I really didn’t want to be freaking pregnant.

I found out I was pregnant, called my best friend Katie, and sobbed. I really didn’t want to be freaking pregnant.

I went to Planned Parenthood where they confirmed my pregnancy. I made it as far as the parking lot before I called Preterm, an abortion clinic in Cleveland, to schedule my abortion. I really didn’t want to be freaking pregnant.

Next, I called my mom and told her I was getting an abortion on my way to my friend Colleen’s house. I told her I was pregnant and slammed a Jameson & ginger ale. I really didn’t want to be freaking pregnant.

June 27th, 2020, my friend, Danielle, drove me to my surgical abortion. An amazing nurse held my hand while the doctor made me feel safe and heard. He performed my abortion and it was quicker than I thought it would be. I felt so relieved because I really didn’t want to be freaking pregnant. Danielle drove me home and I laid on the couch with a heating pad, watched Netflix, and ordered Big Mommas Burritos. I smashed the burrito and threw up due to nausea from the pain meds. I was so relieved because I really didn’t want to be freaking pregnant. I went to work on Monday.

I wasn’t pregnant by sexual assault. I wasn’t struggling to support myself. I wasn’t young. I wasn’t in an abusive relationship. My health wasn’t in jeopardy. I just really didn’t want to be freaking pregnant.

I’m pro ‘I don’t want to have a kid’ so I had an abortion.