Bruni in the City: My Choice Not to Have Kids

Bruni in the City: My Choice Not to Have Kids
A Column by Christina Bruni
Flouting White Middle-Class Rules About Childbirth
As a Lefty, I want to talk about a new 2018 book Trust Women: A Progressive Christian Argument for Reproductive Justice by Rebecca Todd Peters.
My own life narrative is atypical. A woman I hired told me my story was “unusual.”
I don’t think and act like a lot of people of my race and gender. I’ve always gone Left when everyone else goes Right.
Christian social ethicist Rebecca Todd Peters asserts: “The public rhetoric that insists women must justify their abortions represents a thinly veiled racial and class bias that does two things: It attempts to impose white, middle-class values about marriage, sexual activity, and childbearing on everyone. And it focuses on individual women’s behavior while effectively obfuscating the complexity of their day-to-day lives and the viability of their various choices.”
The feminist author proposes: “Public policy ought to focus on addressing systemic social problems rather than attempting to police and control the behavior of women and their bodies.”
In her view the real issue is that women who have abortions are told they need to take responsibility. The truth is that “difficult real-life moral decisions stand in contrast” with the prevailing white, middle-class politicians’ and anti-choice crusaders’ perception that women who terminate pregnancies need to take responsibility.
Trust Women tells a different story through statistics about women’s reproductive health choices:
• 91.6 percent of abortions happen in the first trimester;
• 73 percent of women indicate they could not afford to have a baby at that point in their lives;
• 74 percent cited interference with their education or job/career or responsibility for existing children or other dependents;
• 49 percent of women who had abortions in 2014 were living below the federal poverty line;
• 95 percent of women terminating pregnancies think it was the right decision for them;
• Between 50 and 60 percent of women who have abortions were using some form of contraception the month they got pregnant; and
• 60 percent of women who have abortions already have children.
According to Rebecca Todd Peters: “Women also face a host of barriers when trying to obtain birth control: cost and lack of insurance…difficulty accessing a pharmacy…challenges in getting prescription contraception…in scheduling appointments and getting to a clinic or doctor’s office.”
These barriers were greater for women living below 200 percent of the poverty line.
My Own Story
Let’s face it, doesn’t every woman out there have hard-luck romance stories under our Hermes-H or other belt?
One of the psychics I went to told me: “Love’s been up and down and all around for you. It’s been to the dogs.”
This waterfront fortune teller told me I’d meet a lot of turkeys along the way. Yes, she used the word turkeys to talk about the guys I’d meet.
Taken in this context I haven’t been so quick to drop my skirt to get into bed with just any guy that walked on by in my life.
As a woman with a mental health diagnosis, I didn’t want to get married and raise a family.
Yes—I’ve known without a doubt since I was 15 or 16 that I didn’t want to have kids—not even one kid.
This stance of mine doesn’t fit into the white middle-class heterosexual norm that prevails in American society.
It’s this world that I was born into that I so intuitively rejected as not being the right lifestyle for me to live.
Leading yet again to how I championed everything Left of the Dial in my memoir.
I still haven’t found Mr. Right nor have I found Mr. Almost Right either. And I definitely haven’t found Mr. Not-Right-Yet-I’ll-Take-Him-Anyway.
In this dry climate with no prospects does it make sense to risk getting pregnant by having sex just to prove you’re a normal woman?
This is the double-bind or double-standard women are held to:
If we’re not having sex we’re viewed as being screwed-up and that there’s something wrong with us.
If we’re having sex and, heaven help us, too much sex, we’re viewed as having a lack of morals.
What Do You Say?
Isn’t it time to give the boot to restrictive regressive political policies that make it harder and harder for women to remain child-free by choice?
Isn’t it time to stop judging women for the choices we make?
Isn’t it time to accept the multitude of expressions of what is “normal” in society?
It’s time.
I for one have failed at living a mainstream life.
I have failed to please the people who stand in judgment of me even though they haven’t met me.
I have failed to see the logic in overpopulating the planet.
More to the point: not only did I not want to have a kid: I didn’t want to go through the experience of being pregnant.

Pullout: “One of the psychics I went to told me: ‘Love’s been up and down and all around for you. It’s been to the dogs.’”

