As a baby we come into this world. Our story is not written. We grow, and from a very young age we start learning that we have choices. The ways and reasons I make choices sometimes change. My decisions took into consideration my circumstances. Rather I was a child living under my parents roof; a teenager with hopes, dreams and hormones; a foreigner in a new country; a young pregnant mom; or a wife supported financially by her husband;… I had a choice.

Recently, I had a conversation with one of my sons during which I was explaining a decision I made several years ago. As we spoke I said, "You understand why I made that decision, right? You realized I DID NOT have a choice." The thing about raising children who you give the freedom to be authentic, is that when they get older, you may not always like what they express to you. My son, without hesitation said, “You always have a choice.” I have preached that to them consciously and unconsciously over the years and now it was fed to me in the most humble way possible.

I felt blamed, I felt misunderstood, and I felt judged; I just said "okay" and walked away from the conversation. He didn’t get it. I didn't have a choice.  He was blaming me  and I was blaming myself. Trust me when I say that I believe that others were blaming me too. It’s true I have been blamed. Wait ... but no one is blaming me any more, no one is judging me, in fact I am understood and validated. I still felt all those things even though years have passed from that difficult decision I had to make. Even as I write, I wonder what you, the reader, are thinking that decision was.  I am tempted to share it in order to not be judged, but it doesn't matter what it is; no it doesn’t because I still had a choice.

I left this conversation with my son because I had an errand to run but I didn’t want to leave. If I had a few more minutes, I would've helped him see that I really didn’t have a choice. He eventually said that he probably would have made the same choice I made in that situation. Probably, probably. I felt a bit understood once I allowed my brain time to pause and stop tripping.

I sat in the parking lot, I could not face another person with this heavinesses on my heart. I sat and cried, I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t have a choice. But...I DID.

Something in me snapped. All of the people I held responsible for the choice I made actually were not responsible. I was placed in a circumstance and I made a choice. It was a difficult choice, but it was my choice.  I finally felt free and stopped unconsciously holding others hostage for the choice I made.

The fact is rather I make a decision motivated by fear, love, feeling, or pressure… It’s My choice.

I recently heard a speaker share about how at age 25 she gave up her child for adoption. She said, “I was selfish and unwilling. I can explain the trauma I lived and the experiences I had that contributed to my decision. The fact is I was selfish and unwilling.” I have heard many speakers, but she left an impression in my heart. It wasn’t that she explained how people labeled her as “brave” for giving her child instead of making other choices; what impacted me was that rather she felt brave, guilty, depressed, or with a clear conscious… it doesn’t matter, I was moved by her sharing in which she focuses on the choice she made and what happened as a result from it.

I sometimes feel good and courageous about my choices, but I sometimes feel like a coward. Regardless of how I feel, it’s my choice and I am the only one who lives with that decision. Therefore I pray to choose wisely.

I made a choice, a difficult choice but it was my choice.