This diary is second in a three part series on the journey from saying my abortion is private and I should not talk about it with anyone, to being an advocate for women to share their abortion stories. The first part was the personal story of my abortion, and how I came to the decision, and the final diary will be more action oriented, detailing the reasons to come out of the abortion closet, how it helps women and men when you share your story and tips on how to open the door of the abortion closet.
Coming Out of the Abortion Closet
Part 2
Because on one hand this is a personal journey story, this diary will again be about my decision, and my experience. I am not speaking for every woman, as each one of us who has experienced an unplanned pregnancy or maybe even a planned pregnancy where the decision to terminate was indeed difficult, but still the right decision, as our own personal stories and experiences will vary. What follows is my experience on opening the door to the closet, each of us will have our own story, which is how it should be.
Opening the Abortion Closet Door from the Inside-
After my abortion, my life resumed normalcy relatively quickly. There was some sick to my stomach the night of my procedure, but nothing as bad as my hyperemeis garvidum while I was pregnant. The next day, I went back to the fire academy and resumed work. The teachers knew that I had some kind of "woman surgery", I was vague about it, and they didn't pry, although as most of them were medics, I felt the sense that they wanted too, there is something about gore and guts detailed stories that people in the field love, but for the most part I had a doctor's note signed.
In my life, no one asked me how I "felt" about my abortion. The two people who knew, my husband and my medic partner would ask me how I was physically feeling, and only once did my medic partner ask me if I was okay emotionally. Luckily for me both my partners were of the feminist type, and I don't think they expected me to be anything but fine.
A few years later, after suffering stress and a back injury, I left the EMS field to enter into my career as a doula/midwife. Here, my status as childbirther/mother were directly challenged. I got into the field of midwifery/doula because I wanted women to experience the best possible births, and while I felt the child deserved attention too, I felt that women in birth had become nothing more than baby pushing machines. I wanted the women and the families I worked with to feel that their births not only were the birth of their child, but also this incredible rite of passage for the mother and father/partner. In the doula world though, I was judged, because most women knew that I didn't want children, or the role of motherhood, and that I had never personally experienced childbirth. That is when my abortion narrative changed, or rather I changed the narrative to be selfish. When asked about my childbirth experience, I said I had a miscarriage, and quite the little actress, I would cast my eyes downward. The subject was quickly dropped, as no one wanted to make me feel uncomfortable, or bring up sad memories for me. I knew that if I had said to these women, I was pregnant, I could have carried to term, but I chose to abort, the judgment would have been swift and I would never have any clients, or I should say hardly any clients. Most of my clients were of the squishy pro-choice-"abortion is terrible, and its a difficult decision, and I would never have one, but women who do make that decision should have access to safe, legal and early ones." I am pretty sure coupled with my motherhood is not for me and my abortion, I would have had far fewer clients than I already did. What is interesting to me is the lie I told about my abortion, because the fear of judgment and being marginalized was greater than the fear of the truth.
As I started to realize that unless I wanted to go become an OB Nurse and work in a hospital, where no one would question my childbirth experiences I left the doula world. I also have to say that on one hand I am an incredibly nurturing , compassionate woman but I also tell the hard things to people. I call it my cut the bullshit speeches. One time, a client who was delivering twins vaginally and had to move to the OR just in case said "I want my doula and my husband present" When told she couldn't have that, her voice ratcheted up and she started arguing with the doctor. Finally I broke in and said, "hey, Joan, the doctor here is not saying you can't have both your doula and your husband present, you can, but what you will have to do to get that is to sign out of the hospital AMA(against medical advice), and we will have to leave the hospital and go find another one for you that is more open to your ideas of having both of us here, there is ahospital about 50 minutes away that will allow this. I want to tell you something, I will support you 150% if that is what you decide, I will gather up your stuff, and I will go with you, but I want you to know this, if you decide to do this, we will be delivering your children in this hospital's elevator probably between floor 10 and 2. Let's all leave and let you and Mark decide what you want to do." The doctor told me she can't believed that I offered her that option, but I said she won't chose that, you know she won't.* But it's amazing that I can cut the bullshit speech with others, but I let myself tell the morally acceptable bullshit that I named my abortion "miscarriage" to gain social advantages. Not so much out of guilt, but out of a sense that I needed to fit into a world where for the most part, with the majority of doulas being very baby-focused and christian,(at least in my part of the woods, not many granola type feminist doulas like this one here) I knew that I would be marginalized.
