I was the kind of kid who had been raised to believe that sex before marriage was never, ever permissible. When I started having sex with my boyfriend, early in my college career, I couldn’t really admit to myself what I was doing, and consequently didn’t even try to take steps to protect myself from pregnancy. I was in denial about what I was doing, denial spurred on by a fair amount of shame because I – in spite of the fact that I couldn’t seem to stop myself from hopping into bed with my boyfriend – still believed that what I was doing was wrong. So I had unprotected sex over and over again while I wallowed in shame and desire and magical thinking.
When I became pregnant I knew right away that I was going to have an abortion. Carrying the pregnancy to term was unthinkable: The shame of being recognized as a sexually active adult was simply unthinkable. Giving my body over to childbearing, deciding whether or not to keep the baby, not going to an out-of-state college as I had planned, putting a child up for adoption – none of it made any sense to me. None of it fit into my sense of self, and I knew I’d never be able to face my family.
I had an uneventful, painless abortion at age 19, about 20 years ago, at a Seattle clinic. I experienced no emotional trauma at the time, not even sadness, and never have since. I’ve never felt regret or a bittersweet wondering at what might have been, or the self-hatred, depression and doubt promised by pro-life activists. I finished college, traveled the United States, and got a good job. I met a nice man, bought a house and have since had a couple of kids. My only feeling has been that of gratefulness, that I didn’t have my life derailed by a mistake I made as an immature, sexually confused college freshman. I AM NOT SORRY.
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