Bruni in the City: Number 100 is on His Way

Bruni in the City: Number 100 is on His Way
A Column by Christina Bruni
I Fell for a Pinhead
Readers: I broke the cardinal rule of dating.
Years ago, a woman gave me a psychic reading in her apartment on the waterfront in Sheepshead Bay. She told me: “Don’t throw yourself at a guy. Remember: you’re a diamond, not a rhinestone.”
Diamond, my ass. My brilliance hasn’t attracted a guy to me.
So, my curiosity got the better of me. I threw down a challenge to T.—the guy I have pined for since 2016—and sent him a short e-mail in these exact words: “I realize you don’t like me and that’s okay.” The cardinal sin. Then:
“You keep talking about your numerous ex-girlfriends. I’m a woman with a photogenic face and skinny body and I can’t get one guy to go on one date with me. What’s your secret?”
Since he was “date bait” himself with striking good looks and a kind heart, couldn’t he spare a few alluring ideas about how I could reel a guy in? Couldn’t he tell me this as one great friend to another? I clicked send on the e-mail and shut down my computer for the night. 
T. responded: “Most romances are played badly just on the surface level. Even the ones where people are happier are adolescent. Are you at the library this week? We can talk then.”
I responded to T: “Yes, I do attract guys—what a psychic called ‘turkeys.’ Like the guy with the screen name sexywomanneeded—adolescent indeed. How is a guy going to get a woman if he frames it in terms of what she can give him not what he can give her?”
Then I told T.: “I’m not going to wear a cleavage-bearing mini dress, yet apparently, that’s some guy’s sole criteria for a love match.”
Our conversation quickly sidestepped that he was the first guy I was madly and physically attracted to. He had conveniently deflected any reference to my comment that he didn’t like me.
That Sunday was the first time in my life that I ever felt like something was wrong with me. Having a diagnosis of schizophrenia doesn’t upset me and hasn’t upset me for decades. It only crushed me to know that a kind, sensitive and intelligent guy like T. didn’t like a kind and compassionate and elegant lady like me. 
“Pinhead!” I wanted to tell him. “By all means go out and get another chick that will treat you like shit all over again. Get going—Number 100 is on his way to me.”
It’s over—partly because T. has moved to Austin, TX where he found a job.
T. and I were a photogenic item out in public. I was confident people thought we were a romantic item. Thus, when we appeared together I wanted to wear a tee-shirt that proclaimed: He’s Not My Boyfriend. Try Your Luck.
The ending with T. reminded me of the Donna Summer song, lyrics about the cake left out in the rain. It took so long to bake the budding romance with him and I won’t ever have this recipe again either. The cake’s been soaked. That’s all there is to it.
On some days, I still pine for a guy. On other days, I’m happy to be alone. I miss the cake frosting.

Bruni in the City: He’s Just Not That Into Me

Bruni in the City: He’s Just Not That Into Me
A Column by Christina Bruni

Welcome to My Life Now

Yes. I fear I have finally become the oldest cliché in the book. The book? He’s Just Not That Into You.
I think to myself, if a hot-blooded American guy was that attracted to a woman, he’d move heaven and Earth to go on a date with her.

T, the guy that I had written about, appeared in real life. And I went to The Fabulous Nevada Diner for dinner with him. Later that evening, we saw a band perform live. As I waited in the ladies’ room for a stall, his friend came in to wait, too. “Are you his girlfriend?” she asked.

“Oh, no, I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”

“He told me he did,” Annie repeated.

“That could’ve been seven months ago—it could be now—I don’t know. It could be possible.”

She was asking because it was an honest question. No malice intended.

I looked like I was still 30 with my Banana Republic jeans, a black t-shirt, and my new kicks─hot pink Converse ballet sneakers. Wouldn’t a guy like to go out with a vibrant, youthful woman who’s intelligent; not just typical bubblegum arm candy?

It’s not going to be T at this point.

I don’t want to risk the friendship by trying to date him. Reading the book Born for This, I learned about the solution for indecision: choose one thing to do. Why should I place all the power in a guy’s hands to decide if he wants to date me?

Rather than endlessly obsess over my fate, I decided that T would remain my great friend. I’d expand my avenues for finding a romantic partner other than just using OKCupid.

It’s possible that T is a “gateway guy,” the prelude to meeting the next guy.

At 2 a.m., T’s other friend raced across Northern Boulevard when he spotted a taxi on the other side. Northern Boulevard lives up to its moniker of “The Boulevard of Death.” Numerous accidents happen there because drivers speed down the street at 60 miles per hour or faster.

I arrived home at 3 a.m. and went straight to sleep. He’s just not that into me, folks. Yet, I wasn’t going to cry over it. Great friends are hard to come by. T is a great friend and always will be.

The next day, I went to Banana Republic and bought a chic chambray shirtwaist jacket. It looked good on me. I hope to look good for the guy who pulls out the lucky number next in the bakery line.

Bruni in the City: Finding Mr. Right Now

Bruni in the City: Finding Mr. Right Now
By Christina Bruni
The Guy Showed Up On My Doorstep

Loyal readers, I ask you, is it so hard for any guy to say, "I'd like to take you on a date?" Most likely they fear being rejected. Yet, I don't have a crystal ball. If you like a girl, let her know. Trust me, a modern woman like myself doesn't automatically think "date" when a guy asks her "Do you want to...?"

