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me. I admit it, given a choice, with a handful of exceptions, I tend to prefer the company of animals to the company of people. Animals are honest—there’s not a hint of pretense about them, they just unapologetically are who they are, and their capacity to love and be loved outshines ours by about a million.
no one knows better than the woman who’s pregnant whether she’s suitable to be a committed, nurturing, engaged mother, and I have nothing but admiration for women who give birth knowing that they’ll be giving the child up for adoption to someone who’ll take better care of it than they’re capable of. I couldn’t begin to imagine that.
In the end, I felt only two things about proceeding with the abortion: profound sadness, and an enormous amount of anger at myself—sadness because I’d be ending a potential life, and anger because I let this happen in the first place. My body, my responsibility.
honesty, to not being defined by my circumstances, to always, always loving myself, because if I was special enough to be loved by her, I must be worth loving.
