Write Women's Health

• 

My twenties were a time of discovery. Admittedly, I was reckless in my actions. I was dealing with unresolved grief, sexual abuse, and abandonment, all while being a mother to a toddler. It was a time in which I wish I had a magic wand to fix and erase the mistakes I made.

I had such low self-esteem then that I lowered myself to accept attention from men that hardly deserved my even taking a second glance at them. That resulted in me having many sexual relations with multiple men.

One of those encounters was with a man that I had a regular sexual relationship with. He was someone that I thought I had a deep connection with. We would talk on the phone for hours about the many things we had in common.

He was a creative, like me. He had artist skills and was into music. He was someone I saw myself with, but he constantly stated he didn’t want a relationship.

He was one of those.

Once I found out I got pregnant, I called him. I remember that conversation so well. His words still ring in my head. After I told him I was pregnant, he said,

“See ya in nine months.”

And concluded with him hanging up the phone.

Later, I found out he was in a relationship and she was pregnant, too. I was the other women. I always seemed to be the other women back then.

When I Went To The Abortion Clinic

I went to an abortion clinic with every intention of having an abortion.

I didn’t want another baby. I was barely making it with one. I had a minimum wage job and had to move back home to ensure we had shelter. It was not an ideal situation to bring another child into the world.

Or at least that’s what I thought back then.

I never believed in abortion. I understood why women do it and don’t take anything from them for doing so. I always felt like it was murder. Yet, somehow, I let someone convince me that it was the right decision for me.

The other man whom I was sleeping with assumed the baby was his without me ever confirming the fact. I was just telling him I was pregnant. He offered to pay for an abortion and after hearing what the other man said, I thought it was the right thing to do.

So, we went to the clinic, where he paid for half of the abortion. I was supposed to come back the next week and have it done. He said he would take me and bring me home afterward.

It was all set.

A few days before the abortion was to take place, I had to go in and watch a video of what would happen. As I walked up to the clinic, there was a woman outside holding religious pamphlets. She begged me not to do this, that there were other ways.

I told her she doesn’t know me and what I am going through. After she saw she wasn’t getting through to me, she asked if she could pray for me, which I obliged.

I didn’t realize how much that prayer was needed.

I waited in the lobby to watch the video that was supposed to prepare me for the procedure. I saw the women exiting after having completed the abortion, looking as though their souls had been snatched out of them. Their faces were pale and their eyes held a blank stare, as if they were being controlled by some anonymous force.

At that moment, I knew if I went through with it, I would never be the same and maybe worse off than when I started. I would become one of those zombies staring into the nothingness of the world, eventually breaking off into a thousand pieces.

I went home and prayed feverishly to God, asking him to take the baby back because I didn’t want to have an abortion but I didn’t see any other way. I couldn’t care for another one at my current stage in life.

That was one of the rare times God answered my prayers directly.

There is always a part of me that feels sad about losing my baby. I never really grieved for her, I thought she was going to be a girl. I didn’t feel like I was allowed since I had asked God to take her back.

God knew I wasn’t ready then. He blessed me with a little girl later in life, even if she was a surprise. Through all of that, I learned the power of prayer, love, hope, and mercy.

Originally published on Medium.