After the procedure, I was an emotional mess. I cried a lot. I ate too much ice cream and drank too much wine. I cried for the baby I wouldn't have and I cried for the loss of the innocent me who couldn't imagine what it was like to make such tough, adult decisions. I was mad at myself for picking the wrong guy and for being in the situation to begin with. I felt lost, confused, and unsure of myself and my future.
Luckily, I had a friend named Polly, whom I met while bartending during college, who once told me about her own experience. When I didn't join her for our usual end-of-shift cocktail she all but guessed that I was expecting. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet," I confided. Without hesitation, she replied: "I've had one." Polly was the first person to ever tell me that she'd had an abortion. Though she was the first, Polly wasn't the only friend in whom I confided. My friend Heather went with me the day of my procedure. That same day I opened my front door to find a vase overflowing with flowers and a card with my name on it."Thinking of you," Jodie, another bartender, had signed. It had never crossed my mind that someone would get me flowers for my abortion. The relief I felt from her thoughtfulness stayed with me for days. My friends were present and compassionate and yet I still struggled with the reality of having done the very thing I swore I'd never do.
I tried to make sense of it all. I wanted to better understand my own feelings, and I wanted to know what others went through, too. When I found out that one in three American women will have an abortion in her lifetime, I was stunned at how few of our stories were available in public.
Fifteen years ago, when I had my abortion, the internet barely existed. I had to check the Yellow Pages for after-abortion support. I found a lot of post-abortion counseling from pro-life Christian-based organizations, all of which suggested seeking forgiveness from God as a way to healing. That wasn't what I needed. No support services existed on the pro-choice side.
I went to the local bookstore, searching for women's stories about how they found hope, healing, and wellbeing after their choice. Finding nothing in the self-help or health sections, I went to the clerk to get her help. "Abortion is a choice!" the woman exclaimed, sounding shocked and confused by my request. "Great," I answered, but I still needed direction on where to find literature for emotional support. "All abortion books are under politics," she huffed, clearly agitated by my implication that abortion could require discussion beyond its legality. By and large that's the way it's been. Abortion gets discussed as a political issue, but truthful conversations about the women dealing with this difficult choice are still rare.
I felt compelled to change this so that every woman who terminates a pregnancy finds the love and care she needs–whether it's from friends, a service, or a book. The year after my abortion I cofounded an organization called Exhale to support women and men post-abortion. We also developed a framework for listening and telling hidden stories. Last month I published a book, Pro-Voice: How to Keep Listening When the World Wants a Fight and delivered a TED Talk in the hopes of transforming the culture around abortion from one of stigma to one of support.
If you ask me now, 15 years later, I can say that the internal conflict I felt about my abortion was a catalyst, one for which I'm now grateful for. Because I felt conflicted, I discovered the value of opening up and asking for help. I learned to advocate for myself and for others. My abortion propelled me forward into more unknowns, more discomfort, and more heartache as I pushed for change. My abortion helped me to discover my purpose in life.