'm driving along a highway, a bit zoned out. I'm on the way to a wedding dress appointment. I enjoy driving, usually with someone chatting on a podcast or me being able to categorise the many thoughts in my head. 
I overtook a car, thinking nothing of it. 
The same car then overtook me. I looked beside it because the car was slowing down, travelling at the same pace as me despite being in the overtaking lane. The driver waved to me, sped up, indicated in front of me, and slowed down. The male next to him just looked at me. I felt wildly uncomfortable. I was sitting behind this driver, in the safety of my car, feeling incredibly unsafe. In my head, I was quickly trying to work out if I knew his face from somewhere, but I didn't. This wasn't a person I had met before. I indicated from behind him and started speeding up to overtake; I didn't want to look, but I did. Just as I overtook him, he blew me a kiss. I felt repulsed. This man knew nothing about me, no understanding that I'm gay, a mum and on my way to being fitted for a wedding dress. I said out loud to him, to myself, to all the men, "It's men like you". However, I was the only one who heard. 

A week ago, I had to go to the chemist's after dark. I was standing at the checkout, and five young men were in the same chemist, causing a scene. They started to leave at the same time as me; I slowed down to walk behind them, knowing I was more in control if I could see them, but still feeling incredibly vulnerable. I then detoured to Woolworths, and the same thing happened: the five young men swearing, drawing attention, and I slowed down to walk behind them. 

I see an old friend; he kisses me on the cheek to say hello while cuddling me. It makes me feel uneasy. On saying goodbye, he gives me a peck on the lips with a cuddle. I messaged them later, asking if he could please not do this in the future. He tells me it is my fault; I am making him sound like a monster. Through my being happy to see him and walking over to say hello, it was permission. I should have been less excited if I wanted to avoid that action.

I have had walls hit beside my head to scare me, I've had men get angry at me for turning them down, and I've had men blame me for their actions. I've had men man-splain to me things I already knew. I've been catcalled, had comments made on my clothing, and told I've looked a certain way because of the skin I'm showing. I've been sworn at by males in public and had to stand up for myself. I was scared walking down the street, and my heart skipped a beat when a car slowed beside me. And at the worst, I've been sexually assaulted. I've had a restraining order for my and my children's protection. I've had to convince people I'm not making it up, and I've had to convince myself I'm not making it up, that I'm not ridiculous.
And at this moment, writing the above, I'm scared of the men reading this; what are they thinking? "I bet she's overreacting, making it up, and being paranoid." Will they even believe me? 

It is no wonder a TikTok commented on the Bear Vs Man debate: "You know, I would rather it be a bear because if the bear attacks me, and I make it out of the woods, everybody's gonna believe me and have sympathy for me," she said. "But if a man attacks me and I make it out, I'm gonna spend my whole life trying to get people to believe me and have sympathy for me."

The vulnerability I feel as a woman is becoming progressively worse. Having used to run at night or early in the morning, I am now scared of the dark. I don't want to be, but I can't help it. After the Bondi stabbings, I ran on my lunch break; ahead of me were some men, and I thought, "This could be my moment; it could be any female's moment."
Now I'm scared of walking from my car to the chemist at 7:30 p.m. because I don't know what could happen. 
Wrong place, wrong time. 

It's a narrative I see daily on my screen: violence against women. Currently, there is no end in sight.
Fifty-two women this year have died by violence (at the time of my writing this). 
One woman had a bag tied around her head and was found in a Melbourne river. 
Another woman wrapped in plastic bags. 
A woman was found in a wheelie bin. 
Another was stabbed to death. 
Multiple hit by cars. 
House fires, stabbings, brutal attacks, car fires.
 
