7 years ago, I had a abortion. I did not really ask myself any question as the father of this child was from another country far away and this fact was already so abnormal that I did it. Till this day, I am pretty sure it was a boy because I see him in my dreams… I have a feeling it’s him because this boy that is with me sometimes in my dreams has a mixed color skin and he is 7 years old which would have been the baby I have aborted… Would my life had it’s challenges if I would have kept this baby? Yes. Which life doesn’t have it’s chalenges? I regret having this abortion. I regret it because now that I have matured more, I realise that if this baby was created within me, it’s because of my actions and choices. Nature works a certain way and we should not go against nature as this is going against creation. Who are we to do such a thing. We have such a big ego that we overstep sometimes and pay the consequences… If any woman have a doubt here about what to do. I can advice you to just accept the situation and have some dignity instead of suffering in silence. Thank you for taking the time to read me.
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After a few years of post-college freedom, I became exhausted and realized I wanted a family by 25. So, I gave up my life as a single woman and took a leap into the world of dating apps. I found him—the perfect man. He was handsome, financially stable, intelligent, and accomplished. He wanted to save the world, just like I did. He already had a son, a five-year-old who was as adorable and bright as his father. I fell in love, hard.
It wasn’t easy. He had a very enmeshed relationship with his ex-wife, who he was still married to, despite being separated for four years. He’d only been in one relationship since their separation. I was finishing grad school and juggling an internship. I wasn’t prepared to have a family, but I wanted one more than anything in the world.
A year later, we moved in together, and I met his son. I imagine a swirl of emotions overwhelmed him, as it did me, but they eventually settled. I loved him deeply, and I cared for him as if he were my own. I uprooted my life twice, moving across the country for them—my new family. I gave up opportunities, my own stability, for them. And then, by some stroke of luck, I would add my own child to the mix.
But things shifted. He said I couldn’t choose my child over our family of three—his family of three. The words hit like a knife. It felt like the greatest betrayal, a cruel contradiction to everything we had built. The hormones made it hard to think, but deep down, I knew: I was already a mother, and I wanted to deepen that connection, to fully embrace what motherhood could mean.
We had everything: a large farmhouse, an acre of land, good schools, and family nearby. We had two careers, a shared future. I was 26, and yet, the weight of it all was suffocating.
He said, “If you continue down this path, I will disappear from your life. You’ll never hear from me again.”
It didn’t make sense. I didn’t make a choice. Instead, I spent weeks violently vomiting, torn between what my heart wanted and what I felt I was being forced to give up. The hospitals were booked out for months. Every time I called for help, I was advised to speak with a doctor who would, in turn, tell me there was no appointment available—simply to cover their tracks, to push through the bureaucracy of a system driven by profit over care.
The only nourishment I could get was through an IV. Slowly, the placenta detached. My child was slipping away from me—or maybe I just couldn’t take care of it anymore. The pregnancy ended in an emergency room, where my vitals showed I was teetering dangerously close to sepsis. It all happened so fast, and by the end of the night, I could eat again.
But the remnants, the echoes of what had been, stayed behind. Three weeks later, I underwent another procedure to remove what was left.
I spent months picking up the pieces of myself, slowly returning to the things that once brought me joy. Life went on. It was good, even. Until two years later, when I went to urgent care for strep throat, and more than one test came back positive. I’d told myself that if this ever happened again, I would disappear. I would leave and raise my child on my own. I had the means, I told myself. Children need their parents, their emotional stability, more than anything else. Anything beyond that is a bonus.
They left the room to give me space, and I broke. The tears came violently, uncontrollably.
On the car ride home, everything changed. He said we could have a child—he would support me, despite everything he had said earlier. He made it clear: he didn’t want more kids, but he would do it for me.
And suddenly, I was angry. I don’t know if I regret saying it, but I told him I could never imagine a world in which we shared that bond anymore. The train had left the station, and I wasn’t interested in getting back on.
