“When you stand and share your story in an empowering way, your story will heal you and your story will heal somebody else.”- Iyanla Vanzant
I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe, like the room was closing in around me. I remember feeling ashamed of myself, and I remember, for the first time in my life, feeling totally and completely alone. I couldn’t cry, and I couldn’t move. I had my arms wrapped around my stomach, but I was still in denial that I was even pregnant. I hadn’t told my parents yet, I hadn’t told my closest friends, and, perhaps my biggest regret, I hadn’t told my unborn child’s father. After all, this baby was the product of a one-night stand, we were in college, and we hadn’t spoken in weeks. I felt trapped, and regardless of what the counselor had told me about other options, I knew in my heart there wasn’t any real alternative. I was having an abortion, and that was it. There was nothing I could do but sit by myself, wait for the doctor, and think back on the October night that led to this moment.
After that October night we kept in touch and we never had sex again. But like most college flings, it fizzled out. Weeks passed quickly, and I thought nothing of it…until I realized my period was late. I couldn’t be pregnant. But, denial can only get you so far. After a few more days of secretly worrying, I decided to take a pregnancy test. Three minutes was all it took for me to realize that my life was never going to be the same. I took another, and another. All positive. Even after hearing it from a doctor days later, it still didn’t feel real. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the father. He didn’t care about me, why would he care about this baby? I couldn’t handle the possibility of being hurt and abandoned, especially during the hardest time of my life, so I selfishly decided that I could do everything on my own.
I took a week to think about all of the possibilities. I was in college, 19 years old, jobless, and I had convinced myself that the baby’s father wanted nothing to do with me. Keeping the baby was not an option, even though I so badly wanted it to be. I couldn’t think about myself because my child deserved the best life, and growing up without a dad and with a mother who dropped out of college didn’t sound like the formula for one. Adoption just didn’t feel right. Something told me that my child’s life wouldn’t be full if he or she never knew his or her birth parents. This left me facing the harsh reality of aborting my baby.
It’s a strange feeling when you finally realize that you are going to give up something that you never really had. I think people feel as though you can’t love your child if you decide to abort, before I was in the position, I was one of them. But I learned the hard way that that’s far from the truth. It’s nearly impossible to carry out an abortion without completely detaching yourself emotionally from the tiny person growing inside of you.
I went into the clinic by myself the next Monday morning. I had to wait, listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and meet with a counselor before I could make the decision to have an abortion. The state of Utah requires that you wait 72 hours before proceeding with the process. I remember for a brief second trying to bring myself to get up and walk out, but I felt like I had no other choice. I was so scared, and all I wanted was for him to be here, to hold me, to say goodbye to our baby with me, but I knew it wasn’t fair or rational for me to want that. I still hadn’t told him anything. As I sat waiting my turn in the clinic, I made a promise to my baby that I would do my absolute best to be friends with its father. No matter how stupid it may seem to me now, I felt that the baby deserved that, and it’s a promise I try to remind myself of every day.
It took almost a week for me to cry about it. Until then it had just felt like some strange out of body experience, and I turned to alcohol and drugs in my attempt to deal with my decision. Once I started crying, however, the tears didn’t stop, and I broke down to a friend. The physical pain was almost unbearable, but the heartbreak was much worse. I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t eat. I finally decided to talk to my baby’s father about everything. I’ll never forget the look on his face.
Sitting with him on the bathroom floor of my house, spilling my guts to him and sobbing into his chest, I felt more vulnerable than ever. Even when he told me that he understood, I couldn’t shake the awful guilt that consumed me. He had little to say, and no emotion to show, but I can’t say it surprised me. He has been very supportive, but I still feel that I let him down by not including him in my decision…it was his child too. I really wouldn’t be shocked if I heard that he resented me for it, and even now, it’s never been anything we talk about face-to-face. I really don’t know if he even can talk about it or wants to for that matter. In person, it’s like it almost never even happened at all. I also know that I can’t have unrealistic expectations of him; he is never going to care about it like I do because our baby, his baby, was never real for him. Though it was hard to wrap my head around at first, I realize that it’s perfectly okay for him to feel that way. I will never expect him to love the baby like I do, that just wouldn’t be fair to him.
It’s harder for me to keep my promise than I thought. There are weird feelings there for me…I mean, I made another human being with him. Giving someone the power to truly hurt you can be a very scary thing, especially when that someone has made you feel worthless in the past. Sometimes, I think it would be easier not to be friends because then I wouldn’t have to deal with a constant physical reminder of my decision, but I know that I care too much to not pursue that friendship. I’ll always keep trying. The emotions can be pretty intense, but the few moments I’ve seen him trying to help, trying to be there for me, have made more of a difference than he will ever know. I hope to one day get to a point where I don’t look at him so differently than everyone else, but I feel like there is a sort of wall, something that needs to give before that can ever happen, though I haven’t quite figured out what that is yet. I know in my heart that he would’ve been a great father if I would have given him the chance, but now just wasn’t our time.
Though it’s become better with time, I struggle every day, and I don’t think I’ll ever fully feel like myself again. Do I regret that October night? Absolutely not. But, deciding to terminate a potentially beautiful life was by far the hardest decision I have ever had to make, and, though I’ve made peace with my decision, I often look back on my choice with regret. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Would the baby have had dark hair like its father? Would it have had my blue eyes? I’ll never know. I don’t think many people understand that women do grieve a loss after an abortion, and that it takes time. But we are mothers, too. Sometimes, I need to just sit down and cry, and that’s okay.
I was fortunate enough to have amazing friends throughout these past few months, and they have been my strength more times than they know. They motivated me to share my story, and they have pushed me to grow from this experience, rather than let it control me. I still struggle with using alcohol as a coping mechanism all of the time, and, even though I’ve slipped up more than a few times, they are always there to remind me of what’s important. They are my angels.
This story was hard to write, but what I do know is that if I’ve touched even one person with my story then it was worth a thousand hateful comments. I hope that my story encourages other women to speak up, seek help, and motivate others to help end the stigma surrounding women who have had an abortion. It’s also important to remember that this is my story, and it doesn’t reflect the experiences that every woman has. I was extremely privileged to have even had the chance to look at all of the possibilities, to have a brother willing and able to lend me money for the procedure, and to have friends who support me. There are many women who have very few options for a variety of reasons, and it is our responsibility to stand up for these women as many of them have no voice.