Thread by @ECMcLaughlin

WE DID IT! $10k and counting for @AmyMcGrathKY in 16 hours.

That means I have to tell you the story of the tattoo on my ribs. Read on, and donate or donate again if you're so inclined.

secure.actblue.com/pages/ecmmcgra…

Some of you may not know that I gave birth to two kids in 14.5 months, at the ages of nearly 41 and 42. As any “older” mother would tell you, these kind of consecutive pregnancies are hell on the body at that age and on the mind.

I got post-partum depression after both births. Add to that that within two years of my youngest’s birth, my husband and I separated for the first time.

When we separated, I'd been the primary breadwinner in the relationship for 8 years, & I was on the verge of financial ruin.

My ex had been unable to keep a job or earn anything, and when we split, I moved into a third floor walk-up apartment on Pacific Street in Downtown Brooklyn with two toddlers, only one of whom was proficient enough to actually walk up stairs.

The apartment was two bedrooms, 600 square feet, and had a kitchen that was basically a closet.

Scraping together the money for the deposit on that apartment was a miracle that I will never forget—it was as if the universe dropped us a lifeline to exit exactly when I needed it.

My life soon became not much more than strapping my son onto my back in a carrier and holding my daughter’s hand down three flights of stairs to drop them at daycare, heading back to the tiny apartment to work, and then heading back to daycare.

On the weekends, if I was lucky, I had a sitter for a few hours so I could, you guessed it, go to a coffee shop and work.

I was a physical and emotional wreck. My body had not recovered from two c-sections in a little more than a year. It felt like there was no lifeline, ever.

My brain was still trying to calibrate the wild hormonal ride of the past few years, combined with a likely looming divorce from an abusive marriage.

And while my business was showing signs of rapid expansion (finally), I was still in fear and panic mode a lot of the time.

On a Saturday night in the middle of winter, I scraped together some money to meet a friend for dinner and paid the sitter. To my surprise, my friend paid for dinner and drinks.

I headed home on the subway in the freezing January air to my tiny apartment and my beautiful children. As I stepped off the subway at Borough Hall, and made my way down to Pacific, however, I paused at the now-gone storefront at the corner of my intersection: Brooklyn Tattoo.

I had $100 burning a hole in my pocket and I’d had a few drinks. I walked in and said “who can ink a word on my ribs, right now?” One of the most well-regarded artists in NYC happened to have an opening (I’ve forgotten his name now, but his wall was covered with famous folks).

My body had not belonged to me for a long a time. My spirit was emotionally broken. There was no one in my life at that point save the dearest of the dear to remind me, in any way, of my worth or my value.

It was a point of choice, and reclamation.

And so, from that pit, I chose a declaration: that come what may, I would love myself, that I would be there for myself, that I would love my body and my brain and more than anything my children, and that I would carry on, come what may.

That I would be what I needed most.

The word I inked on my ribs that night was a choice to remember, always, who I am.

It reads:

BELOVED

And I chose it because it was the word that my dearest friends used to describe the people who loved them always when it felt like there was no one else left.

Now let’s go build a nation that never lets another human feel anything other than BELOVED, ever again.

Let's elect candidates who show this nation in the actions and not just their words what it means to value all of us, at every moment, including when we feel the most lost.

Let's elect @ewarren and @AmyMcGrathKY and @harrisonjaime and every other candidate who has shown an understanding of COMPASSION and POLICY that benefits those who have never had power and those who have to fight to survive every day.

Let's do it now, before it's too late.

(and I would be remiss if I didn't mention Toni Morrison here, for while Beloved did not inspire my tattoo, her work inspires me always, and makes me a writer even when I think I am not one)

ONWARD.

/end

OH and PS: if we raise $100k for Amy, you get a picture of the ink.

So keep going. LOL.

Rebooted link for those who still want to donate to @AmyMcGrathKY:

secure.actblue.com/donate/ecmmcgr…