I got to choose when and with who I had children with. My body, my life, my choice.

by Anonymous

October 5, 2017

My boyfriend lived in a town three hours away. My family had recently moved and this boy and I made the questionable choice to stay exclusive. More, I remained exclusive where he never had been.

My period was more than a week late, but since I was seventeen nothing clicked for me right away. Once I finally realized something was missing—my period—I took a test. It was, of course, positive.

I called my boyfriend immediately to tell him the news. First he shamed me for calling him while he was out with his friends. Then admitted he’d come in me the last time we’d had sex, something he hadn’t shared with me at the time. Before I could wonder if he’d considered the possibility of a pregnancy, he informed me that I must get an abortion. He didn’t want a baby. I said no.

“I’m keeping it,” I told him.

“No, you’re not,” he said as if the matter was closed. As if he was the one who had to shoulder the burden of either a medical procedure or pregnancy. As if with everything else, his voice mattered over all.

Our relationship had never been good. We started dating when I was fourteen to his sixteen. I had braces and he had seniors calling him at night whispering naughty things to him. He cheated on me the whole time we were together. He often told me how the girls he cheated on me with were better, sexually, and he wished that I wasn’t so shy in bed. Once he threatened to kick me out of my own car for stating the obvious fact that Leonardo DiCaprio was handsome.

I was scared. I still had braces. I was too young to be a mother. I went to my parents for help. Immediately they lobbied for termination. I hadn’t yet finished high school, they had more than full time jobs, we were not well off. Who would care for and pay for a baby? How would I finish school? The rest of my life would be harder if I carried through with the pregnancy.

“I meant to come in you.” “You have to have an abortion.” “You’re lousy in bed and I enjoy sex with others better.” Was I really prepared to have a baby and let this person be its father? No, I decided, I wasn’t. The relationship wasn’t tenable, I was still in high school, he was awful to me. I called him to tell him that I agreed with him.

“You have to have this baby. I’ve spoken to my priest and he said we’ll all go to hell if you don’t,” he said to me over the phone. I’d been stupid, young, naive. I admit that. But now I was responsible for sending people to hell?

I’d never had any power in our relationship. He’d in been control, called all the shots. But this wasn’t his decision, his body, his life. He would never be faithful to me, our relationship would never be good. But I’d have to rely on him and co-parent with him forever. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.

He had his mother call me, tell me she was afraid for my soul. The baby and I could move in with them. That was never going to happen. These people were not my family and they didn’t care about me or my life.

My parents scheduled the appointment. They pulled out the $400 in cash to pay for it. They took me, held my hand before and after. Took me home, cared for me. The boy wasn’t there. He broke up with me over email a few weeks later.

I’m married now to a wonderful man. We have two children. I’ve never regretted having an abortion. Not once for a single second. I got to choose when and with who I had children with. My body, my life, my choice.

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