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The Weight of the Womb
I no longer carry shame for my two abortions
I had my first abortion when I was 14. I had been forced into sex I didn’t consent to. I chose to not have my rapist’s child. I terminated the pregnancy at just over five weeks. There wasn’t even a visible fetal pole at that time. I took two pills 12 hours apart, had an awful period for five days, and my life went on.
My first abortion was redemption of my bodily autonomy. It felt like I could have some control over my body. I was relieved when it was over and a home pregnancy test came back negative.
My second abortion was almost 11 years later, to the day. It was completely different from my first. My husband and I had decided to try for a baby; 16 days later, I got a positive home pregnancy test. My husband has a video of me dancing around in my bathroom squealing at the sight of the second line.
This baby was hoped for. This baby was loved from the second it was created. We’d talked about “number two” since the moment we’d had our oldest. It felt like our dreams had come into fruition in the form of this baby.
And then at 11 weeks, everything went wrong.
For close to a decade, I felt immense shame for my decision to not carry a child—while I was…
