When I read the recent statement by Pope Francis about allowing parish priests to give absolution to women who had procured abortions who were "contrite" for a brief moment the Catholic girl that I was raised to be felt a surge of hope. Was it true - could I possibly be forgiven after all these years of self-torment? That brief surge was followed by a rush of rage. How dare this man condescend to allow me to be forgiven if I am properly agonized and sorrowful. Why would his so-called "absolution" mean anything ? What does the Church's forgiveness matter to me? I abandoned the Church and all religious ideology decades ago, without a backwards glance. I was furious - at the Pope, at the Church, and at myself for even momentarily entertaining the idea of a priestly absolution. The feeling of anger was followed by a remarkable feeling of freedom. Freedom from the guilt I have held on to and tortured myself with for many years. What had just happened?
When I was seventeen I went out of state for my freshman year of college. For reasons I have been examining in therapy for many years I allowed myself to get into a relationship with an older man. He was an alcoholic drug abuser who was unable to hold a job. That didn't stop him from holding on to me and utterly controlling me. He abused my physically and mentally. I was supporting him on the allowance my father gave me (unbeknownst to him,natch). This arrangement literally went up in flames when he set fire to the trailer we were living in and it was destroyed, along with all our belongings. The trailer park owner called my father and clued him in to our living arrangement. Needless to say, he was furious. I was told to come home at once. I had to drop out of college and moved back in with my parents. My boyfriend found some friends to stay with.
My parents gave me two weeks to find a job. I got one at K-Mart and went to work. Not long afterwards I realized that I was pregnant. I was terrified. What would my parents say? What was I going to do? I was 18, a college dropout and pregnant by an abusive unemployed alcoholic. My sharp-eyed mother noticed the weight gain on my 100 pound frame and confronted me. I was told in no uncertain terms that I was not staying with them in that condition. I had two choices - go to a home for unwed mothers until I gave birth and give the baby up for adoption, or have an abortion. I made my own choice - a bad one - I moved out, rented a tiny furnished apartment and moved my boyfriend in with me.
Needless to say, this was a disaster. He continued to abuse me, and I didn't tell my parents (I was afraid and ashamed, as many abused women are). I had made some good friends at my job, and they were afraid for me. One day I got a call at work that my boyfriend was in the hospital after a suicide attempt. I asked him why. He said "There wasn't anything good on television ". It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on me. I had convinced myself in my despair that he loved me and would love our child. I had been sadly mistaken.
I still hadn't made the decision to leave. While he was in the hospital my good friend came to my house, packed up my things and deposited me at my parent's house. Their attitude hadn't changed, and I was taken to the Catholic home for disgraced young women, as I thought of it, and signed all the paperwork giving up my baby. I went home and cried for days. Finally I realized I couldn't go through with it and I agreed to the abortion.
This decision has haunted me for years. Even though I no longer believed in Hell I managed to create my own version in my head. My therapist has been trying to work with me to get to the point where I could forgive myself, because that has to happen before the healing can take place. I read the statistics that 99% of women who have abortions don't regret the decision and would do the same again. I've wished to be one of the lucky majority. But something changed when I read about the Pope declaring that during the Jubilee Year women who were contrite could be absolved. As I said above, my first instinct was relief - I can be forgiven ! But that quickly changed to anger. I don't need the Pope, the Church or any one else to earn forgiveness. How dare he sit in judgement of me when I made the hardest decision of my life? He wasn't walking in my shoes - it wasn't his life.
And just like that, after all these years, I have started to forgive myself - the only,person whose forgiveness really matters. So I guess I owe the Pope my thanks - for NOT absolving me. I can do it myself, thank you!
This is my first diary guys, so please be kind !