I had an abortion in the very early 1970s. I went to confession, spoke with the priest, was given penance, performed my penance and continued on with the business of living as best I could. I have no emotional connection to an embryo or a fetus. I have not suffered angst because of my choice. I am not delusional.
Not all women get that boomerang effect from abortion; many, perhaps most, do, but there are some who simply did not and do not grieve over a loss. It does not feel like a loss. I was not pressured to have an abortion; this was an act taken of my own free will. I do still have conversations with God about my actions. I never repeated my actions. I suffered a couple of spontaneous abortions thereafter, and neither of these was particularly grievous, either.
This is my life. It’s a picture of my life. I am grateful to God to be emotionally detached. Yes, I have been in and out of therapy for decades, for many issues, but not for the abortion. I was detached and aloof in my preteens and in my teens, long before the procedure took place. It feels rather like a manageable sociopathy, like living at a distance, around the edges of drama and calamity. I don’t mind living like this, and I respect and honor women who have had a range of feelings and thoughts about their abortions. I don’t diminish them in the least. But we are not all like that. Some of us jump in with both feet, some of us just get a toe wet and walk away.
Interesting, in an academic sort of way, like pinning a butterfly to a board for study and not finding the colors and patterns breathtaking.
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