I don't know how to address this because I worry about backlash from men. We often hear the narrative of not all men, but mostly men. And while no, it's not all men, this issue has been stained with the title violence against women. This title has made a female issue. 
Violence against women makes it sound like this is the woman's fault. 
Had she left, had she reported, hadn't worn that outfit, hadn't said the wrong thing, this would have never happened. The heaviness of this situation falls on the woman's shoulders to act better, be better, say nicer things, and be polite. 
It doesn't fall on the men to not punch, raise a fist, or their voice and control their rage. There is no emphasis on men changing but on women changing. And instead of teaching men how to be more respectful, we are building more support systems for women and children to flee to. 
Instead of addressing the real issue, women are offered advice on what to do to elevate men's aggression.
Instead of their being an actual, profound, systematic change, we bandaid the women who are battered and bruised, killed by their husbands, partners, colleagues, and exes. Those who have their egos hurt or injured. 
And for an issue that belongs to men, I wish I saw more men rising. To this day, I only see one or two men post about men's violence towards women on social media (these are men who have dedicated pages to women who have been murdered in gender-based violence). The rest are women, women saying we've had enough, women saying we are scared, women saying this isn't okay. I wish there were more men, the men who, in private, say it's not all men. I'm not like that; I love the females in my life." In public, though, they do nothing to show outrage or protect women despite having wives, daughters, and mothers. Do nothing to call out other men when they see them doing the wrong thing, treating partners poorly, catcalling a female, making jokes about women in the kitchen, or why there isn't an international Men's Day (by the way, there is, as if every day isn't international men's day, but the official day is November 19th)? Why are these men, who care so much, not calling out other men when they can't take no for an answer or crack the shits when a woman stands her ground?
Do these men not understand that being silent about an issue is allowing an issue?

And yet, it's not completely uncommon to see a woman defending another woman against a man. It's not unusual for women to call out unacceptable behaviour or be the voice for voiceless women. I have stood up for women before, telling men to back off. My fiancee has stuck up for women before in protecting them. I have had females protect me before. On nights out, we've had special cues to show our friends when to come and get us when we're uncomfortable, and the word "no" isn't enough.

Men hurting women isn't a women's issue; it's a men's issue. 

Unfortunately, this goes beyond anything I can say because it's not up to me. I can't do anything, and no female should have to do anything. It's mostly men (yes, not always, but mostly), so it's men who should be rising. Men sit in high power and make policies; if the men in low places make a noise, it will cause a change. On a deeper level, and this letter could go on for days, the policymakers, the law, and the courts don't protect women. Restraining orders are just a sheet of paper and a challenge to those who want to cause harm. 

But should I ever sit in a room where the conversation comes up again of what I would do if I were a man for a day, here is what I would do. 
I would call out other men and tell them what they are doing is not okay. 
I would tell other men that making a scene, waving, or blowing a kiss isn't okay.
I would tell men to walk on the other side of the street in the morning or at night when it's dark so women feel safe. 
I would tell other men to try to walk in front of a woman so she has more control over the situation.
I would tell other men not to expect a woman to step out of the way but to step out of the way for her. 
I would tell women that they deserve to be safe. 
I would post on social media about men's violence and tell everyone this isn't a female issue. 
I would teach my son how to be respectful. 
I wouldn't be offended and try to defend myself by saying not all men, but I understand why this is the case. 
I would give women their space and move away in the shop, on the street, wherever. 
I would consistently intervene when women aren't being treated well. 
I wouldn't flirt with women. 
If I wanted to touch a woman, I would seek her consent. Even if she were a friend, I would check to ensure she wanted a hug. 
I would educate myself, research, ask women what I could do better, read books and articles, and listen to podcasts. 
I would take responsibility for my emotions and not blame a female for my behaviour.
I wouldn't put women down but build them up. I would shut down sexist and derogatory jokes. 
I would believe women when they tell me how they feel and what's happened to them.  

I'm not a man, though; I am not the one who can make change. But I'll keep encouraging the men around me to do more, hoping they will one day. 
 
 

The art of forgiveness 


As long as I can remember, I've wanted to be able to forgive. I once read that forgiveness is more for the one who was hurt over the one who hurt. That harbouring unforgiveness is like holding onto hot coal, expecting the other person to get burnt. The other person doesn't know you're carrying the coal; they don't know you're holding on to the pain, resentment, anger. Unforgiveness results in more hurt over the healing that can take place. 

