When I was 17 I was told I couldn’t get pregnant, unless I wanted to put myself through a grueling process one day. On my 22nd birthday I found out I was pregnant with my on-and-off boyfriend of almost five years. I worked part-time at a coffee shop and could barely afford MAC lipstick let alone another human being.
“I look back at what I did with sadness but know now I made the right choice.”
I’m from a very Christian family. I couldn’t tell them or they would have disowned me. My boyfriend, who had claimed he loved me for years, suddenly stopped returning my calls and wouldn’t see or speak to me. In the course of one hour and a urine sample, my whole life was flipped upside down.
Even with all this I still wanted to go through with my pregnancy—to be the Juno or Lorelai Gilmore. I decided to seek help at Planned Parenthood, where they suggested abortion was the best option for me. My friends all said the same, and the father wanted nothing to do with it, so I made a choice. A choice I regretted immediately after and spent months grieving over.
I am now almost 25, with a man I’m going to marry and a good job. I’m even going back to school. I look back at what I did with sadness but know now I made the right choice. I would never wish this decision on anyone but I’ll be damned if, given the situation, they couldn’t choose.