Pro-life: A Reflection on Michelle Wolf's "Salute to Abortion"
- By Rachel Mastrogiacomo
Recently, I watched an episode of the Netflix show called The Break with Michelle Wolf. This episode has trended all over the internet because she gave a “Salute to Abortion”. In this racy and offensive display, she said “pro-life is a propaganda term that isn’t real, like healthy ice cream and handsome testicles.” She prefers the term “anti-abortion,” which she equated to “anti-woman.” After spouting a whole list of issues about which pro-lifers supposedly show no concern, she said, “these anti-abortion people do not care about life, they just care about birth.”
At first I felt sick to my stomach and wanted to scream, “How dare you categorize me? I happen to be deeply concerned about the things you mentioned. I am a foster and adoptive mom who cares a whole lot about children after they’ve exited the birth canal, not to mention immigrants and the environment, damn it!”
This emotional reaction led me to write a rebuttal, in defense of not only myself but all of the pro-lifers she offended. However, as I began to write and let my heart splatter all over the page, I was moved to tears of repentance. The Spirit of God is so good at turning my stone cold heart to flesh. He knows I’m guilty. I am so very, very guilty of having been what pro-choicer’s often coin as “pro-birth.” For years, I sported pro-life bumper stickers and even marched in D.C. It’s not that I’m against the stickers and the marches, it’s just that these things didn’t actually cost me anything at all. What about love? Love costs everything. Today, I confess that I did not always love women in crisis and at-risk children. I said that I did, I even shouted it from the rooftops, but love doesn’t just say or shout out things. Love does.
As a pro-life feminist who has experienced the travail that is barrenness for more than four years, I guess you could say I was met with my own “choice.” In my own crisis of completely unexplained infertility, it was easy to slip into a hostile attitude toward pregnant bellies, a jealousy toward women who just so happened to unexpectedly conceive, and an overall hatred toward all of the movements and political stances, just because it can all be so damn triggering. For an infertile woman, who for years would have given her life to see two lines on a test, even just once, it was hard not to scream, “What the hell, God? Why her and not me? She didn’t even want to get pregnant, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted!” Just as the crisis of an unplanned pregnancy results in the need to make a difficult choice, so does the crisis of unexplained infertility. I had to make a decision that would shape who I would become as a woman. Was I going to allow my heart to grow cold, ugly, and hostile or was I going to strive to become profoundly female and fully empowered in my own unique ability to nurture and give life?
I’m no hero at all. Here’s the brutal truth. Had I become pregnant on our honeymoon or early on in marriage, my particular motherhood would never have become broken like bread and poured out like wine in the way that God willed. Put it this way, and I hate admitting this, had I conceived, I probably would not have welcomed a total of twelve at-risk children into our home. I probably would not have house-parented troubled teens, become an advocate for foster children or given up everything to serve orphans in a developing nation. I probably would not have compassionately walked in such a particular way with women in crisis—unwed mothers, mothers who have lost their children to the foster care system, birth mothers, and post-abortive women. I would not have become the version of myself that I am today, for I probably would have voted “pro-life” and then believed that there was nothing else to it. I probably would have felt really bad from afar for women in crisis and at-risk children but not do a single proactive thing about it. I probably would have said that foster care and adoption were super amazing solutions but nothing I felt “called to do personally.” I probably would have taught my biological children about orphans in developing countries, but then of course refuse to actually go there and involve our family’s hands in the mess. And last but not least, I probably would have missed out on God’s greatest miracle in my life: my adoptive daughter, who was scheduled to be aborted and for whom I would in the blink of an eye endure all of the world’s infertility. Hands down. You see, an unplanned pregnancy and my unexplained infertility were precisely the ingredients that made “us” happen. And as crazy as it sounds, I thank God everyday for the mountain of negative pregnancy tests because each and every disappointment led me straight to her. She was made to be my daughter, and I was made to be her mother, it’s as simple as that. And her birth mom? She’s my hero. And in a strange way, I know that I’m hers. Together, we are motherhood. Adoption is such a loving, loving option.
The point of this article is not to convince you that pro-life feminism is actually a thing, nor is the point to debate about whether or not life actually begins in the womb. I’ll leave that to science. Michelle Wolf, I originally wanted to react with crass to your crass performance, but then God did something in me. And so I turn the other cheek in the face of your insults, and I stand humbled before the God who convicted me today. He convicted me that I myself was once “pro-birth” and that I finally have grown out of this stunted and immature stance, embracing a more solution-oriented “whole life” approach to my pro-life efforts, all thanks to the thorn that is infertility buried deep in my side. I literally just got off of a FaceTime call with a beautiful unwed mother who has endured hell on earth. Her three children happen to still call me “mama.” And as I lay my little miracle baby down to sleep, I smile. Because of her, I am reminded every second of every day to actually be a pro-life feminist who is solution-oriented, unafraid of the trenches, compassionate toward and in solidarity with women in crisis—not just say that I am these things. In a strange way, I am thankful that Michelle Wolf’s display has sparked such a personal reflection.