I used to think forgiveness meant glossing over everything, forgetting, accepting an apology and blindly moving forward. I used to think forgiveness meant throwing the hurt away and pretending it never happened. I also used to think forgiveness and forgiving made me a good person, and I wanted to believe I was a good person. 
I've been rethinking what forgiveness means to me. Growing up in church, I heard a lot about forgiveness. The premise of Christianity is that God loves us so dearly that he sent his son to die, which meant never-ending forgiveness from him. There is more to it than that, but we don't need to delve into it now.
I don't remember word for what the bible says now, but Google does. 
"The Bible teaches that we should forgive someone who sins against us as often as they repent. Jesus said that we should forgive not seven times but seventy times seven, meaning there is no limit on forgiveness."

I was once convinced that forgiveness meant forgetting every wrongdoing against you; now, it means letting go of the wrongdoing and not wanting to cause wrong to those who first wronged you. Forgiveness does not mean accepting hurtful behaviour but showing grace and mercy to those who wrong us; it means not allowing those feelings of hurt, resentment, and anger to dictate our lives and behaviours. 

Does everyone who hurts you deserve forgiveness - Absolutely not. In reality, there are times when it's seemingly impossible to forgive and let go of what happened, especially when the pain still haunts you. 
However, do you deserve to forgive everyone? 100%. Unforgiveness causes the initial pain to go that much deeper. In many situations, the person who hurt you has let go of what happened, not realise it happened, laughing about what happened or denying what happened (those last two apply if their hurt was intentional and malicious). Your forgiveness is not for someone else; it's for you. You don't even need to let people know that you have forgiven them - honestly, if someone isn't remorseful, they don't deserve to know.
In saying this, forgiveness exists to bring you peace and empower you to acknowledge the pain without allowing that pain to define you or your future. 

Forgiveness is designed to set you free. If the wrong-doer is genuinely sorry, it sets them free, too. But if they're not sorry, and some people aren't, at minimum, it sets you free. And you deserve to live in freedom. Forgiveness doesn't tell you not to be hurt, sad, or to get over it. It just means that the person that caused the hurt doesn't haunt you. You don't spend every day thinking of them, and you don't let them live rent-free in your mind or heart. 

I don't know the steps to forgiveness or the timeline. I know that when I have been deeply hurt, I have wanted to forgive but haven't been ready. Not being able to forgive right away, I now realise, it doesn't make me a bad person, it just makes me a person. Sometimes forgiveness happens when we don't even realise it. We continue through life and realise the people who hurt us no longer take up space in our mind. 
Other times, we need to focus on letting go and hone in on it. 

It's interesting that often when we've been hurt, deeply hurt, we carry the shame of what the wrongdoer did against us. 
Questions such as, what's wrong with me? What did I do wrong? This is my fault., I have no worth, I have no value, if I didn't do this, this wouldn't have happened, flowing through our minds freely. 
The truth is the actions of others are never your fault, and while we often victim blame ourselves, you are not the cause of someone else actions - only they can take responsibility for that. 
When we forgive others, it allows us to offer that same forgiveness to ourselves, in the sense that we're freeing ourselves from the shame and hurt we carry. If we forgive the wrongdoer, we can't stay angry at ourselves. ​

I think unforgiveness, over time, makes us lose ourselves. Hurt does not deserve the power of taking who you are. 
Bitterness and resentment change us and the structure of our being. We deserve better than that, more than that. Our hearts deserve peace and quiet, and unforgiveness doesn't allow for a peace that settles us. 
I do think forgiveness is the harder path to walk down, and unforgiveness is the path of least resistance. However, in the long run, and over time, unforgiveness is the path that will hurt you the most. It's the path that will cause bitterness, and resentment and for you to act in a way where you don't recognise yourself. 

Forgiving someone doesn't mean you need to reconcile with them, it doesn't mean you need to reconnect or be in a relationship with them.
I think forgiveness is ongoing, and when you think you're past it and it comes up again, you need to go down the path of forgiveness a second, third, or fourth time. 

Maybe this is why Jesus said to forgive seventy times seven - because he knows that forgiveness isn't linear, and is ongoing, that it takes more than once to forgive someone. 

So Alexis - when the opportunity arises; forgive, forgive and forgive again - not because the other person deserves it, but because you do.

