I’ve been avoiding this page for a while because my heart is broken and I am ridden with guilt. I felt like looking at the stories here would be a trigger for the depressive episodes I’ve been having for the past few years.
When I first saw the blurb for this project on Twitter, I told my psychiatrist who said: “Read the stories when you’re ready…maybe you’ll want to share…but at the very least maybe you’ll discover you’re not alone.”
I’m not brave enough to read the stories yet, but I want to share my story.
Before I get to the abortion, I need to tell you how much I loved the father of my child. When we met, he was going through a life change and things didn’t work out between us. We went on one date and never had sex.
After the incident that drove us apart, he sent me a long text message to apologise but he never came to me in person to express himself. That hurt me the most because he essentially ghosted me. Remember this, it’s important later.
Fast forward several years, and I started thinking about him. At first it was the occasional “I wonder how he’s doing?”, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I decided to email him and he replied.
I waited for him to come to me and apologise for his past mistake and discuss what really happened that night. This went on for months, but he never showed up once. He asked me to accompany him to an event, and I bought a beautiful dress that’s still in the back of my closet gathering dust.
I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t asking me out. Why he wasn’t coming to visit me. So I gave up on him. Maybe that spark wasn’t there anymore and he’d moved on.
I left for a while and when I returned, I saw a message from him that was sent while I was boarding my flight. Somehow that turned into him coming to my house. I had not seen this man in years, and suddenly he was before me. I was nervous. And as I stood trying to gather my thoughts and think of what to say, he walked straight up to me and kissed me. He kissed me like I have never been kissed and my knees went weak. My mind was blank. The spark was still there.
We ended up having sex for the first time, and it was…amazing. He knew exactly what to do, exactly what I wanted. After, I asked him how long he’s been in love with me, he froze then told me from when we originally met but he never believed he had a chance with me.
He confessed that during the time we were becoming reacquainted and talking on and off, not only had he started a new relationship out of loneliness but the woman had moved in with him because of her circumstances. He told me at first he didn’t love her, but he fell in love over time and they were comfortable.
It was happening again…something stopping us from being together. There is such a thing as the right person, wrong time, and I feel that way about him. We had sex one more time, and this is when I got pregnant. I know for sure, because shortly after conception, I had to be blood tested for a chronic illness I have, and a pregnancy test was one of the things they ran.
I’ll never forget when I went to the doctor’s office thinking I’d be updated on my treatment plan and heard “congratulations”. My doctor started to discuss treatment methods to accommodate my pregnancy. The risks of various medicines. How it would be a difficult pregnancy.
You know those scene in the movies where voices become an echo and the persona zones out till someone says their name to snap them back to reality? It was exactly like that. How could I be pregnant? I thought I couldn’t have kids.
And this is why I referred to my baby as a miracle.
He wanted no part of my pregnancy. He wanted me to have an abortion. He offered all sorts of reasons: he wasn’t financially capable of taking care of a baby, he could barely take care of his son, he couldn’t leave his girlfriend as he thought she’d kill herself, etc. She’d found out about us, and he’d decided he was going to stay with her because she was going through a hard time when they met and he’d fallen in love with her.
I explained to him that I have enough money for us both, and he offered the best excuse I have ever heard from any man: his father left his mother for a woman with money for a better life abroad. He couldn’t do the same. How do you even reply to that?
He ghosted me again but I decided to carry on with the pregnancy because this was my miracle baby. I could love this baby enough for us both, and while I was delaying telling my parents until I sorted myself out mentally, I knew they’d be happy for a grandchild.
After months, he called me out of the blue. By then I’d bonded with the baby and heard the heartbeat. I’d quietly been preparing things by myself, and he called me the same week I’d planned to tell my parents after family dinner. I can’t remember everything, but two things I do remember: first, he told me he was happy with his current relationship and wasn’t going to tell her I was pregnant, secondly, we had a fight on the phone that day because, after months of ghosting me, he behaved like nothing had happened.
I fainted because of the stress of that call. I remember waking up in the hospital and them explaining what had happened.
I lay there thinking about my life, and wondering how I got into this situation. I looked at it objectively: the father of my child has a habit of disappearing when things were hard, he never truly seemed serious about me, we had never been in a serious relationship or dated for any length of time and I was lying in the hospital alone. If a friend had come to me with this scenario I’d have told her to drop the guy because it was obvious he didn’t love, care for or respect her.
I started to think objectively. How could I raise a child alone, knowing that I have this chronic illness and my doctor explained it was going to be a difficult pregnancy? What if I die? Death was a risk. My doctor made this clear. I can leave my money to my child but who will take care of my child when my parents are elderly and may die in a few years? Could I trust this man who didn’t want to ruin his happy home, to acknowledge this child much less raise it?
I used to talk to my baby every day. I thought it was a girl, and I called her Jesse (“blessing” or “gift” in Hebrew) because that’s what she was. I’d tell her I loved her and I couldn’t wait to meet her. I’d tell her about all the places we’d go, things we’d do and experiences we’d have together. I’d tell her funny stories from my past. I’d tell her daddy was going through some things and would come around eventually.
He continued to ghost me, and I started to get sicker and eventually had to go on bed rest after collapsing several times. I couldn’t deal with the stress and had the abortion. I was alone. I was scared. And now I live each day heart broken and guilt-ridden.
It cost about $120,000 in total for the initial consultation, procedure, medication and the follow-up visit. The procedure itself didn’t take long and the doctor was recommended by a friend who had a high-risk pregnancy and also had an abortion. The doctor was compassionate, the nurse was pleasant but the room was sterile and cold. I’ll never forget that feeling. Cold permeating through my body as I lay on that table with my legs spread. I had to be hospitalised after, but in the end, everything worked out.
I may not ever get pregnant again and I believe I deserve this fate for killing my child. I believe I am a coward and I had the abortion without thinking it through. And I carry this pain alone because other than my personal doctor, therapist and the doctor and nurse that performed it, only two other people in my life know. I never told my family because I am too ashamed.
My therapist says I need to forgive myself and I don’t tell her how much I still cry about it. I don’t tell her that I don’t date anymore because I think I don’t deserve to be happy because of what I’ve done.
There are cliches about time healing but it’s a lie. Time and distance from the event doesn’t lessen the guilt of killing a baby you wanted. I’m ashamed of myself because I could have raised that child. My health is improving. I’ve experienced some amazing things and had even more financial prosperity since this event. But in my quiet moments, I cry because of the guilt, the shame…the regret.
I’ve spoken to him a few times since, so maybe ghosting isn’t the right word? Submarining? Just when I’m trying to forget him, he appears and stirs up all the negative emotions, then disappears when he sees I’m still angry. He’s never felt the need to deal with my anger for his actions. It should have been a red flag the first time we stopped communicating, and I do regret ever sending that email years later.
I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist to heal, but sometimes I worry it’ll never be enough. Sometimes I worry that therapy or working on myself will never mend this hole in my heart.