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Surviving Abortion | My Abortion Story

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The blankness, emptiness and just plain white of this paper as I write, takes me to another place. It’s not the awe inducing white of seeing heaven in a dream or the shimmer of freshly fallen snow, but it’s white and it’s bright.

If there were pictures on the wall or colors on the chairs, I can’t recall. And just as the words start to color this once new, clean paper – the weight of decision would start coloring my life story that day.

Maybe if I act as though this is a routine doctor’s visit, I will be ok…..I remember my sister always hated shots and the idea of doctor visits, but I never really minded it. After all, shots only sting for a second.

Would I have that kind of willpower now? To finish this day with just a small sting?

Vaccines are for the better; they protect us. Doctors have our best interest at heart, right? Surely, someone would sit me down and guide me through this….a pros and cons list. Something.

If they did, my memory has tied that conversation up tight – double bagged it even – and thrown it out with the daily trash, hopefully lost in some unending pile of forgottens in the local landfill.

Good thing the landfill is local because I’m not from here. I currently live 5 hours down the road in a tiny Kansas town that loves it’s people. Where I jumped on hay bales as a kid and drove tractors down to see the sunset. One good thing about living in the flat land, is having nothing to block the view.

But this building blocked every memory of warm colors – at least in this moment. Did this place even have windows?

“Sign here, ma’am, and we’ll be right with you.” …..Ma’am. Is it ok to call a 17 year old girl, ma’am? Young lady might have been more fitting. But adult decisions call for adult names, I suppose.

It could have been 10 minutes…or it could have been 110 minutes, I’m not sure how long we waited. I’ll never know if he remembers, either.

Our minds and hearts sometimes play this odd game of hide-and-seek with painful memories. Maybe, bury the treasure and burn the map is more like it. Or – as I attempt to recall this painful experience for the first time in 13 years, the most accurate description seems closest to that of a soldier. Having been trained to be tough, yet hyper aware.

I’ve heard of it happening….stepping on a land mine and being so thrown back by the explosion, the only sensation is that of a painful ringing in the ears and utter confusion.

I’ve never been a soldier, but I have been in battle….with my past. The uniform slightly different…blue….with buttons down the back.

I had to google it. Today, I had to. How long does the operation take? Is it painful? How do you feel after the procedure? Did this really happen? Was I really there? Google can’t answer that….and I’m afraid, some days, I can’t either.

The nurse was pleasant, commenting on our unique names and how cute they sounded together. Using the word cute just then about made me drop my pen. Cute? As in what most people use to describe a child? Which I still technically was….one used to describe the chubby, yet flawless cheeks of a newborn – begging to be pinched by the nearest well meaning admirer.

What happened to ma’am? Small talk. I mean what else would you do in her position? Again, plain white room. There could have been pink walls with yellow stripes for all I know…….but white is how my memory will forever paint them.

“There’s the bathroom, go ahead and change into this gown – buttons facing the back, then we will be all set.” All set. Google says “all set” means ready. Then I’d be ready.

Some will want to know the details, some won’t – and to be honest, I can’t recall much. They do a pretty “good” job of making it fast. One day I may seek out stories from medical professionals who may have lived the other side – but for now, I’ll continue by telling you I was “awake.” By medical standards anyway. Awake and fully grasping the situation? I don’t think so.

I’ve been put to sleep for many other surgeries including minor procedures like getting teeth pulled, but for this – I was awake. The truth of the matter is – even if I had been put to sleep, the memory and sobering reality will remain awake in me forever.

Do they make Anbesol for emotions? Google (more specifically WebMD) describes the medication as “…a local anesthetic that works by numbing the painful area.” I would spend years spreading on generous coats.

Not much makes sense after that. Chilies….loaded mashed potatoes…a visit to the bathrooom. It was too soon for food. Hotel bed…..I need Gatorade….do they have a vending machine? How did we drive 5 hours home and I have no memory of it?…

Senior year of high school…I guess I’ll join cross country and take on yearbook editor…..my class really voted me secretary? Do they know I’m a mother? Of a decreased baby? No. Deceased has flowers on the casket….murders comes with chains. 

I’ll pause there. Because I’m a Christian, I’m forgiven, but please don’t take a way the chance for me to name the sin and then fall to my knees as I praise a God who shed his own blood to clean up mine. To make this paper and that doctor’s office white again.

