I was 24 years old when I got pregnant. I hadn't been feeling well but attributed my symptoms to stress from my brother's suicide attempt the month before. I was terrified and my boyfriend immediately accused me of trying to trap him. He told me I would be having an abortion. My abusive father was often absent as I was growing up and as I contemplated the challenges of raising this baby on my own, I knew I didn’t want my child to grow up without a father, too. I turned to Planned Parenthood, expecting support, but that’s not what I found. My abortion process started without the promised counselor appointment, leading me down a path I would regret for the rest of my life.
I was given a prescription for two pills and instructed to insert them, then to go to the hospital for a vacuum procedure. Inserting the pills triggered immediate regret. It felt as if I had jumped off a bridge but still had to watch the ground come closer and closer as I fell to my death. At the hospital, after being given a pill for relaxation, I had to sign a form about my blood type and the fetus's blood type, and read a statement about the abortion’s potential impact on my future pregnancies. It was the first acknowledgment that this was more than a clump of cells. It was a fetus, with his or her own blood type. On the operation table, semi-conscious, fear and regret overwhelmed me. Flashbacks and nightmares persist to this day.
The abortion left me feeling empty and detached, impacting my relationships, leading to self-destructive behaviors and declining mental health. Years later, in a gynecologist's office, a pregnant woman in the next room was listening to her baby’s heartbeat. I had heard that quick beating before, at my own ultrasound but was never told it was a baby, my baby. The realization intensified my struggles with guilt, shame, and a sense of unworthiness.
My health worsened and managing day-to-day tasks became more difficult. But I found solace through a prayer candle my mother lit every day, prompting me to turn to God for healing. I told Him I knew I wouldn't be able to keep fighting on my own. He heard me. Little by little I started to feel physically well again and I had an urge to go to church. I was still plagued with debilitating anxiety so for the first time in years, I asked God for something. I asked for the strength and courage to go to church and for Jesus to be by my side. At Mass, I discovered a welcoming community. It felt like coming home. But I was still in emotional turmoil. How could I have thought I belonged there, after the horrible thing I had done.
That very same week, I saw a mention of Rachel's Vineyard in the Diocesan bulletin. It was the beginning of my journey to healing. Reading that notice, it was as though my pain was being acknowledged for the first time. Was I finally being given permission to mourn my loss? For the second time I decided I would ask God for something. If Rachel's Vineyard was meant for me, would He please send me some sort of sign? The next Sunday at Mass the readings were about God's Vineyard. I will never forget that moment. It felt like God was saying, please go heal, I love you and I forgive you, now go and forgive yourself. I still have a plan for you.
The retreat marked a turning point in my life. I've learned the importance of God, faith, and forgiveness. I wish I had known God was the father I was seeking all along. I will never get over my abortion but I am healed. I stand here, bearing my soul, in the hope that I can help other women make a different choice, and to reach out a hand to those still suffering from their abortions, to let them know they, too, deserve forgiveness and healing.
I named my son Emmanuel, and my heart skips a beat whenever I see or hear that name. He lives in my heart, in the smiles I give to strangers, in the good deeds I do for others, in my courage to speak for those whose voices have been silenced. He lives in the best parts of me. Emmanuel, I will never forget you. You are why I am silent no more.