Warning Readers: Brutal Honesty To Follow

I was raised by liberal, feminist, humanist parents. My mother a woman’s health care provider, my father a psychologist.  Hippies by default, democrats by intentional preference, they spent years teaching me I was worth it, and capable, and trustworthy of making competent decisions for myself.    My friends had aborted, an older cousin a few years earlier.  My college town was a progressive think tank bubble.  There was no stigma or shame surrounding the topic of abortion in my personal life.

Where did my sadness come from? The truth… I don’t know.  It just did. I made a choice  I know is right for me.  I had a difficult time dealing after. That’s it.  I am not an oxy moron, I just am.

 Here is what I wonder: do women feel shame and guilt after abortion because there’s no other option? Ripped open, raw, and needy, I wanted any kind of listener… I typed “post abortion support” into search engines daily.

And there it is… waiting.

“You’re forgiven…. you slut!”

“Hope is here, pray and the pain will go away.”

It didn’t make sense to me. I didn’t feel like I needed to be forgiven for anything, and I didn’t pray. But that was the only kind of support I could find. 

It takes you in. Sucks you in. Grabs you with sticky, white gloved (lacey saintly, not latex) hands. It’s overwhelming, and suffocating.  It’s doesn’t quit. It’s strong, and organized, and smart. The anti-choice movement is ready and waiting for you, pre and post termination.

 But it wasn’t me. I was sad, but not a sinner. Nervous and confused, but not a whore. I was relieved…and didn’t need redemption for that.

There’s space to talk about this reaction, in this light. Pain, depression, confusion…yet confident, accepting, and self aware. But this reaction does exist and I’m proof.

In the days since this site has become more public, it has been made clear to me that people don’t quite understand this “contradiction” in my reaction. I prefer to call it complexity.

It’s worked itself out in the time since my termination. This site is possible because of that.  This space is safe…So let’s start talking.

I thought it might be helpful to post some journal entries a few days post abortion.  I thought, should this site ever be useful to women who also chose to terminate, some immediate reactions of my own might be helpful.  I thought 4 years later might not be as supportive as 2 or 3 days later.  So, I dusted off the old journal, and looked through my old archives.  The written ones, long before they were ever listed in red font, neatly organized by month and year on the side of this page. 

The journal is green, and spiral bound with the letter of my first name is cursive. Nice and pretty.  The pages are messy. And dark. And Scary. Some days I write of killing myself.  Some days I write of killing my boyfriend. (I suppose the reason for anonymous blogging is clearer now.) Big, angry writing.  Small, intense writing. Sometimes, just scribbles. Actual scratchy, scribbles.  Most of the time, I write about wanting to be out of this unexpected, seemingly unmanageable, hell.  Even re-reading it was horrible, which was a vivid, vicious reminder that living it was unbearable. 

It was hard to cope… or almost like I wasn’t equipped with coping mechanisms to deal with the situation.  Quite a bizarre feeling, really.  I wonder if in fact, I wasn’t properly equipped.  1.5 years post abortion, near the end of my grad school program; I was hospitalized for 31 days in an adult day program for mental illness.  Yikes, that sounds inhumane, doesn’t it?  It wasn’t inhumane at all.  It was nice, and helpful.  When I was admitted, it seemed appropriate that I was sort of “freaking” out about graduation, a more recent breakup, and well, money.  Reading my journal last night, I realized how intertwined my abortion and hospitalization were.  All the “archives” from those days were in there too.  Heavy stuff. Healing stuff though too.

I closed the journal.  I didn’t find an entry that I thought would be helpful.  Maybe because I was frightened off.  I supposed the positive in this all is… I’m here.  And I even forgot about those entries.  When discussing this site with my brother, I mentioned I felt a bit nervous/awkward about the blog part.  “Just don’t get preachy,” he said. “Just say it as it is, and how it worked for you, but don’t preach to others what they should or shouldn’t do.”  Probably valuable advice.  On that note, I’m not saying 4 years later, everything will be okay.  Or suggesting immediate journaling after pregnancy termination. I am however, noting to myself, and others, that 4 years later, it was still painful to read, but I am okay.

I used to hate Good Morning America.

It marked the hour that boldly screamed “YOU’VE BEEN UP ALL NIGHT.”

During the summer after my termination, I would lay on my family couch, all night, and stare. Open eyed and covered in a blanket I would just stare. The thoughts in my head were intense, and ever swirling, but I couldn’t say much. Looking back I was mostly angry. I was angry with myself for “getting pregnant”. (As though I missed that day in 4th grade sex ed that explained how it takes two people, and two bodies, and two decisions to conceive.) I was angry with my boyfriend. I was shocked with the intensisty of the hurt I was feeling. I was angry with my life. In my grand plan, this was never supposed to happen, so why did it?

So, every night, I would stare. The tv in the background played funny “I love Lucy” episodes but I didn’t laugh. Informercials and love line numbers dominated air time from 3am to 5am. And, at 6am, news anchors I’d never seem before said joyfully into my bedroom: “GOOD MORNING AMERICA!” I hated it. Every morning, my father would come in and say “Honey, have you been up all night? You should try to get some sleep.”  And I would just stare at him. Or maybe cry.

Even the Summer Concert Series the show featured didn’t cheer me up. When my favorite band played once, I felt even more angry. How come those people are singing and dancing, I thought. Or rather, how come I can’t sing and dance right now?

I don’t think I ever regularly watched GMA after that summer. This past September I started a second job, and my alarm woke me at 6am every day. With coffee in hand and hair fresh from the shower, I turned on the TV every morning and heard that same, joyful, “GOOD MORNING AMERICA!!”. The first time, I hated it. From my head to my feet I felt… instantly… back on my couch, 4 years younger, and angry. I was conditioned. I hated their smiles, and the time of day, and their joy.

But then I took a sip of coffee, and sat down on my couch. A different couch, in a different place, on a different day. The news was good, the stories were funny, the weather forecast usually accurrate. I liked this show!

Yesterday, I watched their summer concert series. Hair Musical performing a Michael Jackson tribute. Beautifully sung, and emotionally fulfulling.  Yesterday, it was nice to see the crowd singing and dancing.

 

As a senior in college, 2 weeks after graduation, I decided to terminate a pregnancy.  This proved a very trying time, and has made a significant impact in my life.  Last spring marked the 4 year anniversary of that decision.  For reasons unknown to me, I experienced a fairly intense anniversary reaction this year.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s because I’m finally letting that time go… a sort of secondary grieving.  Maybe it’s because I’m finally waking up, to sunlight and healthiness… after a sometimes dark journey.  Recently, it has been helpful to talk about that time and share my experience.  The writing and posts in this blog are an attempt to serve as an outlet for the many thoughts and emotions I have regarding the topic of abortion and my personal endeavor.  The resources and links provided are selected to help others who may have the same experience.  I suspect this site may be a little atypical than that of the “normal” blogger.  My posts may be less frequent, and perhaps talk of past events, rather than take place in “real time”.  I may only write when something related to my pregnancy termination arises… or maybe not.  Maybe this will be a social support to others, or a personal journal.  I must admit, I’m not really sure how this will work.  In the spirit of anonymous honesty, I also must admit I’m a bit nervous (afraid?).  I fear this might be overwhelming, or consume me.  Sometimes it’s hard to talk about.  Sometimes it’s empowering.  Sometimes, it’s both.  Because choice is possible, this is the voice behind one.   Either way, maybe someone will relate, and then we both won’t feel so alone.

 

Welcome.