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Looking back at all the moments that have shape me, the one I am still processing is the time I had an abortion at 5 weeks, 1 day.

After 8 years of being raped and taking plan B, I never imagine that I would have to go through making the most horrific decision of my entire life; I was walking with coworkers in the sidewalk when I stopped and felt like I was going to vomit out all of my organs, now there is two things I don’t frequently do unless I am sick of course, I don’t get nauseous out of nowhere, and I definitely don’t get nauseous for pizza. I completely brushed it off because I was starving and so I thought that it might have been one of those “I need to eat ASAP” symptoms.

At the time, my coworker had just had a surgical abortion and so the topic was fresh in our group of three, is important to note that when she brought it up I felt so uncomfortable talking about it, I was not where I am now, I was not able to talk about rape, abortion or anything that would trigger Rafael thoughts, and so I was defensive, often leaving conversations because I was not ready to talk about my trauma. Once my coworker went through the procedure, that was when a lot of emotions surfaced for her, and the healing started and though I was on the healing journey as well, I did not understand healing.

My body felt different, I was not sleeping well, the thought of food made me nauseous and standing in front of the mirror was my last doing before taking a pregnancy test: I knew that the possibility was there, however after so many years of luck, and getting pregnant by IUI I guess I thought I was untouchable.

The hardest part was wanting it, I wanted to carry his child, I wanted to be in love with him and have all that I dreamed of in my head: reality was checked once silence was bounced back. I would be lying if I said that I was not resentful, of course I was, here I was 5 weeks, 1 day full of mixed emotions, unable to find peace on either side of that decision, alone. Struggling to understand the reasons, struggling to be strong enough to ask if Blue had a heartbeat; it did not, and that was the breaking point.

I’ve written this more than 10 times, different lines, different outlooks, but somehow I never post it because I am afraid of being judge, of being too vulnerable but this too is part of me, this part, letting Blue go, waking up today knowing tomorrow February 16th, it will be 2 years that I cried myself on my bathroom floor blood around my hips, pain like I’ve never felt pain; I think about Blue often, I wonder if Dad is playing baseball with it all the time.

I lost Blue February 2019, I lost Dad December 2019 I couldn’t help but feel like I was been punish and so I turned off all of me, emotionless, unmotivated, I was quite living as a robot, unable to process that in months I’ve lost the most important person and a piece of my heart. 2020 was such a recovering year for me, through the pandemic I found peace, I found center and I walked deeper into my Spirituality, not out of guilt but of need.

I do not know if I expected an apology, or a hug or words for my soul from him, but I learned that whatever I was expecting it wouldn’t have made it any easier, I had to learn that I was responsible for my body, I had to learn that my voice was a tool, I learned that pointing fingers, making someone to be the villain in your story is not healing, though we never spoke about it I learned that he was only part of the lesson, not the lesson itself.

Blue was a wake up call, and though it took months for me to leave the toxic cycle, Blue changed something in me that was undeniable, Blue changed how I loved, Blue changed how I felt pain; my mentor said to me “ sometimes we are gifted a soul that is never meant to be ours “ Blue was meant to change me, Blue was never meant to be mine and when I came to be at peace with that, I found that instead of looking at Blue like a horrible mistake, I started looking at Blue like the best 5 weeks, 1 day I’ve ever lived.