I Am Dayton Roughhewn
A Reproductive Rights Voice for the Unwanted Children*
*Contains experiences of childhood trauma and suicide. If you or someone you know needs help, please call 988, the Suicide and Crisis Hotline.
The following essay was written under the alias, Dayton Roughhewn, an anagram forged from my lived experience from feeling unwanted to becoming “worthy and enough.” To be a voice for those who share a similar life. To stand and be heard in the larger conversation of reproductive rights.
“All alone and all in…Along the drive to Winston-Salem…” In 2021, I wrote a song titled “Expecting;” a creative attempt to ease years of regret for being born and unwanted. Yet, what filled the page lyrically transformed regret into compassion. Compassion for complex humans making complex, difficult decisions. For the unwanted children. For my mom. For me. I was nearly aborted in 1973 by a young woman desperately trying to do the next right thing while navigating a sea of expectations and consequences. The impact on her life and mine was complicated and profoundly difficult.
I was nine years old when my paternal grandmother sat me down one day after I misbehaved and told me I was nearly aborted so I would, “Shut up and be grateful.” From that moment, and for almost 50 years, I felt ashamed for being born instead of grateful for being alive. I felt responsible for ruining multiple lives. This, coupled with a childhood full of neglect and abandonment, led to decades of striving to be wanted. To matter. To make amends for being born. To finally feel worthy and enough.
The Abortion That Never Happened
My parents were barely 19 when I was conceived. My mom was fulfilling her dream of becoming a nurse, with just one year left to graduate. To hold on to her dream and to the man she loved, she traveled to a nearby city, alone, prepared to fulfill his order to abort the pregnancy. After reviewing her health history, the doctor informed her that her life could be in danger if she had an abortion. This was not what she had expected, and she did not ask why, or seek clarification. She left the clinic, did not seek a second opinion, and braced for a new set of expectations. She had hoped to save her future. Instead, she was saving her own life and aborting her plans and dreams.
She drove to her parents’ house and delivered the news. Her father surprisingly said, “You don’t have to marry him. Come home. We’ll raise her together.” Her mother said, “Make him marry you. Be a good wife. Be a good mother.” With her parents involved, adoption was not an option. She followed her mom’s advice, quit school, and found a way to marry my father.
In August 1973, I was born to 19-year-old newlyweds who were not ready to be adults and parents. As their marriage crumbled, my maternal grandparents and paternal grandmother took over. Throughout my infancy and childhood, I spent weeks and months with them, and at times, they forcibly took me from a parent due to neglect.
She had hoped to save her future. Instead, she was saving her own life and aborting her plans and dreams.
My parents cycled through multiple, messy relationships, marriages and divorces. They each had more children. Yet, I was the fly in the ointment of their lives. My basic needs were met, but I felt I was always in the way, too needy, and a burden to both my parents. I would beg my grandmother to, “Please come get me. He’s forgotten to pick me up again.” I frequently overheard my mom saying, “It’s your weekend to take her, not mine!” Often, those weekends with my father involved hanging out with his friends who sexually abused me. My adolescent and adult years were challenging, confusing, and unpredictable. For better and for worse, my drive to matter and be perfect fueled my success in sports and academics. I became a highly successful professional. Yet, I was burning up with regret and shame for being born and unwanted.
My young, ill-equipped parents did not want to be parents, and yet, they were still charged with caring for another human who could not care for herself. Left in the rubble of their turmoil, I was forced to seek elsewhere the care, safety, and exploration I desperately needed and deserved. In that rubble, I turned to my grandparents for what I was missing. Without them, I would not be where I am and who I am today. They literally saved my life. Yet, it was not easy being raised by a skipped generation. My paternal grandmother took me on after she had already raised three children and helped run a business. She was a badass. While I was just a kid when she told me I was nearly aborted, I never questioned whether it was appropriate. You were not allowed to question or express feelings — ever. She also told me while sitting at a red light in her gray custom van, that I would always have a problem with my weight. She was right. I did — but not in the overweight way she meant. This beautiful, complex woman who saved my life multiple times, crushed me multiple times. She put out fires, and she set fires; fires that I let slowly burn me up for decades. Family is like that. Saving you and crushing you, sometimes all on the same day.
