‘Choice’ Killed a Part of My Heart

As feminists rejoice in the 25th anniversary of the Supreme Court decision affirming a woman’s “right to choose” abortion, what about the women who have made that choice?

I had an abortion more than 16 years ago, when I was 19. My reasons were simple: My boyfriend wouldn’t support any other decision. If I had the baby, I would have to drop out of college and my mother would have a nervous breakdown. To me, there was no other choice.

No other choice. That’s the story for so many of us who had abortions. We chose this act with regret and only suspected that it could cause pain in our hearts for the rest of our lives. Unfortunately, my Planned Parenthood counselor offered no other solutions or support, but gladly assisted me in procuring an abortion.

“You better hold my hand, honey, because this is going to hurt,” the abortion clinic nurse told me that day in September of 1981. “You didn’t pay the extra for anesthesia.”

Terror gripped me. No one ever told me about pain. No one had told me of the physical or emotional consequences of this choice. I wasn’t even informed of the basic aspects of such “minor surgery.”

As the masked doctor inserted the instruments into my cervix, part of me died.

Suddenly, it was over and I was led to another room to lie down. All around me was the sound of women sobbing, and I joined the chorus. Before leaving that clinic, I gained my composure by making a personal vow never to put myself in that situation again. I would simply forget this day ever happened. Or so I thought.

While alcohol and marijuana helped to numb the memory, sleep could easily remind me of that horrible day. For many years after my abortion, dreams took me back to that clinic. I heard the women’s sobs, along with an unfamiliar baby’s cry.

A year after the abortion, I began working in Democratic Party politics to elect candidates who would guarantee a woman’s “right to choose.” It was a futile attempt to convince myself that I had done the right thing in having an abortion.

Years later, I married and soon became pregnant with a very wanted child. When my son was born, I could hardly believe the love I felt for him. Yet the memory of the lost child haunted me.

How could I love this child if I didn’t love the other? When I thought about the child I had aborted, I wondered what he would have looked like. What would my life have been like if I had had the courage to stand alone, with no support, and carry that baby to term?

My new son was a constant reminder of my loss. Healing for me began when I stopped denying it. I learned to grieve and to rediscover the part of my heart that had died in the abortion “choice” years earlier. A crisis pregnancy center offered me nonjudgmental, open arms of support and brought me to the point of forgiving myself.

While women like me won’t be acknowledged by our feminist sisters on this 25th Roe vs. Wade anniversary, many of us are finding great fulfillment in being a part of a movement that offers other options to women who feel they don’t have a choice.

For the last six years, my life’s work has been to help and provide resources for the 3,200 independent crisis pregnancy centers around the nation that offer women the choice not to abort their children. These volunteer-based organizations help expectant mothers in whatever way necessary, both physically and emotionally.

I have spoken to hundreds of women who share the same pain and ache in their hearts that I did. They will not be celebrating the Supreme Court ruling. But post-abortive women who staff crisis pregnancy centers are finding peace in helping others make a better choice than they did. And that’s worth celebrating.