My abortion was one of the most empowering experiences of my life.
I was expecting the opposite – to be overcome by guilt, shame, and trauma. I remember weepy women on TV so full of sadness and regret. My college girlfriends used to lament their lost children while chugging Pabst Blue Ribbon in a can at late night dorm confessional fests. I wasn’t like that at all and for a minute it scared me: am I heartlessly pragmatic? Shouldn’t I be sad? Then the punk rock girls at Planned Parenthood directed me to this site and I knew I wasn’t alone.
I was molested as young kid. Now, over ten years later, my body is still a foreign, dangerous territory, a place where things happen without my control or consent. When I found out I was pregnant, I knew exactly what I wanted to do and I did it. I never felt so connected to my own body, my blood, my sexuality, my life and my fate before. For the first time in a long, long time I felt my body was my own. Aborting an unwanted pregnancy was the sacrament that delivered me home again.
I chose to have a medical abortion (induced miscarriage) in the privacy of my own home rather than the vacuum aspiration and I was grateful to have had that choice available. I rented some movies and laid down and bleed for about eight hours and then it was over. It was like a bad period, but not that bad. In the middle of it all I ordered a pizza and then called up my best friend to chat. The worst part was having to wear maxi-pads which I hadn’t done since I was thirteen.
My boyfriend and I have been in love for five years. We’re going to make excellent parents one day, but not today.
