I want to write that it wasn’t a big deal. I want to write that I understand the thing inside me had a heartbeat but could not be heartbroken; that my feelings of loss were based in romanticized ideals of motherhood.
The day before the + sign appeared, I wrote: “I’m not sure what the tears are for, that spring so suddenly. There is sadness in your possibility, and in us not being able to meet each other. There is sadness in knowing how well I would love you, and in knowing that for my future children and future self, I have to be selfish, now. I was selfish, already, feeling flesh instead of latex. It feels unfair to you, though, because all you did was triumph, and all you will do is grow and reach for love and nurturance. I feel lucky to have a choice, but also terribly saddened by it. The thought of you growing inside me is terrifying and stillingly peaceful at once. I haven’t taken a test, yet, so my brain is yet to wander to the realness of decision and procedure of abortion. Rather, I just imagine feeling you; imagine hosting and warming you, imagine the tranquility you could feel inside me.”
My dad picked me up from the train station, after a 10-hour nauseating ride from university to my hometown. My boyfriend met me at my house; he was wearing my favorite turtleneck of his, and a bouquet of roses sat on the kitchen table. The days before the abortion, he stopped smoking because the faintest trace of the smell nauseated and repulsed me. My mom took me to the Planned Parenthood clinic. She sat in the waiting room with me, rubbing my back when I returned from puking in the restroom. In the second waiting room, another girl waiting asked me how far along I was and if it was my first abortion. She asked me how I felt.
The procedure was quick and painless. On the car ride back, I felt exhausted relief. My nausea was gone by the time we got home.
The intense experience of being pregnant and then suddenly not made me distance daydreams of motherhood further into my future than before my pregnancy, while simultaneously assuring the secure, strong feeling that will come with having a being growing inside me.
My mom later shared with me about her own experience having an abortion when she was 17 years old. She went to the clinic alone, and never told her parents; what an isolating experience it was for her, compared to mine of connectedness and supported autonomy.
My abortion was a big deal, and something I will never forget. My reproductive knowledge, nurturing from my own mother, love for babies, supportive social network, and acute awareness of my privilege of safe choice were all integral aspects to how I experienced and continue to experience my abortion.
Before I took the pregnancy test, I finished writing: I will be hugely relieved if I am not pregnant. In essence, I think I believe I am, but I also know I will feel hugely stunned if a test is positive. I can imagine the moment of a negative test, better. I would cry joy for you not being, yet, and for knowing that next time, I’ll be ready for you, I promise.
If these walls could talk
* "Brian" is the author's selected pseudonym *
It was January 12th and we had to be at the clinic by 9am. They take you into a few rooms before the procedure. You’re asked a bunch of questions, advised of all your options and then they take your physical. I remember giving Brian a kiss goodbye before heading down it’s stark and uninviting, white walled corridor. Brian and I could make it through these fickle twenties and have a wonderful life, just us and our baby, I thought as I sat waiting in a cramped and cold room all by myself, naked, staring down at my tiny belly saying goodbye to the baby I would never know, and the life that could have been. Yet and still, even now in my weakest moment the truth that my gut kept trying to whisper to me… “He’s not the one. He’s not the one. He’s not the one.”
Don’t get me wrong, we were very much in love, I just knew deep down it wasn’t ever going to work out. We were too different. I, the emotional wreck and he, the stoic Stalin: a term of endearment our roommate had given to him several years later but it’s fitting, you see- we complimented each other in the best ways and clashed in the worst.
He, an emigrated Russian Jewish boy, with bright baby blue eyeballs, adorned with eyelashes so long he looked like a doll. If Chris Pine and James Marsden had a baby, it would be Brian. Brian was loud, boisterous and funny. You either liked him or hated him, there is no in between and when we met, I liked him. I really, really liked him.
I invited a group of people to play spin the bottle one night. I told Brian, that tonight was the night! I was going to kiss him. I had too. He gave me all the feels. And at some random Irish bar deep in South Brooklyn, we played spin the bottle and I laid it on him. It was a wrap after that. He introduced me to his parents not even three-weeks-later and after dating for about six-months, while he was hitting it doggy-style, he told me he loved me. His love was intoxicating, consuming. I needed him. His energy was as good as gold.