For a period of five years I lived with my little lie. It would get trotted out at baby showers for friends, or when someone asked me why I wasn't a mother because I was so good at it.
It helped when I could say I had an experience of pregnancy when trying to find clients, and it did help to shut down the "why aren't you a mother" discussions.
Then, a shift happened to me. I started reading feminist literature, and started to read blogs like I'm Not Sorry. I read stories at Salon about women who were not fitting into the construct that abortion is a terrible horrible decision no one wants to make, but feel compelled to do so. I became a little angry that I had to hide this from family and friends. I didn't hide other major life decisions from my friends, like college choice, marriage, divorce, career transitions, why would I hide this part of me. I started to change a little bit, my abortion narrative became, I had an abortion, but I had a good abortion, i.e. my life was in danger. Again, the reaction from people was the typical tongue clicking and the "oh, I'm sorries". Having a good abortion still does not marginalize you, and garners all kinds of sympathy.
About two years ago, I finally decided that I needed to break free of the "good abortion myth". I don't know when it happened. Maybe it was when my friend said she had an abortion, and that she wasn't traumatized, and she felt racked with guilt because of her lack of trauma, not at her abortion. I remember saying to her what crap is this, you think you should run out and get an addiction because you don't fit the idea that all women who have abortions should feel like it was a terrible yet compelling decision to make? That may be the defining moment, because that is the first time I ever said to anyone I had an abortion and it was the best decision of my life. Maybe it was when a young single woman asked me what I thought of abortions, and if they caused emotional trauma, and I shared my abortion story with her. Maybe it was sitting in the Borders cafe, and saying to my friend, you know what, I had an abortion, and I am not scarred, traumatized, addicted, weepy, or any of the other bullshit things I am supposed to feel,, and a woman coming up to shake my hand and say thank you, my daughter had an abortion and she is feeling guilty about that she doesn't feel bad, and I couldn't tell her that was okay to feel relief. Each time I embraced my truth, and shared my true story, each time I could see my story changing women's lives, and even though I despise the word, empowering them to let go of the anti-choicers' myth that any abortion must involve great guilty and agony and penance. There is a peace in embracing who we are and what we have done in our lives, even if it means flying in the face of social conventions and norms.
Now, with the exception of my I Had An Abortion T-shirt, and me pushing the boundaries by wearing it to the mall one day on the local pro-life rally there, (don't attempt that home kids, its really only for us professional agitators !) I am not in your face about my abortion. I talk about it when the context is right, and there are not many times the context is right,contrary to what The View would like us to believe. More times than not, I am thanked by women, women who have had their own abortions and can finally tell their stories in safety. Women who felt confused about feeling relief, instead of guilt. Women who when making the abortion choice realize there is another option besides being weepy remorseful poster children for the anti-choicers. When I share my abortion story, I do say in my experience it was no more painful than my root canal, in fact less painful, and I do my best to demystify the fear of the unknown.
To be honest, I have never felt stronger and more at peace than when I started to share my story with other women, and yes sometimes even men. The truth did indeed set me free, and even better, in the sharing of my story, I can actually see how I am also helping women by sharing my truth.
*Joan delivered two babies that day, a boy and a girl, both beautiful. Her husband was at her side. The reason for her doula not being in the OR was that it would be too crowded, but somehow, they managed to fit the entire intern staff into that OR to witness an exceedingly rare occurrence, vaginal delivery of twins with a preeclampic mother. I spent my time in the recovery room, scrubbing the blood and shit of cabinets, counters and the floor