When you’ve never been a parent before, there’s really no yardstick for whether you’re doing it… right.
As a mum — particularly one prone to anxiety — I second-guess myself constantly. Conversations replay in my head long after they’ve ended. Could I have explained that better? Made that less awkward? Been more open? More reassuring? Listened more actively?
I always do my best, and sometimes that’s good enough. But hindsight is a genius. Often the moment passes with only a mental note to “do better next time”.
Turns out, next time was this time.
Lately, the big conversations seem to be arriving thick and fast — body odour, puberty, periods, growing up. The other night, while we were all watching television together, a comedian on a game show made an offhand comment about abortion.
My 12-year-old son asked what it meant.
I don’t know what age kids generally start asking these questions, but standing on the edge of the teenage years, it felt age-appropriate to answer honestly — at least from a clinical and compassionate standpoint.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his Dad squirming. He muttered something about not really needing to worry about that yet.
It was one of those moments where I thought: as parents, we can do better than awkward silence.
So I explained that “abortion” is an older, often stigmatised term for a medical termination.
I told him that here in Australia, if somebody falls pregnant and, for any reason, continuing that pregnancy puts them at risk emotionally, financially, physically or mentally, they can seek proper reproductive healthcare. A qualified doctor can perform a medical procedure to terminate the pregnancy before the embryo develops further.
Most importantly, I didn’t want him growing up believing this was something shrouded in shame, secrecy or whispered judgment. I wanted him to understand it broadly for what it is: a healthcare issue, a reproductive rights issue and, often, a safety issue.
Some people might wonder how I reconcile those views with sending him to a Catholic school — particularly when some institutional ideologies don’t always align neatly with my own.
And look, I still cringe remembering the time a parishioner shoved a pro-life petition into my hands in the church foyer.
But I also know this: I went to a Catholic school, and I learned from some extraordinary people there.
We learned about literature, politics, history, compassion and social justice. We had progressive sex education, health education and drug education. While my interpretation of faith is admittedly fairly liberal, some of those lessons shaped me profoundly.
One of my favourite people in the world is a nun who has spent her life quietly modelling empathy, kindness and social justice in action. She taught us not just about poverty and suffering in developing countries, but why it should matter to us. Why it should become part of our collective responsibility.
Sadly, it feels like the next generation may now be inheriting that baton.
A church minister recently said the three most important things children can know are:
that they are loved,
that they belong to a loving family or community,
and that they have a mission.
Whether that mission is large or small — whether it changes every day or stays with them for life — having purpose matters. Sometimes it’s the very thing that carries people through dark seasons. I concur and these are all good, well considered thoughtful and wholesome lessons.
We all have hopes for our kids. We want them to be happy, successful, articulate or bright and kind.
And this whole yarn is really the long way round of saying this:
I hope that now, if my son ever hears people speaking in hushed tones or behind their hands about a girl “having an abortion”, he’ll be the kind of young man who calmly understands and sets the record straight. It is actually a standard medical procedure — one tied to healthcare, safety, bodily autonomy and human rights.
I hope he’ll choose empathy before judgment.
And honestly, if anyone’s up to the job, it’s him.
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
While my father had (as do I) an autism spectrum disorder about which he wasn’t formally aware, my mother had suffered a nervous breakdown or postpartum depression around the time I was born. It likely would have meant a lack of such crucial shared joyful interactions. It may also be relevant that Dad used guilt punishment instead of physical blows as an effective means of chastising me (e.g. “See what you did?”). Guilt and shame seem to have much in common. . For me, Dr. Joseph Burgo’s book SHAME: Free Yourself, Find Joy and Build True Self-Esteem — about the… Read more »