At first I felt sick to my stomach and wanted to scream, “How dare you categorize me? I happen to be deeply concerned about the things you mentioned. I am a foster and adoptive mom who cares a whole lot about children after they’ve exited the birth canal, not to mention immigrants and the environment, damn it!”
This emotional reaction led me to write a rebuttal, in defense of not only myself but all of the pro-lifers she offended. However, as I began to write and let my heart splatter all over the page, I was moved to tears of repentance. The Spirit of God is so good at turning my stone cold heart to flesh. He knows I’m guilty. I am so very, very guilty of having been what pro-choicer’s often coin as “pro-birth.” For years, I sported pro-life bumper stickers and even marched in D.C. It’s not that I’m against the stickers and the marches, it’s just that these things didn’t actually cost me anything at all. What about love? Love costs everything. Today, I confess that I did not always love women in crisis and at-risk children. I said that I did, I even shouted it from the rooftops, but love doesn’t just say or shout out things. Love does.
As a pro-life feminist who has experienced the travail that is barrenness for more than four years, I guess you could say I was met with my own “choice.” In my own crisis of completely unexplained infertility, it was easy to slip into a hostile attitude toward pregnant bellies, a jealousy toward women who just so happened to unexpectedly conceive, and an overall hatred toward all of the movements and political stances, just because it can all be so damn triggering. For an infertile woman, who for years would have given her life to see two lines on a test, even just once, it was hard not to scream, “What the hell, God? Why her and not me? She didn’t even want to get pregnant, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted!” Just as the crisis of an unplanned pregnancy results in the need to make a difficult choice, so does the crisis of unexplained infertility. I had to make a decision that would shape who I would become as a woman. Was I going to allow my heart to grow cold, ugly, and hostile or was I going to strive to become profoundly female and fully empowered in my own unique ability to nurture and give life?
I’m no hero at all. Here’s the brutal truth. Had I become pregnant on our honeymoon or early on in marriage, my particular motherhood would never have become broken like bread and poured out like wine in the way that God willed. Put it this way, and I hate admitting this, had I conceived, I probably would not have welcomed a total of twelve at-risk children into our home. I probably would not have house-parented troubled teens, become an advocate for foster children or given up everything to serve orphans in a developing nation. I probably would not have compassionately walked in such a particular way with women in crisis—unwed mothers, mothers who have lost their children to the foster care system, birth mothers, and post-abortive women. I would not have become the version of myself that I am today, for I probably would have voted “pro-life” and then believed that there was nothing else to it. I probably would have felt really bad from afar for women in crisis and at-risk children but not do a single proactive thing about it. I probably would have said that foster care and adoption were super amazing solutions but nothing I felt “called to do personally.” I probably would have taught my biological children about orphans in developing countries, but then of course refuse to actually go there and involve our family’s hands in the mess. And last but not least, I probably would have missed out on God’s greatest miracle in my life: my adoptive daughter, who was scheduled to be aborted and for whom I would in the blink of an eye endure all of the world’s infertility. Hands down. You see, an unplanned pregnancy and my unexplained infertility were precisely the ingredients that made “us” happen. And as crazy as it sounds, I thank God everyday for the mountain of negative pregnancy tests because each and every disappointment led me straight to her. She was made to be my daughter, and I was made to be her mother, it’s as simple as that. And her birth mom? She’s my hero. And in a strange way, I know that I’m hers. Together, we are motherhood. Adoption is such a loving, loving option.
The point of this article is not to convince you that pro-life feminism is actually a thing, nor is the point to debate about whether or not life actually begins in the womb. I’ll leave that to science. Michelle Wolf, I originally wanted to react with crass to your crass performance, but then God did something in me. And so I turn the other cheek in the face of your insults, and I stand humbled before the God who convicted me today. He convicted me that I myself was once “pro-birth” and that I finally have grown out of this stunted and immature stance, embracing a more solution-oriented “whole life” approach to my pro-life efforts, all thanks to the thorn that is infertility buried deep in my side. I literally just got off of a FaceTime call with a beautiful unwed mother who has endured hell on earth. Her three children happen to still call me “mama.” And as I lay my little miracle baby down to sleep, I smile. Because of her, I am reminded every second of every day to actually be a pro-life feminist who is solution-oriented, unafraid of the trenches, compassionate toward and in solidarity with women in crisis—not just say that I am these things. In a strange way, I am thankful that Michelle Wolf’s display has sparked such a personal reflection.
Rachel Mastrogiacomo is a foster and adoptive mama with an Africa-shaped heart. She is passionately in love with Christ in the outcasted and marginalized of society. Collectively, she and her husband Rich have served in Uganda, Mexico, Honduras, Jamaica, Russia, Armenia, and Italy. Their daughter Chiara Maria de Guadalupe is the apple of their eyes. As a family, they have embraced a life of service as full-time foreign missionaries and evangelists. In her spare time, Rachel enjoys writing, photography, and bulletproof coffee.
Contact Rachel: truejoyhappens@gmail.com
Contact Rachel: truejoyhappens@gmail.com