Balancing Multiple Children

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Moms of multiple kids: Do you ever feel like when you’ve finally accomplished great things with one kid, you realize it’s at the expense of another?

Several months ago I sensed frustration in our youngest boy and we were struggling with potty training. It became my focus and I’m happy to report we made great progress! As I closed the door to write for a couple hours in quiet (thank you hubby whom I do not deserve), I walked up to my bed to find this on my pillow. One of Carson’s favorite animals he had wrapped in a box and given to me earlier in the day. 🥰

Now join me in reflecting on the same day with our middle girl. She’s now been showing overwhelming frustration. She feels left out and shows it in everything she does including breathing. 😳 Poor Kinsey hasn’t seen as much of my patience as her brother has and it’s becoming very obvious.

They are both amazing kids (our oldest is too, she is visiting family out of state for the summer)! But some days #momguilt sneaks it’s way in to assure me I’m failing. That I’ve been selfish. That maybe I wasn’t cut out for kids.

In the moments when I intentionally quiet my heart and listen into the truth, I hear:

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:7‬ ‭

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

‭‭Galatians‬ ‭6:9‬ ‭

What an incredible gift it is to be a mother. A gift I never knew I wanted but so desperately needed. One that would show me how to love another more than myself. 💝

“Pro Life” VS “Pro Choice”

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Having had an abortion, people often ask me if I’m “pro life” or “pro choice,’ and I get it. We, as humans, want things to make sense and for overwhelming ideas to be organized. Somehow compartmentalized for stowing away and coming back to later. An attempt to make them, well……less overwhelming. Things that don’t make sense cause fear in us. Whether we realize it or not, we are constantly looking to make sense of the people and world around us. (How do you think Google got so popular?

In their defense, there is so much information on the World Wide Web about abortion – and even more opinion. Combine an abundance of information with schedules busier than ever and I can only assume they ask me this so they can quickly decide if they want to keep listening.

In my own attempt to “identify” as one or the other for simplicity’s sake, I chose “pro life.” Because I am “pro” wishing my unborn child had LIFE and I am “pro” women who made difficult decisions deserving to still have LIFE, as well. The thing is….I am also “pro choice.” I am “pro” society CHOOSING to listen before they speak. I am “pro” people CHOOSING to understand these women (these, including me) instead of placing them in a category based off of data they collected themselves – most times inaccurately. I am “pro” CHOOSING to ask questions before weighing women down with condemnation, shame and guilt as if they weren’t already carrying it. People don’t make sense. People are messy.

Truth is, I’m neither “pro life” nor “pro choice.” I am “pro love.” I am “pro” loving women enough to open the lines of communication, risking pride and comfort zones, and listening twice as much as we speak. God gave us 2 ears and 1 mouth. Ironically, He gave us 1 heart, as well. Dare I say listening is 2 times more important than being led by our feelings?

I spent years feeling UNHEARD, yet never even tried to speak out. There were just too many voices and not enough ears. Too many voices that said, “I’m right and you’re wrong,” on both ends.

Abortion is something so shameful to me, not even my therapists heard about it. I hid it so deep, not even my nightmares relived it. Truth is, at the age of 17, I didn’t yet know what life or choice even meant. All I knew was you didn’t talk about it.

3 Things Love Taught Me About Anxiety

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I’m wondering if “home” has less to do with the place and more to do with the conditions of our heart.

Many years, I spent running from house to house. Away from myself was the goal. Trying desperately to detach myself from the things I had done and the God who said He loved me anyway. In fact, there are moments still….deep in the trenches of anxiety, when I feel a desperate urge to leave. Anywhere….the next room over, on a walk outside – any place where “that feeling” would not, could not stay with me.

If it wasn’t running…..it was a beverage, a person, a shopping mall, or a doughnut. If I couldn’t get away, then I would try to escape the feeling by replacing it. But what was “the feeling” exactly? Was “it” the heart palpitations, shaky hands and flushed cheeks? Or were those just the warning signs…..like a fire alarm alerting the soul awake. Something is burning and it’s time to GET OUT!

Will water, alone, put out a soul fire? The destructive kind. The raging wildfires you see on tv. We know fires grow bigger with oxygen – so those attempting to speak life into me just aggravated the flames. I’d seen that smothering it had worked before – temporarily at least. So I continued doing that.

But one day God would send me someone, who instead of trying to put the fire out, came with marshmallows and 2 chairs. He said “I will sit here with you until the fire reduces to ashes.”

