It’s true what they say about abuse, it begins slowly.
Like raindrops from an unseen cloud, drip by seemingly random drip, almost imperceptible. Is it raining? Or am I imagining it? Each day brings the tiniest new shower, irritating but not unmanageable. Soon, I’d forgotten what a day without rain was like and began preparing for thunderstorms. On the increasingly rare days there was no rain, a discontent crept in. Something big must be brewing. I became accustomed to feeling heavy and cold with sun being a vague memory of a different life. Questions swirl as growing turbulent waters accumulated and pulled me farther and farther from any familiar shore, no lighthouse in sight, drowning in a sea of violent disfunction. Choking on what once gave life, begging for solid ground.
Untethered and listless I lay in what felt like a watery grave. I push one of my bruises, hoping sensation might steady me. Eyes blurry with warm tears, I stare in disbelief at the urine soaked nightmare resting on my bathroom counter. I wonder how he’ll react. Will this tiny blue “+” trapped in a cheap plastic housing protect me from his “love” notes written upon my body in bruises and blood?
Full of self loathing, I ask my best friend for a ride to the clinic. She never approved of him. As we ride in silence I wonder if she’s thinking about how right she is and how stupid I am. I refuse her offer to walk me inside. Stupid AND stubborn.
I chose to end my pregnancy, a product of abuse and pain. This was the first decision of many that allowed me to rebuild my life.
The grief I carry is complicated and I suspect always will be. I now have compassion for myself around this relationship and its impacts. The shame and self-loathing have softened with therapy, loving support and committed self-help. I’m working through regret around hiding my abortion from everyone in my life and suppressing pain for so long.
I still wonder about the young woman sitting across from me, surrounded by friends, and if that support saved her from the alcoholism that was my refuge in the following months. I wonder about the protestors, their lives and how they rationalize screaming God and “whore” in the same sentence… but I have NEVER ONCE seriously questioned my decision to terminate my pregnancy.
That tiny blue “+” trapped in its cheap plastic housing was the key that unlocked the prison of my abusive relationship. My abortion saved my life. It helped me continue to make difficult decisions in the best interest of physical safety and emotional well-being. It’s been a long road and one that I’m still navigating but I’m finding more healing in moving my story from shameful, secretive, shadows into the sun of vulnerable truth-telling to trusted support people. I’m absolutely certain I did the right thing and grateful to have had the choice.
-K. Howard