He booked a vasectomy, and I scheduled an abortion. He advised me to take 24 hours to think about it. I didn’t. Less than 24 hours later, I had the pills, and I lied about taking them. I felt trapped, confused, and utterly alone. I felt betrayed—not just by him, but by everything.
Every day, I carry the grief. It weighs on me, and I’m still discovering what lies beneath it. The emotions run deep, and the questions I’ve been left with are still unresolved.
I wrote this poem which is in the American Poetry Anthology in order to heal from the woman who aborted my child that I begged her not to. I was outside on the sidewalk at the hospital and could feel like a dagger in my heart and I knew then my child was murdered by the mother and doctor. Here is the poem that I wrote to help me heal In the Image of Never is there a flower that blooms forever … even-thou we would well like it to be …for when she reaches the peak of her beauty … mother nature turns her to seed … so that the world will always have flowers in the image of you and me …. You have permission to copy this and use it as long a you put my name Chad Beckwith Smith. PS in life we are all our mothers flowers and so are our children. Chad Beckwith Smith.
When a woman contemplates abortion, all of the traumas in her life ricochet inside of the life growing inside of her body -Iyanla Vanzant Not long after the assault, Marques and I started dat- ing. A couple of weeks later, I felt so dizzy in the morn- ings that one day, I fell on the couch. I was throwing up every morning, but my mother still made me go to school. On the weekends, I stayed in my room and only came out to eat or use the bathroom. I had stopped doing my homework, and my grades slipped during the second half of my sophomore year in high school. Sascha has changed since the first half of the semester, my teacher wrote on my progress report. One day, my aunt Tanisha bought me a preg- nancy test. I took it and it was positive. Seeing those two lines appear on a pregnancy test was admittedly one of the most life-changing moments a woman could have. “You promise you won’t say anything to my mom, right?” I asked, as Aunt Tanisha was leaving. “I promise,” she said. “But you need to tell her.” But I didn’t tell my mom or anyone else and became isolated by the secret. At fifteen years old, I didn’t know anything about taking care of a baby, and I was downright scared. At the time, my mother was pregnant with my little brother, Jonathan. If she could tell that I was pregnant too, she didn’t let me know it. Our relationship was awkward at best, and I was afraid to tell her because I didn’t know how she’d react, When my mom gave birth, I went to the hos- pital to visit her. Aunt Tanisha was there holding Jonathan, and when I got settled, she handed him to me. “You’re gonna have one of those soon,” she said, smiling My heart sank. I didn’t know why I trusted her to keep my secret. My mother had just given birth. She didn’t need to hear that her baby was having a baby. That night, my mother called me. “Are you pregnant?” she asked. I was a ball of nervous energy, and my heart felt like it was going to explode. “Yes,” I said. “Like hell you are! Do you know what this will do to this family?” The heaviness of her voice engulfed me. “You wait until I get home! My stupidity meant that I had to put my future on hold. While I thought my mother was a big- time hypocrite for yelling at me, I realized that even though she was sixteen when she had me, I didn’t think she expected that I’d follow in her footsteps. I know my mother heard my heartbroken wails, but she had been so disappointed in me that she couldn’t bring herself to comfort me. I could only compare her emotions to the initial shock of her finding out that someone close had died. In essence, that was what happened. My innocence had died, and it was difficult for my mother to understand that the girl who had to be reminded to clean her room—the one who panicked when she got on the wrong bus and who couldn’t cook-was the same girl who was going to be a mother. I couldn’t tell my mother that I was beginning to resent what was growing inside me. I was the only one out of my immediate friends who wasn’t a virgin anymore, and it was awkward. What would this baby look like? Would he or she have a charm- ing or goofy smile? Would he or she have my lips? A couple of days after my mother came home from the hospital, she, my other aunt, Janice, Marques, and I went to Planned Parenthood on Montague Street in Brooklyn. I couldn’t think straight that morning and fidgeted all the way to the clinic The only thing that broke the silence during the car ride was the sound of Ja Rule’s song “Put It on Me” playing on the radio, The silence of the waiting room was unnerving and made my blood as cold as the autumn air that crept through an open window. It gnawed at my insides. While waiting for a nurse to call my name, replayed all the moments that led to that moment. My mother’s husband saying that the house smelled like sex and catching Marques hanging from the bar in the front closet that afternoon. Our parents were scolding us in my mother’s living room. My mother was stating that she wanted to burn her bed. After some time, the nurse called me into an office. I filled out paperwork and gave a urine sam- ple that verified my pregnancy. I met with a coun- selor who explained the termination procedure. I did the math and figured I was about six months at that point. A couple of days after my mother came home from the hospital, she, my other aunt, Janice, Marques, and I went