​It's been a while since I've sat here, laptop open, fingers clicking away. This moment feels like the right moment to start again. 
After I wrote my last letter to you, I needed a break. The break I needed was longer than I anticipated. My last letter was about my abortion; in real life, this isn't a conversation we've had yet. I'll explain it one day, but right now, as you rest, it's not the time. Not only is it, not the time because you're sleeping, but your ten-year-old mind is processing so much already that you don't need to process this too. 
You ask freely about my miscarriage. You ask if it made me sad and if I want the baby if I wish they were here with us. 
We talk about the gift of Solomon and that if the other baby did come and live with us, we wouldn't know your cheeky little brother. 
It's a funny thing, the way things work out. It's funny how everything you've been through sets you up for where you're meant to be. You don't see it then; hurt is hurt, and pain is pain. When I'm hurting and in the depth of it, I'm not grateful for it. I wasn't grateful that your little brother or sister didn't get to meet you, but now, I am because it meant Solomon. I become grateful when I look back on the journey. Having stepped out of the grief allows for joy and peace to reenter, but that only comes when we allow ourselves space to heal and process properly. 
 
Time is such a gift. I listened to a podcast quite a few months ago now, and the words still play in my head. The gift of time; we all have it, we all lose it. Time favours no one. Each day we are all given the same amount. It doesn't care if you're wealthy and living in a mansion or poor and living in the slums. Time doesn't care what you wear, how you look, how smart you are - it just is. We determine how we use it; on any given day or moment, we are the ultimate deciders of what we do with it. While time doesn't favour us, we can favour it. We can decide how we treasure, abuse, or hold it with value. 

I look back on my time; the years in church, the years hurting post-church, the hours I spent pounding my feet on the pavement or stretching my arms through the water. The time I've spent studying, drinking, dancing with you, the time I've spent working, surviving, thriving. Not all of it has been well used; much was wasted as I've moved my thumb over a screen without considering what I may be missing out on. 
I spent so much time hiding myself and who I am to impress others to gain their approval that now I can live in the freedom of my quirks. 

I think the more time I have on this earth, the more I want to value it, to treasure it and to hold it in high esteem. 
A year ago, I thought I would know where I would be today. I had a plan, a good plan, a plan I liked and wanted to stick to. But the plan changed because so did my concept of the way I was living my life. 
Four years ago, I had a plan, but the plan changed. 
Ten years ago, I had a plan, but the plan changed. 
Time is ever-changing, and so are we. 

I was talking to a friend on the phone the other day, and she said, "There is no such thing as wrong choices; there are just choices. If the choice you made doesn't work, choose again and keep making new choices."

I guess while this letter may be short and seemingly going nowhere, what I want you to learn, Alexis, is a year from now, you don't know where you'll be, what life will look like and who will be around you. 
I can say, in all certainty, some of the people in my life - but new people will come along, and old people will leave. 
I can say the plan I have, but I'll have to wait and see.
I can also say - with full confidence - that the struggles I'm going through now, I won't be in a year's time. And I find great hope in that. It means, for so many people, the hurt they are in the midst of now, the pain, the fear and the heartache, in a year they won't be there. Maybe there will still be pain, but there will be space from it. Maybe there will still be triggers, but maybe they won't be as apparent. Sure, it means there will be new hurt because that's life, but in saying that -, we will be stronger and better equipped to deal with it. 

What I want to tell you is that a year from now, there will be new adventures, new hope, new dreams and new goals. There will be new things to look forward to and maybe even the ability to look back on this time and smile because we didn't drown in it; we conquered it. 

It's a gift, this thing called time. And as we sleep tonight, it's reoffered to us tomorrow. And one day, and there will be a day when it will no longer be offered to us - so while we have it, we need to appreciate it in all of its fullness. 

Dear Church,

Recently, the Roe v. Wade case was overturned and the constitutional right to abortion in America was renounced. I watched as you collectively celebrated. The rest of society collectively mourned as women’s rights were removed.

