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I was 19 years old when I found out I was pregnant. I was scared. I felt alone. My boyfriend and I were not ready to be parents. We could barely take care of ourselves.
“Not one picketer offered help, guidance, or understanding; only judgment and condemnation.”
An abortion felt like our only option. The morning we went to the clinic, people were picketing. Not one offered help, guidance, or understanding; only judgment and condemnation. This group was supposed to be Christians but nothing about their unkind words or lack of empathy felt very Christ-like to me.
I don’t remember much about the procedure but I did feel extreme relief when it was over; relief that it went OK, relief that I was no longer pregnant, relief that I wasn’t going to have to raise a baby when I was still a baby myself.
April 10, 1999. I’ll never forget that day but I’ll never regret it either. Here I am, 16 years later. I’m married to the same man who stood by my side while making that hard decision. We have three beautiful children I wouldn’t trade for the world. Our lives are good. We are happy.
