I am not sure why I am telling this story. I don’t even know what to make of it myself. Maybe because I don’t hear a lot of stories like mine. My abortion was not remarkable, my feelings on it quite ordinary. Why then do I never hear it? Why do we never hear the stories from women like me, the ones who regret it. I suppose when the pro choice movement wants a voice they want a happy one. They want women that can stand up and proudly say they made the right decision, ones that can honestly say their choice was the right one. I can not say that, because it wasn’t, not for me at least. My story is the one the “prolifers” want to hear, a women torn because of what she did. But I belong here with you all, not because I had an abortion, but because I firmly and wholly believe that no matter how wrong my decision was, it was mine to make.
I think somewhere along the way I mixed up my political and social beliefs with my personal moral code. I have always believed women should have the choice to decide what is best for them, but I never thought it would be a choice I would make for myself. And then I was pregnant. My heart said not to do it, that it wasn’t right for me, but my brain said it was the only way. My heart said this isn’t the right thing to do, but my brain said it is the right of every women. I though I could get off easy I suppose, I thought that I would be able to do it and not question what kind of person it would make me. I thought I would be able to not judge myself for it because I would NEVER judge another women for it. I was wrong.