to Planned Parenthood on Montague Street in Brooklyn. I couldn’t think straight that morning and fidgeted all the way to the clinic The only thing that broke the silence during the car ride was the sound of Ja Rule’s song “Put It on Me” playing on the radio, The silence of the waiting room was unnerving and made my blood as cold as the autumn air that crept through an open window. It gnawed at my insides. While waiting for a nurse to call my name, replayed all the moments that led to that moment. My mother’s husband saying that the house smelled like sex and catching Marques hanging from the bar in the front closet that afternoon. Our parents were scolding us in my mother’s living room. My mother was stating that she wanted to burn her bed. After some time, the nurse called me into an office. I filled out paperwork and gave a urine sam- ple that verified my pregnancy. I met with a coun- selor who explained the termination procedure. I did the math and figured I was about six months at that point. “Now if you feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to go through with it,” she said. “T’ll be back in a minute.? When the counselor closed the door, my mother said, “You’d better do it and don’t act like something is wrong with you! Her voice was so cold I think I was more afraid of my mother than getting the abortion. When the counselor came back, she asked if I’d decided what to do. When I nodded, she reached into a bin next to her desk and handed me a hospital gown. Instead of staying with me through the procedure, my mother went back home to her husband and my brother. My aunt and Marques stayed behind in the waiting room. In the examination room, I lay on the table in an uncomfortable position. There was a hammer- ing noise. I cried out in fear. My mother should have been comforting me instead of the counselor. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” the coun- selor said. The nurse injected something into my IV line, and within seconds, I was knocked out. This was a traumatic moment in my life when I needed emotional support from my mom. I needed to know that I was loved, protected, and valued by my mother in my father’s absence, even if I had done something bad. I needed someone to talk to, someone who could help me navigate the terrain of my racing mind. I just wanted my mother to hold me in her arms and forgive me for the pain I caused both of us, but she couldn’t see past her anger and disappointment. Instead, she abandoned me just like my father had, and it hurt I resented my mother for leaving me at the clinic to fight all those feelings alone, but as a mature adult, I don’t feel it was intentional. Maybe she was ashamed of her inability and lack of desire to com- fort me. Maybe she was ashamed that her teenage daughter was pregnant. Maybe she thought my pregnancy was her fault. Would it have made a dif- ference if my stepfather had come into my life in my toddler years rather than when I was seven years old? I woke up on a brown recliner in the recovery room with seven other girls my age. Each of us was dressed in a pink paper dress and had a blanket over our legs. None of us tried to hide our tears-the situation was just too real. Our hearts were broken, We had aborted our babies so that everyone else could be happy. Perhaps these girls’ fathers wouldn’t love them the same, or their boyfriends threatened to leave. It may be called the recovery room, but other than the obvious, what were we expected to recover from? The repercussions of an abortion—the what ifs and the guilt-stay with a girl or a woman long after the procedure is over. Having an abortion is not empowering to all women; some are left emo- tionally broken, full of regret and guilt. The seven girls and I connected in that room.: We’d just endured the pain of future lives sucked from our wombs through plastic tubes and emptied into an oversized pickle jar covered with the same pink paper that was crumpled around our bodies felt for those girls, but I especially felt for the life that Id just removed from the safety of its first home as easily as I could remove a splinter. Abortion is a life-changing decision, but I know now that terminating the pregnancy was the respon- sible thing for me to do. My mother was trying to protect me from all that she’d had to endure as a teen mom. The decision my mother made for me was vital to my freedom, but with that freedom came the obligation to experience the sorrows, guilt, and regret of the abortion, the what ifs. Sometimes, it’s just too painful to be free. When I got home later that day, my mother didn’t ask me how I felt. Her silent treatment hung thick and heavy in the ait, like a quilt. Wherever I moved in the house, the silence followed, until my stepfather, George, cut the tension that night during dinner: “I saw Marques and his old girlfriend on Clifton Avenue,” he said. My food felt like sandpaper going down my throat. My breath came in short, painful gasps that left me dizzy and nauseated. There was a hollow feel- ing in my stomach that nothing could fill. I had just aborted our baby, and not even five minutes after my aunt had dropped Marques off, he betrayed me. I wanted to go in my room and pull the covers over my head and pass away into the darkness. The pain of going through the abortion alone was overwhelming, and I knew I could never do it again. The experience was an all-consuming pain; it suffocates you from the inside out until you’re just a shell of the person you used to be. Time may dull the emotional pain and the trauma, but it’ll never fully leave you.
