My husband started physically assaulting me the night before our wedding. I reasoned to myself that it wasn’t a big deal. It was just a shove. He was under a lot of stress. Besides, our guests were sleeping in their hotel rooms, expecting to attend the beautiful ceremony I planned; so, I pushed “the incident” to the back of my mind and walked down the aisle.
Six weeks after the wedding, we had a heated argument, which ended with him grabbing me by my neck, choking me, and throwing me across the room to the ground. Twice, in the same night. In my shock and denial, I thought I could change him, believed it wouldn’t happen again, thought I had somehow caused it. The thought of ending my marriage or leaving him didn’t even cross my mind, I stayed with him. The abuse continued. I have a daughter from a previous relationship, and though I love my child and am grateful I had her, I loathed being a single mother. Even after the abuse, I reasoned that it was better for her to have a father figure in her life than none at all.
Fast forward to the positive pregnancy test sign, I’d recently escaped to my parent’s house with my daughter after the latest fight; this time, my husband locked me in the bedroom after breaking down the door and reversing the lock to trap me in until “I learned how to appreciate him”. I managed to get out grab my daughter and the car keys, and drive, bear foot and crying, three and a half hours to my parents’ house.
After a few days, I returned home again to tell my husband about the pregnancy, by this point in our marriage, I’d left him at least a half dozen times already. The thought of having an abortion had never crossed my mind. I wanted this baby. I wanted my husband to stop abusing me. I never expected that the abuse would actually get worse during my pregnancy, and though publicly he expressed excitement about the pregnancy, behind closed doors he raged, threw things at me, said horrible things to me. Now that I am in counseling, I’ve learned that the number one cause of death for pregnant women is murder. My husband was choking me and hitting me while pregnant with his child, so who’s to say that he wouldn’t have severely injured me or even killed me during one of his fits of rage?
I was almost 11 weeks pregnant before I’d even considered having an abortion. By this point our marriage had completely fallen apart; he continued physically assaulting me. I finally left for good. I didn’t want to be a single mother again. I just started getting my freedom back now that my daughter is older and able to do more things independently. I didn’t want to be tied to this man for the rest of my life. I knew, whether I stayed with him or not, he’d continue to abuse me through our baby. I figured he’d be able to manipulate me into going back to him again. I knew I would rationalize it in my mind that this baby deserved to have a dad, just as I exposed my own daughter to his abuse for the sake of having a man in the house. I was the primary provider for our family, and I couldn’t continue to work pregnant.
I cried all the way to the clinic. My friend drove me. I cried so much during the ultrasound, that the counselor sent me home. She said I still had a little more time to decide, and told me if I wanted to, I could come back next week. She was so kind; she let me know that I was in a complicated situation, and that I needed a little more time to process this decision. I went home. I cried. I prayed. I meditated. I thought about how different my life would be without my beautiful little daughter. I wished my husband would just change. I desperately wanted to believe he could. But in the end, my husband had managed to beat all the optimism out of me, and I knew all my hopes were for naught. I came to peace with my decision. That next Saturday, my friend drove me back to the clinic. This time, I went through with it. I said my goodbyes. I asked for forgiveness. When I woke up, maybe it was the effects of the drugs, but the only emotion I felt was relief.
I made my own decision. It was personal, it was painful, it won’t appear as an answer on a survey. When I had my daughter at the age of 20, no one, not Christians, not Buddhists, nor Muslims, helped me to feed her, clothe her, or support her. I did it all by myself, and at 32, I am wiser and know that no one can judge me, it was a hard decision, but in the end, the responsibility of raising that baby would fall on my shoulders. And, I’d forever be subject to an abusive man. So I had an abortion. And I am not sorry. I am not sorry because I know I saved myself and my daughter from a lifetime of regret and pain. I had to take care of the child who is breathing. I saved the precious spirit that came to me from living the pain of witnessing his father abuse his mother. Perhaps I saved this soul from being subjected to my husband’s abuse also. I believe this soul came to me to teach me a lesson. It has been 10 weeks since my abortion; and though I released this spirit back to the universe, I chose to believe that it came to me to save me from this horrible man, and give me a second chance at life. Not all souls who incarnate on this physical plane want to live to an old age. This spirit came to save me, and show me that I don’t deserve that treatment. For the women on this post who’ve gone through an abortion or are considering having one, please know that you are fortunate to live during a time in a country that supports your right to choose. Don’t live your life with regret, you don’t know what that soul chose for itself, and no one, from the Pope to the Dalai Lama can tell you what’s right for YOUR body. Namaste.
