Testimonies

Jane’s Story

“The decision to have an abortion does not end the crisis; the truth is, it lingers in our hearts and minds for years.”

At age 13, I became pregnant by my own father. Abortion seemed to be our only option in covering up the shameful secret that threatened to destroy our family’s facade.I remember the car ride there, as I wondered how my dad could even consider terminating an innocent life. After all, he was a well-respected Deacon at the Baptist church. My mother dropped my dad and I off, a block away from the clinic, and proceeded to take my 2 sisters to the local mall. The Doctor and my dad spoke in hushed tones, but I still noticed the Doctor’s condemning stares as he glanced back-and-forth in my direction. I knew exactly what conversation transpired between them: “My daughter is a slut, and now she’s made a mess of things.”It seemed like an eternity before the nurse called my “name”. The shame was only compounded, because I had to use a fake name. I had to go along with his plot, even though I knew it was wrong to kill a baby. The guilt cut me like a knife. I don’t remember much about the procedure, but I recall feeling empty, and void of emotion when I finally left the clinic. The ordeal was over! I could continue on with my life, and never look back.

The second abortion occurred when I was 21. I had just moved 1,100 miles away from my present residency to make a fresh start. Within a year, I had been raped 3 times. The last rape resulted in me becoming pregnant. I was devastated! How could God expect me to live with the constant reminder that this baby was conceived under violent circumstances? Rage engulfed me as I felt the betrayal of not being protected, again. I was supposed to be His daughter, but I didn’t feel His love. So, without hesitancy, I contacted the local clinic and scheduled an appointment. Before walking into the clinic, I looked up to the Heavens and shook my fist my fist angrily at God and said, “I hope You hate me as much as I hate You!” Once again, I walked out of the clinic, numb, broken, and alone.

Both times, a baby was left behind, and the guilt and shame buried deep in my mind….or so I thought. After the miscarriage of my first pregnancy, feelings of loss rose to the surface. No matter how hard I worked to re-bury the pain, one major detail was forever etched in my mind: they were a part of me! No one ever told me that I would still feel connected to the babies after I left the clinic. The reality of leaving a part of me behind, was worse than the guilt and shame I experienced for killing a baby. I used every imaginable coping mechanism to numb the pain: alcohol, self-harm, and denial were my favorites. Unfortunately, they only covered the cut.

My wounds needed a deep cleansing; which meant pulling off the band-aid. By this time, Daddy (God) had already brought me through a lot of healing regarding the incest. I knew that the abuse was not my fault. I allowed myself to experience the emotions, because I knew that Daddy was there to comfort me, when needed. It was now time to look at the “abortion wounds.” With the second abortion, I only needed to forgive myself AND believe that God had already forgiven me. I worked through the lie: “God truly hated me because I chose to end an innocent baby’s life.” While in that session, God told me that “there’s nothing you could do that would make Me love you any less.” At that instant, I saw Daddy cradling my precious baby in His arms. I knew without a doubt, that my baby was protected.

However, the feelings of loss continued to plague me. I was confused. I had walked through the “abortion wound”, so why did I still feel so empty and broken? In October 2010, the answers became very clear. God and I had the following dialogue:

Me: Why do I still feel pain in this area?
God: You never gave Me ALL your shattered pieces. You gave Me your wounds, but you
didn’t give Me your deep hurts and pain.
Me (patronizing tone): So, what’s left? What deep hurts do I have left?
God: The baby. The one your dad made you abort.
Me: I dealt with that.
God: No, you pushed it down.
Me: Why does that matter? –it happened a long time ago.
God: You remember when the abortion took place; you were 8 weeks along. Do the math.

That night, I did the math as Daddy instructed me to do. Grief and sorrow overtook me as I realized the baby would have been born in the same month as me….October. Daddy then spoke to me again saying, “You never grieved that loss. That’s a deep wound– one of your shattered pieces.” Then He stood there holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. I didn’t think she was beautiful, because she looked like me. Daddy; however, said, “she’s beautiful, because she looks like you!” He then said that this precious little girl needs a name. I named her Natasha Elise. Natasha means: innocent; Elise means: Oath of God, dedicated.

During my time of grief, I wrote the following poem. I didn’t just grieve the loss of an innocent baby, but the loss of innocence I experienced myself that Spring day in March.

Innocence Restored

It wasn’t just her life you destroyed so long ago.
Now I’m grieving for a baby I never had the chance to know.
Only caring, that your reputation was at stake,
A precious little girl had to pay for your mistake.

I laid on the table taking all the shame-
While you walked around carrying our “good” name.
You told the doctor that I was “easy” and defiled.
What would people think if they knew if was your child.

I’ve carried this pain for nearly thirty years.
But Daddy held me as I cried every tear.
I know she’s with Daddy; I can see her tiny face.
But most importantly, the shame and guilt has been erased.