6w5d

To describe what happened today is impossible. Sum it up to love, lots of love. Love from M., who picked me up, who brought me to CVS, where I could buy pads, who drove me to the doctor, who advised me on how much Ativan to take, who sat with me in the waiting room, who held my hand through the abortion, who waited in line for my medication while I made my follow-up appointment, who drove me back to her house, who let me sleep on her $1,300-bed, who drove me to the house where my kiddos were, who stayed with me and the kiddos, who let me sleep on the couch while she watched the kiddos, who just damned loved me through the whole damned day.

It’s so cliched, but you never know who your friends are until shit hits the fan.

I’m not happy there’s shit to be hitting, but I’m infinitely grateful that the friends are coming to the surface. I love you all.

5w2d

The small spaces… I talk about them all the time: places where we feel empowered and fully in control of our own lives and decisions. And loved, completely and unconditionally loved. With all the chaos and unpredictability in the world and all the times when our best-laid plans go awry, it’s necessary to have small spaces, and last night I was reminded we can find them in the least likely of places. Sometimes reconnecting with an old friend is all that’s needed to feel comfort again, and sometimes sitting and talking with someone who knows just how to listen is all that is needed to feel safe to enter into the journey of making difficult choices. And to hear I’ll be proud of you no matter what from someone who’s also been the rope in a tug-of-war between someone else’s notions of right and wrong? Well, that was more than I’d asked for.

4w5d (morning)

I am amazed at how much positive energy has been directed my way over the last 24 hours. If yesterday I felt alone, today I feel as though I’ve jumped off of a highwire expecting to crash but have instead found myself cradled in familiar surroundings, comforted by people who love me, protected fiercely by those who most realize my vulnerability. I am still scared. I am still reeling from the jump. I am anxious about whether I’ll survive jumps to come. For now, though, I am less damaged than I’d feared I’d have to be.

I am grateful to my friends: R., who has been drawing on her own experiences to show me there is hope; M2., for offering to go with me on June 5, and for telling me she’d support me no matter what; K., for checking in to make sure I was okay; and V., for listening when she was dealing with her own problems.

And I am grateful to D., whose break this weekend brought him to realize that he hasn’t been as supportive as he should be, for looking at me with tears in his eyes, for taking my hand in his, for listening to me, for asking what I needed from him to make it through to the other side.

Thank you all.