BooksBarbecue
Back Life Events Save as PDF
Chapters (49)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1.
  6. 2.
  7. 3.
  8. 4.
  9. 5.
  10. 6.
  11. 7.
  12. 8.
  13. 9.
  14. 10.
  15. 11.
  16. 12.
  17. 13.
  18. 14.
  19. 15.
  20. 16.
  21. 17.
  22. 18.
  23. 19.
  24. 20.
  25. 21.
  26. 22.
  27. 23.
  28. 24.
  29. 25.
  30. 26.
  31. 27.
  32. 28.
  33. 29.
  34. 30.
  35. 31.
  36. 32.
  37. 33.
  38. 34.
  39. 35.
  40. 36.
  41. 37.
  42. 38.
  43. 39.
  44. 40.
  45. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  46. Also by Karolina Waclawiak
  47. Praise for Life Events
  48. A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  49. Newsletter Sign-up

I waited for the pharmacist and was surprised when she was nice. She said, “I know it’s a lot. It will be okay.” I wondered if she could tell I felt ashamed, irresponsible, or if I just looked like someone’s wife who had had an accident with her husband. A wife who didn’t want a baby. I admired her eye shadow as she talked, which was as expertly applied in various shades of copper and gold as any online video makeup artist that I had watched late at night. She just told me if I threw up within three hours I would have to come back to try again. That my cycle would be fucked up, though she didn’t use those words. She made it seem like it was no big deal that I, an adult woman, had acted carelessly. She didn’t tell me the inside of my uterus would come out in dark sheets.

I wanted to tell Daniel he owed me $39.99 for the trouble. I let myself have a UTI for three days so I could still feel him inside of me.

37.

Perhaps my inability to forgive myself or others stemmed from a frequent lack of compassion for how other people handled weakness. Because I was so worried about being hurt by anyone, I had lost the ability to see that maybe people who caused the most pain were also those in the most pain themselves. That’s not to say that I didn’t seek out hurt people continually. Even now I was constantly looking for a proximity to pain. I learned early in life to believe that my capacity for pain was higher than other people’s. But that didn’t mean I didn’t also have a good childhood.

Once, my father said, “I achieved so much in my life—I worked, I was your father, and all I wanted was for you to thrive—but you’ll only remember me as an alcoholic.”

It felt like the cruelest thing I could do to him. To myself.

I wanted to say, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to. I know you’re more than that.” But all I said was, “I love you.”

To come to terms with gray areas is to begin to understand what forgiveness really means. I had long been flattening my father into just an alcoholic, but he was an alcoholic and my father. He taught me how to stand up for myself and taught me to cower.

I could have loved Bobby and have left him. I could fear pain and still seek it out at every opportunity. I could be smart and incredibly reckless.

So here I was, forcing myself, through others, to give space to pain.