This is my third time writing on here….I cannot get over it. Three years. It has been three whole years since I have made the biggest mistake of my life. My healing journey seems to never end and it comes out differently from time to time. I have changed in ways I cannot even explain. I have become a different person. Three years ago I let my boyfriend (now husband) pressure me into having an abortion and it has been the worst mistake of my life. We didn’t have the best situation at the time. My job was unstable, I have two kids, he has two kids and two separate houses. He couldn’t see the minor inconvenience of a a temporary situation vs. a life sentence of guilt, depression and shame. I still can’t believe I let him do that. He was just so mean to me. The first year after my abortion I broke up with him a million times. I know in my heart it was wrong what he did and he was also wrong for me. My main reason for the break up is knowing I would never get a family out of this man. He told me “you can have that with me” and for some reason, I believed him. But it was all a lie so he could keep me in the relationship. At this time I was in a panic trying to seek out help for my depression. I have never had mental health issues before, this was all new to me. Trying to navigate my new problems was messy. It would come out in different ways. I started to have outbursts at him yelling and screaming at him telling him how horrible he is for making me do that. The second year after my abortion we ended up selling our homes and moving in together. I thought that he might want a family now that we live together but unfortunately, he still did not. As a mom already, I kept pressing on but deep down I was missing something. I kept on trying to fill the void buying new pets an animals ranging from chickens, another dog, a horse, and a rabbit. I just needed something to take care of I guess. It was a Band-Aid over a wound that will never be healed. I still continued to have my out bursts at him. Yelling and screaming. I never did that before. I was told how calm I was and I was such a nice person. Now, I have a chip on my shoulder, I am angry all the time. We also ended up getting married on the due date of what would have been our baby’s second birthday. I figured, now I have something to celebrate on that day. I also thought NOW is when he will want a family with me. But sadly, he does not. I keep falling into these deep depressive spells where I don’t talk to him or I pretend I am ok. I usually flood myself and my schedule so I am not home to avoid him. I also live by strict rules now. One rule is, you take something from me, I take something from you. I know it is petulant but I feel justified in doing it. He told me that he loved that I was a big marathon runner and he always wanted a partner to enjoy the same things he did because he liked to work out and run races as well. So, I took that from him. I REFUSE to work out or run with him anymore. He will NEVER get that from me again. Another thing, is, I have a hard time wanting a relationship with his kids. If he didn’t want a family with me, I don’t want a family with you or your kids. You stay in your lane, and I will stay in mine. I do not tell him when I have family get togethers on my side, I just go. This year, I didn’t invite him over because he is not my family. I don’t go to his son’s sporting events. I just don’t do anything. I also think of future events and how I dread the next steps of life. My brain panics me and I hate the thought of these things. His oldest daughter is 21 and I think to myself when she gets married, I don’t want to go to the wedding when she has one. When his kids have kids I want nothing to do with them. Watching my husband with babies and small kids is something I NEVER want to see. I never want to witness it because it would hurt me so bad. It would be like what we could have had would be thrown in my face. Overall, I have become this person I do not recognize. I began to hate people. I began to be spiteful and full of anger. I overload myself with work so I don’t have time to think. But at the end of the day, anyone can realize…I even realize….that this is unhealthy. But, this is how it is and who I have become. It is how I get by now. This is a horrible way to live life. Knowing I will never have a family, and never get to experience that with my husband. It sickens me. I should have left when I had a chance.
