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Still Weighs On Me
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Natalie
Arizona,
United States
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Toward the end of my first marriage I had an abortion. I made a series of very bad choices that resulted in this decision.
My first husband had severe mental health issues within days of getting married. Eventually he was diagnosed as having rapid-cycling bipolar disorder. He went from being a “wonderful Christian man” to being a suicidal, depressed, alcoholic, drug-addict within weeks. He also became very verbally cruel, violent, and occasionally physically violent. I quickly became the target of his hatred and anger. After moving to the United States to get him better help, he worsened. Throughout the six years of marriage, I stood by him and just tried to get him help. He eventually committed adultery. Feeling guilty, he attempted suicide. I forgave him. Within a year, he left me and moved away; he said he was afraid he would kill me, either intentionally or accidentally. He thought all the time about running his car into a wall at 80 mph, and he thought he might accidentally do it one day when I was in the car.
Just before Christmas, as I was getting ready to celebrate with his family, he asked to come home. He had been unfaithful again and was thinking about suicide. His family had had enough and refused to take him in, so I allowed him to move back with me. I believed I needed to forgive and forgive and forgive. Within weeks I got pregnant, not intentionally. It was not a move to try to get him to stay, although I have been accused of that. He was already getting ready to leave me again, and I really debated not telling him. Crazy as it sounds, he was my abuser; but I still saw him as my friend. I told him and assured him he didn’t need to stay. I said I would go back to the United Kingdom and my parents would help. Unfortunately, I didn’t tell anyone else. Throughout the marriage I had convinced myself that I should really try not to shame him, although a few close friends knew he was treating me badly. I really didn’t even tell them the whole truth. I kept quiet and thought that God would deliver me from this and that somehow there would be a way through this.
At first he said we would get everything figured out and we would make this work. We both were pro-lifers. However, very soon he started calling me at work every day, asking me to get an appointment at Planned Parenthood. He said he just thought this might finish him off. He said he was such a terrible person he could never be a father. He said he would ruin the child’s life just like he had ruined mine. He also threatened that he might kill himself or not be able to stop himself from killing me and the baby. I kept refusing. Every day I would get home from work and he would tell me I was really not “mother material.”
Eventually, I made an appointment to pacify him while I tried to figure out what to do next. So many times I almost told his mom. She had become one of my dearest friends. I just kept stalling. I convinced myself I needed to obey him as my husband and that God would make a way out for me. I just needed to have faith, even up until the last second.
The day of the appointment came. He was at work and called to check I was still going to go. I said I would not do it. He came home and told me I needed to stop being such a “good little Christian girl” and do what I knew I needed to do. Still under the belief God would deliver me, I went. Within a few minutes of being in the building, he said he couldn’t handle it, and he would wait for me in the car. The nurse said that if I waited one more day I would need a surgical procedure, but I could take a pill today and it would all be over. I still thought there would be a way out.
I was taken to a room for counseling before signing a consent form for the medication. The counselor was male, and I immediately felt uncomfortable. He asked me about why I had decided to do this, and I told him that it wasn’t my choice. I told him I had a bipolar husband and this is what he wanted. Although there were posters all over the room about providing help for women in abusive situations, he just said something like, “Well, sign here, take this now, and when you get home, take the other prescribed pill.” In that moment, I took the pill and swallowed it really just because I was embarrassed. I was too embarrassed to say “Sorry, I wasted everyone’s time, but this is not what I want.” Although I know I am forgiven, that still weighs on me. I took the life of my unborn child because I was too afraid of the opinion of a bunch of strangers that couldn’t care less about me.
My husband took me home, and I refused to take the second pill. I believe I deserved to die and thought I would probably turn septic and die. My husband told me I needed to take it. What would I do if my loving Christian parents found out I died killing their grandchild? So I took it.
I eventually told friends and family. Some were wonderful and supportive and some called me a selfish murderer. I know my baby is in heaven and has since been joined by a baby I lost to miscarriage. I now have a wonderful husband and two amazing boys, but I will never forget the baby I lost to abortion.
I never went for any official counseling. I just know that I am forgiven and that I have the strength to never put myself or stay in a situation like that again.
I am silent no more because it seems like now is the time to expose Planned Parenthood. I don't mean that in a vengeful way, but we can't keep letting them lie to themselves thinking they are helping women by providing this "service".
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