Christina Bruni

Come right out and say, "I'd like to take you on a date." Old-fashioned, yet totally charming. Don't do it via text or e-mail either. Ask the woman when you see her in person.

At first, I didn't think a guy could like me simply because I had the greatest hard time reeling ‘em in on OKCupid and other dating websites. No guy took my bait, even though I had a gorgeous photo. Then a friend told me a guy liked me, so I decided to reciprocate and see how it would go. I had been blind early on. The more we talked, I got interested in him.

On the Internet, men and women specify a list of acceptable traits they're looking for. Focusing on a checklist, most people rule out potential partners. In the fall, I had decided that I would accept whatever package the guy came to me in. I had quit my involvement with Internet matchmakers at the time I published Left of the Dial.

The deciding factor was that I don't want kids. Online, 50-year old guys were clamoring for a brood—even though the older the father is, there's a greater risk his kids will develop autism, ADHD, or schizophrenia. I couldn't compete with the bevy of women who wanted to breed fast.

Ever since I was a young teen, I knew I did not want to marry or raise a family. My only dream was to live an artist's life in the City. At 50, I'm still a quirky creative gal who lives her life “left of the dial.”

You can imagine my joy and disbelief when the guy arrived in real life like a living breathing checklist. He listens to alternative music and likes to attend poetry readings and comedy clubs. He's a lefty like I am.

There's a fluidity to this right now. I won't force things. What I like most of all is that I met a guy with social graces—he can hold his own and interact with others with ease. The journey is what counts. This is how it is in the modern world—having fun most of all and being a caring companion to the one you're with. I respect that he's an independent spirit like myself.

By fall, I had decided I wanted to attract a guy into my life instead of hunting him down. What luck I had in actually meeting a person who is open-minded and respectful.

It hit me, too, that it's not about what I can get out of things—it's about making the other person feel good. Like Grace Slick sings about wanting and needing somebody to love in the song "Somebody to Love."

Wherever this leads is not the point. The point is that talking with him is better than taking a happy pill. For so long I had to deal with a parade of turkeys trotting through my life. A woman who gave me a psychic reading called the guys I would meet "turkeys." No kidding.

I'm just a girl in the city living her life. The point is that I'm 50 and I got here so I can give readers hope. It's never too late to find joy in living. Today is the greatest day of all. Trust me, you'll get what you want if you're a go-giver, not a go-getter. Focus on what you can give other people.

Bruni in the City: The Perfect Macaroons

Bruni in the City: The Perfect Macaroons

A Column by Christina Bruni

Stay True to Yourself and You'll Find the Right One

I've drowned myself in macaroons, courtesy of Cream, a new coffee bar in Bay Ridge on Third Avenue at 72nd Street in Brooklyn. My favorite is the wedding almond. I buy two and a hot chocolate with whipped cream, no marshmallows.

Cream has free wi-fi and a quartet of tables in the back, plus a restroom. I prefer going here to the Starbucks down the street. Donuts are also on offer, like the hibiscus or the chocolate with cocoa nibs. A standard variety of coffee, too.

The winter is not my favorite season. Late summer into early fall is when I have the most energy. Thus I decided to try to find a guy in the early spring or thereabouts. I bombed out on the Internet matchmaking services. Earlier this year, I decided I would never again be untrue to myself by trying to get other people's approval.

The guys online left a lot to be desired. That is, I wasn't willing to settle for one of those average guys. For a number of years, I've bristled at how sick people are praised because they hide behind a cloak of normalcy. You can be rude to customers. You can fail to do your share of the work at a job. You can be outright hostile. And you'll be celebrated because you don't have a mental illness.

The guys online were crackers. I was open-minded, so I sent a message to a vegan, and he didn't respond because I eat chicken and fish. I also sent a message to a psychiatric worker who specified he wanted to meet a "sexy" woman. No response here either.

Not only were the guys a few bricks short of a house, I realized I couldn't compete in these traditional dating arenas because 95 percent of the guys are only interested in finding out if a woman is "fuckable." If you're an intelligent, hip, socially savvy woman, you're expected to be grateful for the crumbs on the table that these guys deign to give you. You're supposed to overlook that they're unmedicated yet not normal.

As my efforts derailed, one after the other, over the last two years, I decided that I hadn't failed; it was my approach that failed me. I took myself off the market to focus on publishing my memoir, Left of the Dial, which went on sale on Amazon this past December 2014. After the book came out, I kick-started marketing it and selling it via my new website and my blogs and other channels.