Soon came the jealousy, and mistrust. We fought as hard as we loved. But love we did. It took five-years for us to figure out it wasn’t working anymore. I am Catholic, he is Jewish. Neither of us have any interest in converting, and this was the biggest issue in our relationship. Religion.
It’s never an easy decision to make, but I had Brian and we could get through anything, right? I remember crying before they injected me with anesthesia and I woke up after, still crying. The moment I could, I retrieved my belongings and off we drove into the cold, winter air. Paired with my icy heart and the guilt that preceded my operation came in two-fold; as I dealt with my struggles as a catholic girl committing a mortal sin by having this procedure done.
At a wedding, we attended the bride asked, “When are you two love birds getting married?” he and I caught eyes as he responded, “Not any time soon, but I love her so much.” My heart broke. I didn’t have sex with him that night and the next morning I didn’t want to be around him. I ended it just two days later.
I never went to therapy after my abortion. Not for real anyway. I had gone for a session and cried the entire time. It was the most beautiful release. I cried for my baby, I cried for my body. I cried for my guilt. I prayed that God wouldn’t punish me, and that when I was ready to be a mom, I would be.
THE END
Dorm room
I will always remember the day I found out I was pregnant and had to tell my boyfriend at the time. I was not in a good relationship at the time, emotional abuse was the least of it, and none of my friends or family members liked the male I was involved with at the time. No one supported it, and that should have been my first sign.
I was absolutely terrified to tell him, and he did not take it well. There was no other option but abortion. This pregnancy was a wakeup call for me as I could not imagine spending more time with him and I could not imagine being a mother in my very early 20s.
In North Carolina, there are strict abortion laws and very few places to get an abortion. The first place I sought help actually turned out to be an anti-choice place in disguise and they would not even discuss options or procedures for abortions. I finally figured out I would have to drive over an hour away to Planned Parenthood for help.
We made an appointment and drove to Planned Parenthood for the first appointment. They confirmed the pregnancy and reviewed North Carolina laws with me. When I got my abortion, and still now, the North Carolina law requires an ultrasound prior to the abortion, state-directed counseling that included information that seemed to discourage an abortion AND a 72 hours waiting period after your first appointment before having the procedure. It all felt like a punishment designed to make me change my mind.
An even more absurd NC law now exists that requires doctors to send the ultrasounds of women seeking abortions to state officials.
It was very restrictive when it was my decision and, to me, it felt very much like the state was trying to persuade me against my own decision, which I should have a right to with my own body.
Ultimately I chose the Misoprostol route, which was very painful with the cramping induced for me, but that was the best choice for me. I paid out of pocket since it’s not covered under insurance and, being under my mother’s insurance at the time, I would not have wanted it on any record my conservative mother could see.
I took the Misoprostol pill and went through all the steps and experience in my single occupant college dorm room. I was miserable, I felt tremendous pain from the cramps and, with all the heavy bleeding, I was very nauseous.
Does the guilt still get to me? Yes.
But I will always remember it was the best choice for me at the time and I do not regret my decision. I hope to help other women by sharing my story.
My experience with abortion
I’ve never been sure if I wanted children or not, and I’d always been really careful to not get pregnant. I was 28 when I found out I was pregnant and 2 months into a new marriage. A lot of people in my position would’ve been over the moon, or even have planned on getting pregnant at this point, but when I saw the pregnancy test was positive I began to cry because this was the last thing that I wanted. I immediately felt angry with myself and that I should’ve known better and that surely I couldn’t end this pregnancy because I was arguably old enough to know better. I also felt scared, I had never thought that I’d have to make this type of decision and I wasn’t sure what the “right” thing to do was.
Nevertheless I booked the appointment quite soon after finding out and got the earliest appointment available. In all honesty, I should’ve probably given myself a bit more time to process my decision before booking the appointment but at the time I was 100 percent sure that’s what I wanted. I should also probably mention that my partner was supportive with my choice, there was a lot of confusion surrounding that support, but that’s another story.
