February 2,2015 I got an abortion. I was fresh out of an abusive relationship I was sleeping around a lot not making many connections. Living in the physical. Owning my sexuality for once not caring about numbers, or soul ties or attachment. Just simply doing and not being. I thought I felt alive.
And then I met someone who I actually liked who I wanted to be with but who wasn’t really ready for a relationship and I wasn’t either but again I was on a physical plane not really thinking. And then I was pregnant. I remember telling my roommate that my body felt different. I knew before I knew. And I wanted to keep it to myself to keep a secret. Sometimes I wish I had. Because I never gave myself time to process what being pregnant even meant or would mean tome. I remember telling him that night. Questions of is it mine. Was I sure. It was cold. It was a cold December night.
I was scared but in the beginning I was so sure I wanted to keep her. I was so sure. I took a lot of baths I sang to her. I hummed to her. I don’t know when or how the idea of an abortion came in. But it did. Listening to other people more than myself taking in everyone else’s feelings but my own. I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t lean in my own understanding. And I remember the day he broke down in his moms apartment telling me he wasn’t ready that he couldn’t do it. By then I had disassociated myself. I could feel you growing. I could feel my body changing. My breasts swelling. But everything was physical. I gave in. I gave up.
It was Christmas. I sang silent night to my stomach rubbing in a dark bathroom in the tub. Cause baths have always been my sacred place. Water had always felt safe. We had went driving around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights – I was holding my two month old niece in the backseat. On the phone. In the infatuation stage. Not taking this life energy serious. A lot of different men were still trying to get at me. I was high and giddy off the fleetness that life is at 22.
Three different trips to the clinic and I should’ve known the way we put it off until I almost couldn’t have the operation because I was too far along. It rained all three times on the way there. I know now I should’ve seen this as a sign. One time I had woke up and had ginger ale before going- you’re not supposed to eat or drink anything after a certain time before. Girls at the clinic asked if I was sure if I wanted the baby gone. I wasn’t. 9 weeks in. And you were already making yourself known. Morning sickness and barley able to keep anything down. I had an ultrasound – I saw you.
The day of the operation. I was nervous. The guy I was with picked me up. Red car. His friend was in the car too, he dropped him off. He was high. It was dark still the sun hadn’t came up. I didn’t talk a lot the ride there. When we got there I checked in. They take you in a back room alone. You change your clothes. They put an IV in you and your body gets cold – you are given a heated blanket to keep it at bay – other woman sit with you in the dim hallway waiting for their turn. On woman asked me how old I was because I looked so young. She asked if it was my first. She told me she had two other kids already but couldn’t afford a third. You walk into the room you get on the table people all around. By this time your thoughts are hazy. My thoughts were hazy. And then I was asleep – sleeping through not feeling anything. And then woken up feeling sick throwing up. Getting my prescription waiting for the car to come around. Feeling weak. Tripping. Needing help into the car. Forgetting how to walk. One foot in front of the other.
I slept mostly on the way back. I slept mostly for three days. In a daze. Laying in bed. I became extremely attached. I never wanted to be alone. I was angry. I was sad. I was emotionless and emotional.
I slept with a heating pad because it felt better. I still wasn’t eating a lot. I was drinking a lot. Smoking a lot. Partying. I remember one day specifically I went to the mall with my sister and niece and my sister asking me what had a spilt on my sweatshirt. I was lactating. A week after my abortion I was lactating at the mall. My body releasing the last bit I had left from being pregnant. I did my best to cover up all the “bad” feelings I had from the abortion. I cried. I wrote poems about it. But I never forgave myself. I didn’t talk about it. And my friends didn’t because I think they knew more than I did how much I was really bothered.
It took me along time to get to this point to admit to myself that I made this decision. For along time I would say to myself it was a miscarriage but it wasn’t. It took me along time to think about the reasons why I had an abortion. My conflicted relationship with my own mother – never really feeling close or understood by her. Never feeling wanted as a child. Being molested at nine. I never gave myself any real chance. I never gave my first child any real chance. I thought my parents would disown me that they wouldn’t and couldn’t love me because I felt this way already. I know my mother has had bad relationships with men but no details. I think mothers should tell their daughters about their relationship experiences. That they should tell them about love and what it has meant to them as they’ve gone through breakups.
I say this to say – I hope someone some girl one day who is scared and pregnant that I can talk to her. Hug her. Tell her everything will work out if she puts trust in herself and the universe. I hope one day I can tell my daughter about this. That we will be able to heal each other from my own experiences. For all the mothers out there talk your daughters but also really listen not only to what they say but their body language as well. I’m not saying abortions are wrong – but it was wrong for me. Opening up is my first step to healing. And I can only hope this resonates with some of you.