Three years. Real blogging.

Do women openly speak about their abortions? Do they blog about it? Is that still too taboo and looked down upon to even fathom? I'm not sure because I don't go out of my way to seek out those women. I suppose I should. 

April 29, 2010. Three years ago. I had an abortion. 



It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life without a doubt. Heartbreak, confusion, loneliness  sadness, shame, embarrassment. There aren't enough adjectives to describe what I felt the days leading up to, the day of, and the days after. For the longest time I couldn't even say the word. Every night I would lay in my bed and literally sob. I'd scream, moan, and just utter sounds of what I can only assume it sounds like when your soul shatters. I wasn't sure I made the right choice and I chose to literally terminate a part of me. A little piece of energy that I had formed; gone. And all by my doing. 

The guy was completely unsupportive. At first I heard a lot of "I love you"s and "I'm here for you"s and lots of hugging and kissing and comforting. But when I couldn't decide and leaned towards keeping it, the comfort changed immediately. He became verbally abusive. At one point I was told I would amount to nothing in my life, I'd become white trash and live at home forever with a dead end job living off of welfare. Those words will never leave me. When I wasn't caving in, he changed his tone and became the victim. So sad and alone he said he felt. Hysterically crying in my arms at one point and telling me he would commit suicide. Never once did I ever ask him to compromise his life. I knew he had plans to move to California. I knew there wasn't a future for us, and I told him that. I wanted him to go do what he felt he needed to do to be happy. Yet I couldn't get the same in return. He let me know this would forever be a secret. He'd never confide in any of his friends and he would never tell his parents. To this day I keep his secret for him with the same shame I felt three years ago. I still have a  close relationship with his Mom and every time we talk it looms in the back of mind.

Telling my Mom was never harder. It felt like I was a teenager all over again and I yearned for her approval and OK. I didn't get it. Abortion was the first thing out of her mouth. And then the shame and embarrassment of what I had done. What I failed to realize in those moments that I wish I could've was that I wasn't a teenager. Yes, my situation wasn't the greatest, but I was still an adult. A young adult woman. I didn't need anyone's approval but my own. There was a short time that she did support me having a child and I thought all would be OK. She ended up flip-flopping and because I felt like I needed her support, I became confused again. 

I found out I was pregnant April 18th. Three days after I turned 24. My abortion was on April 29th. The days in between were excruciating and I wasn't even prepared for the after math of it all. I had one supporter, Ana. She was my rock. The only person who let me say what I wanted, do what I wanted and whatever my decision was, she supported full heartedly. Always feeling her love and support. 

I woke up and decided on a whim to call Planned Parenthood and set up the termination. I asked a thousand questions. I wanted to do this on my terms and if I had decided in the middle of this appointment that I couldn't do it, then I wanted to know that I could walk out. I was assured everything would be done on my terms. I decided if I saw it on the ultrasound and it looked like a baby, I wasn't going through with it. I Googled and researched to my hearts content needing to know every thing I was about to do and attempting to find comfort that it was ok. I would be OK.

The same man who was fighting me tooth and nail to not have our baby, was now by my side, as if he was the most loving, most caring and most gentle soul. I was too exhausted, too emotionally wrecked to even care. I was just glad to finally have him there for me and on the same page. I remember during a counseling session to make sure I wasn't forced into this and it was my decision, I asked to step out to have a minute. I walked out to find him and he was gone. No longer in the lobby. I assumed he was "taking a breather" outside, but I couldn't find him, and felt terrible. I decided I needed to get this over with. I went back in minutes later.

After I swallowed that controversial pill, I knew it was over. In a matter of hours, I'd no longer be pregnant. That little ball of energy we formed together would never come to fruition. I would lose it forever. That little piece of me was no longer. I was letting go and ending a piece of us. Him and I. Gone forever. There's no amount of psychical pain that amounts to those feelings I felt. 

When I came out to him and we got into his car, I lost it. I just broke down in a way no one, especially not him had ever seen. The pain of this loss, whether I wanted it or not, whether I had made the right choice or not, was so great I could no longer bear it. Again, there were lots of hugs, lots of kisses, lots of comfort. It was only less than 24 hours later that I would learn it was out of  relief for him and because he'd felt like he had dodged a bullet. 

Then came the anger. I was so alone. My life had changed and I wasn't sure if I was ever going to be the same person I once was, and April 29th would be forever embedded in my memories. My birthday no longer a happy time for me. For him? Another day to forget. I'm sure it comes and goes for him and he is none the wiser. While for three years, the feelings rush back with intensity and I'm just as sad and alone as the day it happened. Also, December 20th, my expected due date. 

Days after, I took the ramp for the highway and as I merged onto it, there on the median was a pink balloon. Still as ever even as cars raced past it. "It's a girl!" I'll never forget that.

I'll always wonder what our child would've looked like. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Would she inherit his light eyes and hair or my dark features? My straight teeth or his gapped? Would I have been able to be more than just a statistic? I'll never know. And while I know that the "What if"s are not healthy, they come unannounced and uninvited and I usually give in. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm forever ruined, other times I feel like I'll be just fine. It wasn't until this year that I realized how unresolved I left everything. It's like an abandoned house. Dishes still in the sink, cupboards still full. I never cleaned it out. I never allowed myself because I thought, "If I did this, if I chose this, then it's not my right to grieve.". 

This is such a powerful realization. I shut it down, locked it out and went on in a very unhealthy way. I dealt with the little things here and there, but I never fully allowed myself to walk through my grief. To feel it, be with it, and release it. 

I continued a very unhealthy, practically toxic relationship with the guy that was involved. Up until last year when I blogged about our awful ending. What initially made me decide was when I saw him being compassionate towards a person who had lost her child, and I lost it. Literally lost it. How could this man be so compassionate? When it involved someone else he was so quick and eager to show compassion. But when he was directly involved with a situation he created, he was so selfish, hateful and just cruel. 

I’ve decided that I no longer want to be or feel shamed by this. I want to speak out. The statistics on abortions are huge. You most likely know someone who has had one, but she’s suffered in silence because it’s something we are taught to not speak about. So we suffer in silence, often feeling like we can’t get support because we don’t deserve it. 

I’m still sitting with the idea of telling this guy’s Mother. I had an interesting conversation with Ana when we spoke of our grief together. I don’t want to tell his Mother or family because I’m angry, resentful or jealous. I don’t want it to look or feel like I’m using it as ammunition against him and this is my last stop shop. The crazy ex who can’t let go and move on. I want to do it because I’m releasing myself from him and no longer allowing him to shame me or what I did, and feel like I still need to continue protecting him. I’m done keeping a secret.

No matter what I decide, this is a a chapter in my story. One I've decided to share for other's and right now, mostly for myself. To speak out about it. This something that happens and it doesn't make us any less than. It's a hard choice to make, but it is ours. And in the end, you will shine again.