Do you realise through your celebration you have told women everywhere—our mothers, sisters and daughters—that their bodies are no more than reproductive systems? You have told women that our bodies belong to those that make the laws. You have told us that we should not have the right to decide what happens to our bodies, that our bodies are worthy of pregnancy but not protection. You have sent the message that even rape shouldn’t result in abortion; that even when we are grossly violated, we should not get any say over what happens to our bodies. Your celebration has sent the message that we can’t be trusted to make our own decisions.

You said, “Abortion is murder.” Your evidence is Psalm 139:13-14, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” Let’s unpack this for just a moment.
This verse is written by the Psalmist, not by God. It does not say, “I knit you”, but instead, “you knit me”, which means this is the Psalmist's interpretation of how we are created—not God’s. When you read this verse you often support it by saying, “We are created in God’s image.” (Genesis 1:26-27)
You say that we’re all created in God’s image—unless we sin too badly (for instance, have an abortion).

You can’t have it both ways.

We call God a “he” but this is for our benefit, not because God transcribes to male or female pronouns. God has both masculine and feminine characteristics. We say “he” so we can give him some sort of identity.
There may be more potential for it to be problematic for humans to identify as male or female and it seems more natural for people to identify differently.
You say it should all be about protecting fetuses. You say all pregnancies should come to fruition, but when those babies become adults and do, say or believe something you don’t agree with, suddenly you no longer support them, and criticise and judge them?

And what is Solomon? A blessing and created in God’s image or a product of sin because I had him out of wedlock?
And does that mean, because I had Alexis when I was married, that her life holds more value?
What about if Solomon or Alexis come out as queer, are they still created in God’s image? I believe they are. I believe that God holds many images, more than we can understand or comprehend. His character and qualities are vaster than our human brain can fathom.
You may tell me “the bible says”, but when you say that, I can’t help but think the bible has been so diluted and translated so many times that its original writing and meaning may not be what we are reading or understanding. And let’s not start on the fact that we’re reading it in English - which has a double meaning for everything, is confusing and doesn't make a lot of sense. In the same sentence I say "I love my kids" I also say "I love chocolate".

Can you see my confusion? You value all lives, but not women’s rights to have a say over their bodies? You want pregnancies to come to fullness, but don’t support the women who carry them. You sit back and say abortion is selfish as if it’s black and white, but you clearly don’t understand the complexity of the situation.

Let's talk about my abortion. I was on the verge of suicide when I found out about my pregnancy, I know there was no way I could have looked after a new born or another child, it would have pushed me over the edge. I wouldn't be here today if I had of given birth to a child. The post-natal depression that I had struggled with after giving birth to Alexis had developed into severe depression and anxiety. I had planned out my suicide before finding out that I was pregnant. So, instead, I walked into an abortion clinic—feeling depressed, lost and with very little support—and asked for my pregnancy to be removed.
I believed, from the church’s teaching, that I was committing murder. I believed that because I was committing murder, I should feel it deeply. It was because of this that I chose a medical abortion rather than a surgical one. I felt that I should feel every ounce of pain that it could bring me. Your opinions and what you taught had me believing that I was a sinner, that I was beyond forgiveness.
I took the tablets and went to bed. I sobbed silently as the pain started to kick in, hoping that God could find a way to forgive me. The abortion didn't go according to plan. Six weeks later, I was still bleeding. This meant that I had to go in for surgery anyway. I thought this was God's punishment. I told my mum that I was clotting for my period because I truly believed everyone thought I was a murderer. Back then, I had no respect for my body and no understanding that this was my right—that I should have autonomy over my body.
So what does the bible say about abortion that alludes to me being a murderer?

Nothing. It says nothing.

The word abortion does not appear in any translation of the bible. Not once in those 66 books is abortion mentioned. In the 600+ laws of Moses, none mention abortion. The bible isn't even completely clear on when human life begins. There is “one Mosaic law… clearly stating that miscarriage does not involve the death of a human being. If a woman has a miscarriage as the result of a fight, the man who caused it should be fined. If the woman dies, however, the culprit must be killed.” (FFRF.org) https://ffrf.org/component/k2/item/18514-what-does-the-bible-say-about-abortion

In the old testament, an unborn child is referred to as property, not as a human being. In the new testament, it talks about John jumping in the womb. Genesis, on the other hand, talks about "God breathing life". The Bible has no clear definition on abortion or when life begins, so why do you?

