Today would have been the due date. I wish I could say that after nine months, I am filled with clarity and wisdom, and that this experience has shaped me into a kind, understanding, all-knowing person. But this is not true. I’m still alternating between acute pain, guilt and grief, and an immense sense of relief and solidarity. I still am not sure if this was the right decision for me.
I came to this site in the days before my abortion, and I found solace in the stories here, so I don’t want to say that everyone will or should feel a certain way about this. If you are pregnant and considering an abortion, your experience is valid, and the choice really is yours. I guess I just wanted to write this out as a way to mark a pretty difficult day for me, and to feel a little bit less alone.
The truth is, I probably could have kept it. I agonized about the decision for almost two weeks, convinced that being a mom was my fate on some days, and convinced that it was a terrible time for a kid on others. I was 25, had a stable relationship and a job, but I was also living with my very religious parents and knew that there would be significant strain on my relationships if I had a baby out of wedlock.
When I found out, I was in shock, and I was angry. I had been careful. I had an IUD. At first, I assumed it was an ectopic pregnancy. Even though I knew that was dangerous, I hoped that was the case, so I wouldn’t have to make any decisions. But as I went to get an ultrasound, then went to my first appointment with the OB-GYN, it became clear that I would have to make hard choices. I remember starting to take prenatal vitamins, and I remember how sweet my boyfriend was on those first days, skipping work with me to go to my appointments, trying to make food that wouldn’t make me feel too nauseous. I remember thinking that we could do this, that I had no direction in life and that maybe this was the divine intervention I needed, maybe my life would start feeling like it had meaning if I had a baby. I remember lying on the couch with my boyfriend, both of our hands on my stomach, and me imagining a life growing in this little bubble of warmth and love that we created around it. I remember how terrified I was of my religious upbringing, and that I would be punished for making this decision.
But I also remember how much my boyfriend started drinking, how he started worrying more and more about money around that time. I remember him saying he would have to drop out of his grad school program, and how we would have to move into his parents’ apartment to save money (I was almost certain my parents would turn me out of their house when they found out). In the end, I wasn’t sure what would be more selfish, to keep the baby or end the pregnancy. I started praying for a miscarriage, so again, it wouldn’t be my choice. My brain went on some pretty self-destructive paths. I convinced myself that I wasn’t eating because I had morning sickness, but I knew deep down I was hoping that if I starved myself, it would cause a miscarriage. I saw the effect it was having on the mental health of my boyfriend and myself, and I knew that the decisions we were making under stress were not pointing to good parenting outcomes. In the end, I decided to have an abortion, at a little over seven weeks. The night before, I curled up in the shower and kept telling that little clump how sorry I was.
Over the last eight or so months, I have experienced a lot of grief and guilt and bad memories, but I’ve also had so many moments of gratitude. I’m grateful that I live in a state where the decision was given to me by healthcare providers, non-judgmentally, in a safe and professional environment. I also have had so many moments that I would not have been able to experience had I been pregnant, whether it be traveling, or having precious, relatively uncomplicated moments with my family. I see my boyfriend working through his master’s, and him starting to take risks with his career that he would not be taking had he been worrying about a baby. I feel like that parallel reality, or maybe branched reality, in which I decided to stay pregnant, is getting farther and farther away, and maybe it’s getting easier to say goodbye to it.