Two Women; One Unwanted Pregnancy
To say my mom struggled after she became pregnant with me is an understatement. She attempted suicide twice, that I know of, before I turned 13. She has wrestled with multiple health conditions, some we do not speak of. If a parent’s response helps a child develop their emotional compass for self-worth and belonging, then no wonder we were both lost. As a child, even when my mom was physically there, I could not reach her. She was like a ghost, dragging around the chains of her beleaguered past as constant punishment for not making all the “right” choices expected of a true Southern Baptist woman; drowning in a sea of dashed expectations and consequences. I now bear witness to a woman who has confined herself to a prison of self-loathing, paralyzed with shame and regret, clinging to her faith to set things right.
Family is like that. Saving you and crushing you, sometimes all on the same day.
To say I struggled after my mom gave birth to me is also an understatement. I experienced immense pain, and I inflicted pain on others as I railed against my past, because I now understand that hurt people, hurt other people. The loneliness of feeling unseen and rejected by the people who were supposed to see and love me the most was as painful as a severe, physical injury. This pain became unbearable, and the dark place my mom frequented became all too familiar to me. At my lowest points of self-worth, I attempted suicide. I believed that nothing I accomplished could make amends for being born, because I was still unwanted from the get-go. I carried these beliefs, an unrelenting drive for perfection, and a fear of abandonment with me for decades. But then, I became a mother, and my daughter became my greatest teacher. She taught me how vital a secure attachment between a child and parent is for healthy early-development and well-being. I began to witness the stark difference between my younger self and my daughter. Wanting a better life for her, and for me, I finally asked for help.
Healing and Moving Toward “I am Dayton Roughhewn”
My journey through the regret of being born and unwanted is a messy work in progress. The healing of my deep wounds began with self-compassion and then cultivated into empathy and compassion for my mom, my grandmother, and others making complex, difficult reproductive decisions. I am regaining my voice and reclaiming my body. I discovered that I feel the most free and grounded when I move my body through the woods, and when I am creative. Writing the song “Expecting” allowed me to choose sounds over silence and help transform my regret and shame into compassion and acceptance; to be more at peace with my past. I also work with a trauma therapist who is trained in eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR). EMDR has been essential for working through the flashbacks of child sexual abuse I had blocked out for over 40 years. This hard, vital work has helped me begin to feel like I am Dayton Roughhewn…I am worthy and enough.
What if that woman could have been my mom? What if that wanted child could have been me?
Through my healing journey, I discovered how heavy my mother’s reproductive decision weighed on me. I now realize that I desperately wish I had been there with her on that day over 50 years ago. Not as the embryo I was, but as the woman I am today, as the mother I am today. I would have comforted her. I would have driven her home, or wherever she wanted to go. Even if it was for a second opinion. Even if my very existence would have ceased to exist. She would not have endured that difficult day alone.
My mom and I have struggled all our lives with an unwanted pregnancy, and we are not alone. The Turnaway Study reveals when a woman is denied her reproductive rights it harms the mother, the child, and her existing children. Effects include years of food and housing insecurity, economic hardship, and poor developmental outcomes. According to the authors of this large, 10-year study, “Women who receive a wanted abortion are more financially stable, set more ambitious goals, raise children under more stable conditions, and are more likely to have a wanted child later.” What if that woman could have been my mom? What if that wanted child could have been me?
I believe we are far more complicated than the stories other people tell about us. Therefore, I share my story now with the hope that someone who feels unwanted may be seen, heard, and understood. So that someone feels less alone. So that at least one woman may have a compassionate companion with her and does not have to endure a difficult reproductive decision alone. So that someone realizes it is never too late to heal. I am sharing my story because the unwanted children deserve a voice in the fight for reproductive rights.
