My name is Carol Marie Siedenburg and I first gave my testimony at the Walk for Life West Coast, 2009. Before that, I’d spent nearly 30 years denying the truth of what I’d done. It was for me, for so many years, the unspeakable subject. You see, when I was in my senior year of High School I found out I was pregnant. Thus began my life of living secrets and silence, of hiding behind a wall of anger, especially if anyone brought up the subject of abortion.
When I found I was pregnant, I had an overwhelming sense of shame. It was the 70’s and the world gave out two strong messages. The one that has continued to grow stronger in our culture today said that women should be free to do what they wanted with their bodies (a large part of me bought into this message, especially when it meant I could do whatever I wanted, without thinking about the consequences). Then, that “old fashioned” message said that “nice girls” waited until they were married. No one had really stressed this to me, but now that I was pregnant, I knew that I didn’t want everyone, to know that I didn’t qualify as “a nice girl.”
To make matters worse, I didn’t love the father of my child. How could I be forever connected to him through a child? We’d already broken up and I knew I shouldn’t have been with him in the first place, as I didn’t respect him the way he deserved to be respected.
In January, around the time of the March for Life in Washington DC, I heard Fr. Frank Pavone talk about the difference between the Pharisee and the Good Samaritan. It can be conjectured that when the Pharisee saw the injured man he asked “What will happen to me if I help him?” Granted, the attackers could be around the corner, waiting to pounce on the next unsuspecting person, or it could be a ruse in the first place to get him to drop his guard to an attack. But the Good Samaritan, when he saw the injured man, asked “What will happen to him if I don’t help?” One considered only himself, the other cared about the other person, his neighbor, his brother. Sadly, I can say, that when I was pregnant, I thought only about myself and what would happen to me if I let people know I was pregnant, if I had a child with a man I didn’t love.
After my abortion, I expended a lot of energy denying I’d done anything wrong. Any time anyone brought up the subject of abortion, especially if they wanted to suggest that my choice wasn’t a good choice, I would shut down and get extremely angry. I was unable to discuss the subject. How could I? I felt the need to defend the indefensible and the only way I could do that was by refusing to talk about the subject honestly.
And so, I never told anyone about my secret, not even my husband, until I inadvertently blurted it out to him after our daughter was born.
After that, it was years before I finally shared this secret with a woman friend whom I figured was pro-choice and whom I felt wouldn’t judge me for my decision. But I still mostly kept my silence. I didn’t recommend abortion as something I was proud of but I wanted it to be legal for others. Certain, I felt, that to want anything else would be hypocritical (or I’d have to admit I’d done something wrong, and I wasn’t ready for that admission.)
In the end, it took me 30 years to work through the hidden pain, to begin to acknowledge that I’d made a bad choice, that I’d selected the worst of the options available to me.
For me, that important step towards healing was only possible after I had returned to my faith and established an adult’s love for Jesus Christ. I knew that the Church firmly teaches against abortion and I’d come to terms with the fact that Christ established authority on earth so that we might know His Truth clearly. I know many who can determine the truth of abortion without understanding the truth of Christ, but for me, the two are inextricably intertwined. I refused to let go of my sin until I knew the love and forgiveness of Christ.
As Fr. Groechel said recently, “It’s not a matter of whether or not God is on our side, it’s are we on God’s side.” I finally humbled myself to consider that I might be wrong, that the Church might have the right position, and I allowed myself, for the first time in over 30 years, to consider the subject without my blinders of anger getting in the way. I allowed myself to be “on God’s side” of this argument, even before I fully understood why the Church teaches as she does. This simple surrender to a truth outside myself was a major step in my healing process.
I can now discuss the subject openly, honestly, and cordially with people who hold the full range of opinions on the matter. I am no longer angry with anyone simply for disagreeing with my position, as I was for so many years. It’s interesting that the anger I always thought surrounded the subject was actually coming from within, and I am now happy to have tossed aside those shackles.
But what no amount of healing can ever restore is my lost motherhood. I had always wanted a large family, and Planned Parenthood assured me that I could have my children on my terms, when I was ready, when “the time was right." But when it was offered to me, I turned my back on God’s gift, and I now have only one wonderful child, whom I love very much. But she hasn’t had the pleasure of siblings with whom to fight and laugh, to play and compete with, to teach things good and bad. She hasn’t had the joys and sorrows of being part of the large family I expected to raise.
Planned Parenthood, in their mission to reduce the population, succeeded in reducing my fertility. They sold me the idea that I didn’t need to accept the child I was given, that I could have my family on my timeline, except, that’s not the way motherhood happens. Most of us, if truth be told, were surprises to our parent’s when they first learned of our arrival. And now, I’ve gone through an early loss of my fertility and I am forever locked into having only one living child and the memory of my dead end choices.
I don’t want another young woman to buy into the lies that Planned Parenthood is selling, the way I did.
Because of this, I am Silent No More.