I once believed I was an enemy to my own heart —
a traitor to the life that might have been mine.
My choices were never truly my own.
A man who feared accountability shaped them for me,
his words heavy with manipulation,
his love poisoned with blame.
He pressed against my will with threats,
with tears that were not sorrow but control,
and I surrendered — not from weakness,
but from exhaustion.
I chose the path he demanded,
hoping to salvage what was already lost,
a relationship starved of love,
fed only by anger and fear.
And afterward, silence.
A silence filled with guilt,
with shame that clung to me like smoke.
I wished I could go back,
to unmake the choice that was never truly mine.
But clarity comes quietly.
In the echo of his cruelty,
in the weight of his words — you ruined my life —
I finally saw the truth:
he was never mourning a child,
he was mourning his control.
My abortion did not destroy me.
It saved me.
It freed me from the cage of his hands,
from the storm he called love.
It gave me back my breath,
my body,
my future.
I am not the enemy of my own heart.
I am its protector.
I am worthy of love, of peace,
of a life that belongs to me alone.
To anyone who carries this same ache —
know this:
you are not unlovable.
You are not broken.
You do not owe the world your pain
for doing what was best for you.