1- You can’t hide a fire

Have you thought about that? What hiding a fire might look like? Arms stretched out wide, standing in front of it in an attempt to hide the growing flames. Or maybe putting something over the top of it…..to cover it. Move it to a closet? A raging fire cannot be hidden, covered or moved. If anxiety is a fire burning inside of us, the same must be true. Our failing attempts at hiding it, covering it or trying to place it someplace else will only get us burnt time and time again as it rages inside of us.

2- You can’t ignore a fire

When that fire alarm goes off in the house and there is indeed a fire burning, do we turn the alarm off and go back to bed? Do we pretend to our neighbors that it was a false alarm and everything inside is just fine? Why do we do that with our anxiety and pain? Eventually, the smoke will billow out and the flames with start to consume those around us.

3- We must sit with it

I’m thinking of the wildfires that have consumed the beautiful state from which I was raised. Colorado wildfires have devastated many communities and when thinking about the devastation, I can’t help but look to the firefighters and how they handle flames of such magnitude. When they are out of control and “spreading like wildfire.” They simply try to contain it and watch as it gets smaller over time. It’s a process, but they certainly don’t throw some water on it and leave! Sitting with our loved ones in their pain, acknowledging it, and letting them know that they are not the fire. The fire does not define them. They are the Forrest. Something people travel from every corner of the world to see. A masterpiece, created by God’s own hands. Little by little, love will look through the pain and see the person.

A Sober Reality

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Back and forth, to and fro, down the winding roads of rural North Carolina – I drove home from a solo trip to the grocery store. Nothing but the sound of the car engine humming and the cicadas buzzing loudly.

Overstimulation was something I thought only young children suffered, but as I spend more time in self reflection, I learn that overwhelmed moms who have stuffed their pain suffer from it too.

So my husband breathes life into me by suggesting a trip to town alone where I can turn the radio off, put the house chores and to-do list away and smile eagerly up to my Heavenly Father in anticipation of hearing his voice. Car rides have been a favorite of mine since I first held that shiny new license at the adventurous age of 16.

I had been wrestling with the number 4 over the previous weeks, feeling unsure how that could relate to the number of children I had waiting at home. Being a mother to 3 children has been a gift I never even knew I wanted. Something that brings me unending joy and a newfound connection with the world around me. Was the Lord asking us to foster our adopt? Would we mentor a child or grow close to a neighbor? Why was God drawing my attention to 4?

As if my right foot and heart strings were attached, together they came to a halting stop. Our driveway, the refuge I needed to finally see and let go. God wanted to heal my heart and reassure me that he held my sweet babe in his loving arms and that I do, indeed, have 4 children. One waiting for me in a place where pain has no stay.

And that was the first time I soberly thought about my Abortion in over 10 years. Ten deep, dark years full of clumsy attempts to numb the pain…..suddenly brought to a halt.

Abortion Reveals Itself in Unexpected Ways

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The human mind is a great mystery, constantly being studied. Is it a part of the human intelligence we haven’t yet discovered or is there some mystery part of us that makes discoveries and acts on them without us even realizing it? Like this secret confession I’m about to share with you.

I kept it secret for so long, I hadn’t shared it with anyone else….or even myself until yesterday. The memory of going into a colonoscopy/endoscopy 2 years ago and actually looking forward to the feeling of being put to sleep. It would be painful and uncomfortable to be awake during the procedure, sure. But it was more than that.

I had no anxiety about the procedure itself – instead it was a longing. To be so unaware, the experience would be not only be blocked from memory but would never even make it there. No chance at being recalled or relived.

What is both the parallel and paradox of being awake during my abortion and then again during my 3 c-sections? Experiencing the closing of my heart, the numbing and ignoring of pain and then later the opening of my arms and awareness of new life….all awake.

Then following putting my heart to sleep and sending my soul on a search for a home. The home to which God stood knocking on the door. Not only was I not answering, nobody was home. She was out, nomadically searching for something she felt she did not yet possess. A familiar feeling to most, I think.

The best news is: I serve a God who isn’t satisfied with waiting outside the door. He goes on a hunt of His own. Knowing where I am…but pursuing my heart incessantly.

And only through great pain, would I later experience His love in ways I could never imagine. A fullness and depth I only dreamed of finding. Imagine that hurt so deep and wide and dream of a love deeper and wider than even that.