The more I thought about things, the more I realized that changing myself to fit a mold of what other people in society deem acceptable is a no-win game. The self-doubt was replaced by a new confidence because it suddenly hit me: Do I really want to date a shallow guy who seeks a tarted-up, tatted-up woman? No, no, no.

Two real-life experiences cemented the truth in my mind that settling for any old guy who expresses an interest in me is not the way to live. I hold two truths to be self-evident. First, I have a best friend I'll call Josh. He has a female companion who collects SSI. He takes her to lunch. He takes her to dinner. She doesn't wear stilettos and a cleavage-baring, leopard-print dress.

This cheered me because I realized I might be able to find a great guy like Josh who doesn't immediately want to get under my skirt. I am not a bimbo. My great worry has always been that I would have to stuff down my personality and change myself to be in a relationship with a guy.

Have no fear. A free spirited woman I know wears cowboy boots with a skirt. She is always nattily attired in jeans and a t-shirt. She pulls it off with her own joie-de-vivre. And no, she doesn't wear stilettos on a date either or slit-up-to-there skirts.

That's how I realized there was hope for me. A psychiatric worker only wanted a sexy woman, and a narrow-minded vegan was critical of a woman's food and fashion choices. Since I couldn't compete online in this arena, I realized I would have to live my life and see who I met in person at a book talk I gave.

I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I didn't have to get tarted-up or tatted-up to snare a guy. The equation is simple: Only by acting true to yourself can you find your true match. I'm convinced there's a guy out there for me. Right now, the macaroons sure are delish.

Book Ends: Left of the Dial by Christina Bruni

Book Ends: Left of the Dial by Christina Bruni

Reviewed by Columnist Kurt Sass

Christina Bruni’s book, Left of the Dial, is an uplifting, triumphant account of her ongoing battle with schizophrenia, a battle she is winning every day. I found there to be three main messages in her book: 1) Never give up, no matter who tells you what you can or can not accomplish; 2) Acceptance of an illness is a major component in the battle; and 3) that service to others in life will bring you joy.

The very first thing that struck me about Ms. Bruni’s book is that she pulls no punches and gets directly to the core. No five to ten leading chapters on how I grew up and how grade school was and this and that. The very first sentence, “It happened that night,” within the first chapter of the book we find Ms. Bruni in the psychiatric ward. No pussy-footing around with this memoir.

And no pussy-footing around with Ms. Bruni, either. While still in the hospital, her doctor tells her that she would probably never go to grad school or get into writing again. She also reads in the hospital that only 30% of people with schizophrenia fully recover. Rather than resign herself to the opinions of the “professionals,” she makes a conscious decision “to be determined to be the 30%” and begins to set up goals for herself. Immediately upon her release, she buys a computer (one goal) and was soon writing (another goal).

Shortly after this, Ms. Bruni’s journey takes her to a day treatment program. She is still feeling optimistic about the future until she reads in another “professional journal,” a book titled “Surviving Schizophrenia,” that only 6% of people with schizophrenia go on to obtain full-time jobs. At first she retreats into herself and bows to the pressure, but then summons up the courage to fight the stereotype once again.

Ms. Bruni eventually graduates from the day treatment program into a halfway house, and enrolls in a journalism class. Her hopes are crushed on the first day, however, when one of the requirements are that she keep a journal of news reporter mistakes each night on television, a task she knows will prove impossible, as the halfway house has only one shared television set for all the residents.

There does come a point in which Ms. Bruni believes that once she does in fact find full-time work, she can stop her medication and be drug-free. This day does come as her dreams of becoming the “6%” come true. Unfortunately, even though she tapers off the medication in accordance with her doctors instructions, she suffers a psychotic break and is hospitalized. This break teaches her a valuable lesson, and she comes to the realization that schizophrenia is just one part of who she is. She decides, rather than fight the diagnosis, to work with it.

After accepting her diagnosis, Ms. Bruni continues to flourish. She enrolls in a Masters of Library Science program, finding it a perfect fit. She finds love and loses it when her partner gets an out-of-state career opportunity, but is not crushed. Today Ms. Bruni continues to work full-time as a public service librarian and writer.

It is easy for any mental health consumer who has ever been told by a mental health professional that he or she can’t do something to relate to this book. In 1998, while in my deepest, darkest depression, I was told by a therapist that I would not get much better, and I would just have to learn to deal with it. Today, I celebrated my 10-year anniversary with the non-profit company I work for, so I know, to some extent, what Christina had to go through. I recommend this book very highly for any consumer in the mental health system, or, for that matter, anyone who has ever been told “You can’t do that.” Christina Bruni retorts “Yes you can.”