When I think about my abortion, it’s never usually about the abortion itself. I don’t think about the pain I felt, the loneliness, the shock, the fear. It’s not about the hours in the bathroom on my hands and knees, or the soothing voice of my sister telling me it’s going to be okay. It’s not about the vomit, the heat flashes, the cold shivers, or feeling the release of the fetus. It not even about the blood. The sheets stained. The sweatpants ruined. The underwear thrown away.
When I think about my abortion, it was the most scared I’ve ever been in my life, and yet I had complete control over what I was doing. I think of me making a decision that would impact me forever, and still knowing it is what I wanted to do. I think of empowerment, direction, and control. I think of moving forward despite being scared.
When I think about my abortion, I think about the tender sadness that I felt. How honored I felt to be a woman who gets the chance to feel pregnancy. That with each passing day, my body accepted this spirit inside of me more and more. And even though I couldn’t eat until past noon, and in the mornings I would throw up, I was still growing with a beautiful fullness. My breasts were bulging with vibrancy and my stomach seemed to hold a pudginess that I hadn’t noticed before. It was absolutely transformative and I accepted each change with honor. I knew that I would be asking this spirt to leave my body soon. This was the tender sadness; the irony of holding the two truths of the situation. One truth: that I loved every aspect of my body growing this fetus. That pregnancy is breathtaking, beautiful, and I loved this little secret that was growing inside of me. The second truth: I didn’t want to have this baby. I couldn’t have this baby. I would not have this baby.
When I think about my abortion I think about a journey. I think about the drinking, desperate text-messages, phone calls in despair. I think about being so low, I couldn’t see how I would ever be myself again. I think of how dark my life felt. How lonely it felt to go to bed alone, to hold my stomach knowing there was no spirit inside. To shower without really feeing my body. I couldn’t look at my reflection, I couldn’t hear the sound of my voice, I couldn’t escape the guilt that now grew inside my body. Following the abortion, the only thing I could do was drink until my vision was dark and sob until I could fall asleep. It was the only way I could feel my loss. The morning and afternoons brought numbness or anxiety. The darkness brought me the sadness that I really wanted to feel at that time.
My sister once asked me if I would want to live the rest of my life and have this experience completely erased. Would I want to wake up and have never lived through any of this? It’s been almost a year since my abortion. Six months ago I would have said yes. Today, I could not imagine who I would be without it. I have deepened my compassion for myself, which in turn allows me to have more compassion for others. I learned how to practice control over my thoughts, emotions, my body. I have learned that I can only control myself and that I am not responsible for others. I am also learning how to unconditionally love myself. It is all a journey.
If you are reading this, I hope you know there is always light in this life. It lives inside of you. It shines radiate and warm. Be kind to yourself as you learn to love this light.
