I want to tell you about my abortion

The one I’m having right now. The one I’m currently in the midst of.

I want to tell you about my abortion.

Not the one I had when I was 17 and got knocked up by some high school friend. Nor the one I had after my missed miscarriage–when my body didn’t realize that the baby we so desperately wanted had stopped growing inside of me weeks before. 

I’m talking about the one I’m having right now. The one I’m currently in the midst of. The one that broke my heart, but also had to be done, because I needed to put my health and my family first.

It’s not en vogue to talk about these abortions. When Roe v Wade was overturned everyone shared on social media about the one they had in their teens or the medically necessary one they had after losing a baby.

I don’t remember reading about someone who had to make the horrible decision to let go of a baby because it would explode their family into a million pieces. No one talks about how some marriages and lives literally cannot survive a third or fourth child. 

No one talks about it and so it becomes yet another thing many women must face alone. I googled third babies and abortion when we were making our decision. Scared that some g-man was tracking my search history and I would be arrested for even thinking the thought. The reddit threads and mumsnet chat rooms were strangely silent on the matter, except people asking, “Well, how did you get pregnant in the first place if you can’t keep it?”. 

Yes, woman. How did you let this happen? Mother, woman, girl. It’s your fault. Why weren’t you on birth control? Don’t you know your cycle? 

I’m angry. You’re probably angry at me reading this. You’re probably thinking we had some kind of choice. That we could “make it work”, but is that any circumstance to bring a human life into this world? Reluctance and imposition? 

I want to list all the reasons we couldn’t keep it, but you probably won’t be able to hear me. I can barely hear myself. I can barely look at myself, yet as I get closer to having it fully out of my body, I also feel relieved. I know this had to be done. This was the right choice for our family. 

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

My sons are desperate for more of me as it is. I am constantly ping ponging between them, trying to boomerang my heart to the other when I’m not near. My husband is desperate for more of me. I am desperate for more of me.

They’re only babies once, Sarah! It goes by so fast. You can sacrifice for a little while. That’s your job as the mom. Who cares if you get extremely ill when you’re pregnant? It’s temporary. You're only sick for ten months. Motherhood is a sacrifice. You can’t survive ten measly months of nausea and vomiting and bone-crushing exhaustion and discomfort and bile? What kind of a mother are you?

Two nights ago, my two sons were in the back of the car screaming and crying about wanting a snack, or who knows what, as I was stuck puking out the side of the door, while simultaneously urinating all over the car seat. They were screaming at me, screaming for me. And all I kept thinking was, “You’re so selfish, Sarah.”

But I have to be. For their survival, for my sanity, for the sanctity of my marriage. I have to be selfish right now. Or maybe keeping the baby would have been the selfish move? I was ready to make the whole family bend and fold and break, to make it work for this little being that was just a ball of cells. Maybe keeping it would have been selfish?

I don’t know. I won’t know. It’s done, or more accurately, it’s happening.

I went through our house like a tornado clearing out all the baby stuff I had been holding onto in hopes of for a magic third. I have to shut that door for good, because I see now that it is truly impossible for us. There is no village. There is no hidden well of resources to tap into. You’re alone. I’m alone. I’m angry at this country. This system. My husband. Myself. 

And I’m sad. How can something that is meant to be joyous be so sad?

I could have kept this secret and stayed silent. I could have lied to you every time I saw you and you asked how I was doing. But the thought of not sharing, of not normalizing this, of not alchemizing my blood and tears for connection, made me feel sicker than my decision.

So, I’m going to tell you about my abortion.