Hello, I’m choosing to remain anonymous for my safety and the safety of others. At the age of 19, I found myself in an unstable situation, living in a broken home environment with my boyfriend. We were struggling financially and lacked the means to provide for what we soon discovered was going to be our ‘baby.’ The realization of my pregnancy initially brought overwhelming joy, but my joy was quickly overshadowed by the harsh reality of our circumstances. As I grappled with the news, my thoughts echoed with the harsh reality that bringing a child into our current situation wasn’t safe or feasible. The internal conflict intensified as I debated the best course of action. Ultimately, I felt compelled to consider abortion, acknowledging that our living conditions were far from ideal. Sharing this decision with my boyfriend led to a heated argument. While he agreed with the practical challenges we faced, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of betrayal. The internal struggle between my desire to keep the baby and the harsh reality of our circumstances intensified the emotional turmoil. I found myself harboring anger towards my boyfriend, as well as disappointment in myself for allowing our situation to reach this point. I hated the decision that was wrong, but it was right to do in my situation because it was the truth. I let my fantasy turn into reality. I wanted to keep my baby; I wanted to nurture them, but I couldn’t. I blame myself every day and wonder how I could’ve made a better decision, one that didn’t involve betraying myself or others. The weight of the choice I made lingers, and I grapple with the consequences, questioning if there was a path that would have spared us all this pain. Thank you for reading this and please take care of yourself the most in these situations, It’s okay to feel these type of emotions.
I never thought I would be in the situation I was in. I always wanted to be a parent. The timing was less than ideal, but there was that little glimmer of excitement when I found out I was pregnant. My partner’s only words to me were ‘I don’t want to be a father’. He told me to get an abortion or he would leave. It was a horrible choice, I cried for days. But he left because I couldn’t come to a decision soon enough. For the next month I toiled over the thoughts of being a single parent. My ex was adamant about not being a father so I decided that I would go through with the pregnancy and not write his name on the birth certificate, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about me trying to get child support or anything like that (which I would have never done, I make more money and have more support than him). I told him my decision, and he reluctantly agreed. A week later he told me that he changed his mind, that he didn’t want to be a father now, but in a few years he would come back and want to be a part of mine and the child’s life. I explained to him how that wouldn’t be happening, and how he can’t come back to us if he can’t even commit to us now. He then threatened that he would do anything in his means to be a part of our lives in the future including taking me to court if I refused. I was scared. I thought it was cruel to raise a child with someone who was openly attempting to manipulate me and how confusing and unfair it would be to the child. I thought of all the pain that he would cause. These were his demands now, but what if they got worse. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want this person tied to me in any way so I got an abortion to escape him. It was the worst decision of my life. It’s nearly been a year. I’m horribly depressed and started self harming. I see no hope and I feel constantly reminded of the choices I made. I feel like I was weak and I have so much shame over it. I’ve been in therapy for nearly this whole time but I don’t feel like I’m improving. I don’t know what to do. Initially, I did feel some relief not having my ex in my life. But after a few months he came back. He cried to me, apologized to me, told me that he never meant to make me go through such a horrid situation alone. That he realizes he was cruel, that he was different now, that he was still in love with me. I decided that I could give him another chance, he was so genuine. I worry that he only came back because I ended up having the abortion, which is what he initially wanted. I worry that his plan was to manipulate me this way the whole time. I worry that I hate him. I worry that I will never forgive him. And I still, still wish that I was a parent. That I had ran away and cut contact and started new as a single parent somewhere he wouldn’t think to look. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.