The experience in the clinic was detached and a bit cold as you have to go it completely alone and the emotion is fully removed. I understand why this is the case, but I can’t help but feel it would’ve been nice to have a familiar face with me along the way. After the procedure was done and I went to the waiting room to pick up my partner, I broke down in tears which really surprised me. I had expected to feel relief, but what I felt was sadness. Part of the sadness came from thinking that people were going to judge me, because of my age, because I was married and because on paper I was probably able to raise a child. The sadness and guilt was something that took me a few months for me to get over, however, the more I talked about it and realized people weren’t judging me the better I felt. In hindsight the judgment I felt was probably only coming from myself and I should have known that my friends, who loved me, would’ve accepted me no matter what. I also know that there was no right way to be feeling and that I just had to accept and move through it (easier said than done). I hope that by sharing my experience, although difficult to fully explain in less than 600 words, can help a girl or women who is feeling the same way that I felt to know that there are people that understand and that you can be free to talk about it. And to know that today I can without any hesitation say it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made and I know that one day I will become a great mother when I am ready (if ever!).
Small Town Stigma
One of my best friends has had two abortions.
I remember when she told me about the first one. We were 18, and were sitting on the kitchen counter cross-legged eating Okanogan cherries and drinking some horrible cheap white wine. I had already heard through other friends.
“So, you probably already know, but I just wanted to tell you myself - I had an abortion.” Her eyes teared up and the expression in them was almost as if she was pleading with me. ‘Please don’t judge me’, ‘please don’t stop being my friend’. She seemed to be searching my eyes for judgment – there was absolutely none. I would have done the same thing in her situation.
I held her as she cried. It had been late enough that she needed someone to go with her to drive her home. She had also been so worried about people in our town finding out that she had opted to drive 4 hours to a different city to have it done.
She told me about the car ride home with her stone-faced and silent mother – so utterly, disgustingly and disappointed in her daughter. She maintains to this day, that that was the worst day of her life.
Despite her precautions, everyone found out. She had told the would-be-father, her ex-boyfriend. Because he was angry over their break up, he openly told his friends - soon it seemed the whole small town knew.
She told me that one day she ran into a girl who had gone to high school with her. This girl said, “I’d be so embarrassed to be you, I’d probably never leave my house.”
Slowly I noticed that more and more people began to look down on her. Some began to give her last name new and derogatory twists implying she was unclean or slutty. Men began to treat her with less respect and seemed to be more aggressive with their advances. Women were even worse; they looked at her like a second-class citizen.
The biggest change was in her. She began to look quite pale. She changed from the size 6 she normally was to a size 00. She lost her ‘sparkle.’ She didn’t want to ‘do’ as much.
She started dating genuine ass holes because she thought that was all she deserved.
When we were 20, she has become pregnant again. This time her boyfriend has asks her to ‘get rid of it.’ He was furious that she had somehow messed up ‘again!’ He had often said things to her when he was drunk like she was lucky he even wanted to date her with her ‘reputation.’
She felt she owed him an abortion because having a child would ruin up his life. That second time, I believe that she didn’t really want to have one. But she did.
Her mom doesn’t talk to her anymore.
At age 24 and were at a department store shopping for bridesmaids dresses for our friend’s wedding. The party of giggly girls happened across the baby section on the way to pick out shoes. One of the girls has a baby and many have nieces and nephews. My friend looked at me over all of the ‘ooing and awing’ about the cute baby clothes with tears in her eyes: ‘please get me out of here, I can’t bear it’ they said to me.
We’re now 26. She is in an abusive relationship. She has tried to leave him 4 times but ends up back with him. She doesn’t have enough confidence to leave him. I can’t seem to convince her that she is worthy of so much more. She feels unlovable and undeserving of kindness. She said feels “tainted” by that small town stigma.
Although there are many reasons women develop low self-esteem and feel trapped in abusive relationships, I believe things may have been different for her if her abortions were destigmatized.