Good morning, It's been a heavy few days full of disappointment. Not even sure where to start on how these potential changes make me feel. The divide between friends and family, and the disbelief in others' views, is truly disheartening. Where to start-

I always expected everything about motherhood to come naturally, as if it was this innate capability both mentally and physically. Through instincts alone my mind and body would create and care for this beautiful little being. That story most certainly changed with the arrival of my first child. A premature birth has a way of making you feel like you and your body failed your child from the start.

After allowing my mind and body to heal from that experience, I was excited and anxious to continue to grow our family. However, after a year of negative tests and disappointment we looked for help, which came in the form of a fertility medication. After just one month we finally received our positive result, I shook with excitement as at last my body “did what it was meant to do.” That excitement soon turned to dread as I found out early on that we would be expecting triplets. Not only was the financial and practical idea of raising three babies at once not feasible for our family, I was terrified that my body would not be able to sustain a pregnancy with three babies when I couldn’t even carry one full term.

All of my fertility decisions up until this point were not decisions. Or at least they weren't intentional decisions.

I grew up in the 90s on a steady diet of pop culture. As far as I knew, life was going to be easy. I would go to college, get a great job, bump into a doctor who was the son of an iconic talk show host while working one of my many temp jobs and get married at one of his mom’s houses, and then have adorable kids. Is that the plot to Monster in Law? Yes. Is that how I thought my life would work? Also, yes. What can I say, there’s a part of me that is deeply delusional and thinks my life is a rom-com. It’s a com for sure.

This [Roe v. Wade] news line hit differently for me. I’m 25 weeks pregnant and spent most of last night teary eyed – and this time it isn’t attributed to hormones.

I don’t understand how our system has allowed for this blatant disrespect of human rights to happen. I can’t wrap my head around how the right to choose what’s best for oneself is so politicized. As someone currently going through this season of my life, I can’t imagine going through all of this without a supportive partner or in a state of mind where I didn’t feel like I was best fit to care for a child.

The only thing that feels motivating is knowing that they want us to feel apathetic and indifferent – to turn a blind eye. It’s impossible to go out, feel empowered and change the world when you aren’t afforded the chance to make safe decisions on your body, your home.

Being pregnant with our first child, a son, I’m feeling even more determined to raise a good human, a good man. It’s time we stop deferring responsibility or assuming others will make the right choices – it’s time to take it into our own hands.

I was a labor and delivery nurse for eight years and profess to be a follower of Jesus Christ (the brown political dissident one, not the politicized Nazi captain one). I am thus often asked whether I “believe” in abortion, as though it is an ideal that is in any way dependent on whether I believe it exits, like God or Santa Claus or the lost city of Atlantis. I assume the real question anti-abortion zealots are asking is, “Do you believe women should be allowed to seek a medical procedure that terminates a pregnancy?” I use the term “allow” quite purposefully, because in fact the procedure does exist, is vastly safer from a medical perspective than childbirth itself (especially in the United States where our maternal mortality rate is the highest of any “developed” country), and it is sought and provided by medical professionals for 13.5 of every 1,000 women of childbearing age.

In the wake of the Roe “leak,” my friends and colleagues are all telling their stories. I am compelled to tell my own. But it would miss the point.

I’ve read accounts of eleven year olds delivering and holding their stuffed animals, crying for their mothers. I’ve gone back in my own memory to delivering women so high on various drugs they had to be put in restraints so they wouldn’t hit us or bite us. I’ve conducted purely elective terminations and have nursed women through the loss of deeply desired infants, whether due to inexplicable intrauterine demise or a diagnosis incompatible with life.

We are missing the point.

Please enjoy watching me reflect, really remember, and totally fall apart in the best way while feeling into the magic of my own story.

My hands are shaking. Not sure if it’s from the content itself, or the amount of coffee I’ve had in order to channel the courage to write it.

My journey with motherhood started long before the version of motherhood you see me living today. It started 9 years ago, when I had an abortion at 23 years old. Over the past year and a half of telling new stories and having bold conversations, I’ve thought a lot about my 23 year old self, and the choice I made then; and when - or if - I would ever share it here.

The Decision

I was 11 days late, and took a test. For any sexually active woman, you’ve likely had this exact experience - a scare, “Shit, let me take a test just to give peace of mind.” And then, in an instant, two pink lines showed up. My eyes stung with tears, and looking up at my then boyfriend, his eyes were fear-filled.

We stared at each other, and I remember collapsing into bed thinking my life was over. The next day I had to return to a high-pressure job, and continue living my ‘big life’ with a big secret inside. I said to him, and he mirrored back, “We can’t do this right now.” That decision has continued to be an unspoken part of our relationship in the decade that followed. Especially in parallel with friends who welcomed a child at the same time ours would have born.

Finding Care

I called my doctor. I explained to them that I was pregnant, and did not want to continue the pregnancy. Their tone turned very cold, explaining to me they didn’t do that kind of procedure, and I would need to find somewhere else. I was taken aback, I didn’t realize this wasn’t something OBGYNs didn’t cover; that this was care deemed untouchable.

I called around and found a clinic in my area. I went for an initial visit. They require a mental health check, an exam, and for you to live with the decision for a few days to make sure you’re “sure.” That week was hell; filled with shame, uncertainty and grief. I turned to my mom, my sister, and a close friend. Together, this small army of women held me upright, and for that I’ll always be grateful for the power of womanhood.

Terrified to tell my mom, when I finally did, she said, “This is your choice. But when you make it, you have to accept it. Forgive yourself and do not question it. It’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.” In the years that follow, I’m so grateful that we have a shared knowledge of what happened; that I can speak to the one person in the world who understands me and also the gravity of that choice. And, even though her decision would have likely been different, she supported me in my right to choose mine.

That’s the power of a mother.