I grew up in a very Catholic country, and studied nearly my entire academic life in Catholic schools and universities. "Abortion is a SIN " had been drilled into my head from the time my peers and I were considered old enough for The Talk. I always believed I'd never have reason to commit such a Sin, since I attended (unusually, for my home country) liberal Catholic schools where we were told that birth control methods exist, and we ought to be smart enough to choose the right ones for us.
Yet little more than two years ago, I had an abortion.
I am (usually) happily married. My husband does more than his share of the work of caring for our family, considering he has a full-time job and travels quite a bit for it. I love him and the two children we have. Staying at home caring for them is a bit of a drag--in that child-rearing, for me, is 95% mundane and 5% sorrow and rapture.
BUT, two years ago, I was just coming out of what to me was the worst time of my marriage so far. I had my second child via c-section scant weeks before a big move to our current city; I had to start over, in terms of making friends and making a home; my husband's travel schedule meant that he seemed to be gone on average five days every month--which doesn't sound bad UNLESS you have a young infant at home, and an older child with special needs.
Honestly, I was tired and depressed in a big way. Yet also conflicted about it--this was at the height of the recession. Pres. Obama had just taken office, and people were losing jobs left and right. I was grateful that my husband had a great job that paid nearly twice what his last job did. I tried not to be resentful about how often he was away, but I couldn't help it. There were many moments in that period that I visualized harming both myself and my children, and because I was stubborn about not seeking help for myself, can only credit God and my angels for nothing bad happening to any of us.
Flash forward one year. Things were vastly better, primarily because both children are older, slightly less dependent on me. Older child getting consistent, quality services; baby more independent. Husband still travels quite a bit, but it's not the strain on us as it was the year before. New city feels like home.
And then--in spite of doubled-up protection (having learned our lesson from two unplanned pregnancies!)--my period is late.
Unlike my previous two pregnancies--whose discoveries were accompanied by equal parts thrill and dread--only dread and despair accompanied this pregnancy. Even without all the transitions that accompanied my last pregnancy, I didn't think I could honestly be a competent mother of three.
After having our second child, I often joked about having a third, but always with the caveat that I'd also need to grow a second set of arms to do it. But even if I could've grown a second pair of arms (or even, more realistically and expensively) hired help--emotionally and psychologically, I couldn't raise another child without guaranteeing that I'd make it through that first killer year (when a baby needs its mother nearly round the clock, as both my breastfed babies did; when sleep is scant and shallow; when diapers and clothes need to be changed nearly every three hours; when babies are vulnerable to older siblings who are jealous and/or curious) with my sanity intact.
I tried to look at other reasons for having this third child. From a purely practical point of view, there was a chance that it could help its big sister care for their big brother when both my husband and I were dead. But that wasn't a big enough factor to convince me that the pain of that first year would be worth it, because there was a good chance the new baby would end up with developmental disabilities (like my first child), leaving the middle child carrying a double burden in her adulthood.
I thought about having the baby and giving it up for adoption.
I'm an adopted child myself, and unfortunately my own experience convinced me that I should adopt a child, if ever circumstances allowed, but if I could help it never put a child in that situation.
I was 'lucky' in that I suspected my pregnancy pretty early and made it to the doctor by my 8th week, so that I didn't have to have an invasive procedure and only had to take two medicines to complete my choice.
People will say that I don't have faith in God--otherwise, how could I have chosen as I did? And I acknowledge my sins completely--I did lack faith in Him. I had too much pride to ask for help (though from a practical perspective, there are not too many sources for us, as we live far from family and have only a moderately strong network of friends). I rejected His gift.
But I accept that I'll face God in judgment some day. I hope His infinite love will find forgiveness for me (as I've been taught). I pray He already knows that in my heart, I believe I was choosing life--my life, and the lives of the children already born to me. That this wasn't a choice that I made lightly, but something I thought about and prayed about right until the moment I went to see the doctor.
I still think about that third child once in a while--never with regret; sometimes with nostalgia. But always grateful that I had the option not to have it.
This is what I'd ask anyone else who wants to judge any other woman who decides to choose NOT to have a child. Leave it between that woman and her God, if she has one. Let God damn us for eternity, if He must. For myself, I am just doing the best that I can with what I have and what I know right now. If I am damned, I can accept that because I believe I did the best possible thing for all the members of my family for now. They are safe, for now.
Please vote tomorrow to preserve a woman's right to choose. Even if it means serious reckoning between her and God. (Because that is her reckoning to deal with, no one else's.) Please vote for a woman's right to choose--because she is very likely choosing life, just not the one that's only beginning in her uterus.