Do you know what the bible is clear on though? It's clear on the importance of love, acceptance, not judging others and not throwing the first stone.
You want people to love God, but the God you talk about isn’t a being that I would want to love. You talk about a God who is judgmental, uncaring and full of hate. God sent his only son to die so that we could know Him—instead of drawing people closer to Him, you’re pushing them away.
In the bible that you hold so dear, did God not cause the Passover? When the Passover took place, every first-born male died if there wasn't the blood of a lamb spread over the door to the home. In your bible, God killed children. And you say, “well, that’s a lesson”. Okay, cool. Let's take every old testament scripture as a lesson, not as a fact. Of course, this means that “for you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb” is also a lesson.

I realise that I’m never going to convince you that abortion is a woman’s right. And you’re never going to convince me that it’s wrong. We're never going to agree on gay rights or any real-world topics. I believe that my understanding of God is so inclusive now that I no longer fit in with the realms and opinions of the church. I have no desire to agree with you.

You should agree with me, however, that women should have a say over their own reproductive choices—just as men do theirs. God created us as equals, so you need to start treating us as such. We deserve to make our own choices over our bodies and medial health. My abortion was my medical right. I was in no position to have a child, my health couldn’t take it. And this is my right to have the treatment and help where I need it. It’s every woman’s right.
Your arguments keep bringing it back to abortion—but the real issue is that bodily autonomy has been ripped out from under women’s feet. If it was truly about abortion, men would be getting vasectomies. Or you would be lobbying so women could freely get their tubes tied whenever they want, at any age, even if they don’t already have children.
If it were truly about abortion, you would have more in place to support single mums, people in abusive relationships, the homeless and the poor. If it were truly about abortion, you would be doing more to support children once they come into existence, you would ensure that women who have babies have all the help they need.
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Lobbying against abortion doesn't cost you anything, you don't have to do anything for it, just disagree.
Pastor Dave Barnhart said “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. It’s almost as if, by being born, they have died to you. 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.”

Women who are impacted by this change will no longer have a safe place to have abortions. Abortions are still going to happen and those women’s lives are not going to be put at risk. Do you not value their lives or the lives of those who are marginalized and at risk?

Take a step back and consider your judgment of others, let it sit with you and work on it. Stop placing your beliefs and values above the rights of others. We don’t need your unkind opinions. Let the rest of us live our lives freely without your criticism. Stop judging women for the choices they make and start supporting them. Be the church—the loving people—that God wants you to be. Live your life and let us live our, in peace.
Stop condemning women who take control of their bodies, lives, futures and families.

​Sometimes bringing up the past is so triggering, but I don't feel triggered anymore. I am no longer scared of the person I am about to write about, but I was. I was terrified of him, though I tried to never let on just how much he was impacting me. I would joke about it to friends, telling them I pitied him and that he was annoying me. The truth was that he wasn't just annoying me. He was scaring me. Ending up standing in front of a judge, crying and shaking, indicated just how scared I was of him.
"Can I please have 12 months?" I responded when the judge asked how long I wanted the restraining order to last. He looked at me, with comfort in his eyes and sincerity in his voice, "Kate, I think you and your daughter need two years away from him. He will be able to last 12 months and then contact you again. After two years, hopefully, he will be completely over it."
I deeply regretted ever letting him into my life. I’ve made some poor choices in the past, but this one was different. This time my poor judgment of character impacted you—until him, my poor choices had only ever impacted me.
I left the small courtroom and walked into the sunlight. I could finally breathe for the first time in 2.5 years. The sun hit me and I let it warm my heart, which had frozen over in order to protect itself.

Alexis, for you to fully understand what happened, we need to go back and start at the beginning.
We met on Tinder. I don’t remember swiping right when we matched. I guess I had a swipe right happy moment. He said "hello", and I said "hello" back.
I don't remember the conversation we had. I don't remember why I even met up with him. I probably thought it would be just sex and nothing else. I remember picking him up from his house for the first time and going to the café down the road.
There was nothing about him that attracted me, nothing that held my attention, yet there we were setting up another catch-up.