So here we are. Exactly where we didn’t want to be. And while it is true that no one can say for sure what the ultimate fallout will be from Brett Kavanaugh taking his place on the Supreme Court, almost everyone can agree that things are not looking so good for the landmark Roe v. Wade ruling. And so, as we inevitably draw closer to the day when we see American women lose the right to choose, I think that now would be the perfect time for me to tell you all about my own abortion.
I was twenty-one, in my last semester of college, and was not in a relationship. In other words, I was not financially or emotionally ready to have a child. More importantly, however, was the fact that I didn’t want to have a child—not then, and, as far as I was concerned at the time, not ever. So I didn’t. I went to my local Planned Parenthood, was walked through the protesters by a volunteer escort (who just happened to be a fellow student from one of my classes—there are no secrets in Flagstaff) and had a safe, affordable abortion. Like a lot of medical procedures, it wasn’t particularly awful, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. I got a ride home, made friends with my heating pad, and moved on.
Eight years later I was in a different place both financially and emotionally, and so my daughter, Clementine, was born. In the weeks that followed her birth I thought a lot about the abortion I had had when I was younger, and every time I thought about it I was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude: gratitude that I had been able to make that choice eight years earlier. This was because it was only after Clementine was born that I realized two things: one, that having a child was much more rewarding than I could have ever imagined; and two, that it was also much, much harder. Hard enough that I soon realized how terrible I would have been at it when I was alone and twenty-one. So terrible, in fact, that I highly doubt I would have ever gone on to have another child—would have ever had Clementine. Which would be tragic, because she is a badass who is going to change the world.
I’m telling my story not because I think it is particularly unique, or interesting, but rather because I think that it is not: in fact, I think it is incredibly common. (Although, actually, it’s a bit of both: the need to make the decision is common, while the decision itself is unique.) Look: every day, all over the world, people are making decisions about their future—some decisions are difficult, some are laughably easy, but they all sharing certain common threads: they are based on all of the information that particular individual has available to them at the time, and they are all private. Or at least, they should be.
For over half the population of this world, the ability to make our own decisions has been historically at risk. And, before I go any further, I just want to get one thing straight: this conversation is not about “saving babies.” It is about power. It is about control. It is about women wanting to have autonomy over their own bodies, and men (and some complicit women) not letting them.
You disagree? Tell me, then, if conservatives are against abortion because they are trying to protect the “unborn (or the even more Newspeak-y pre-born), then why did they celebrate when the courts affirmed the right of Hobby Lobby to withhold birth control coverage from their female employees? Wouldn’t someone who was solely concerned with the rights of the fetus want to prevent a situation arising where a fetus was in danger of abortion?
No, just as rape is never about sex, but rather power, outlawing safe abortions was never about saving babies, but rather retaining control.
Knowing that, I find it incredibly ironic that our best chance at preventing an anti-choice activist from sitting on the Supreme Court came down to a woman telling her story about being held down and silenced as a young girl—I guess sometimes literature just has to step back and let real life steal the show. But what I find even more ironic is that just as that young girl grew up to be a powerful woman who found her voice, so too did those of us who were watching her. And, just like her, we will not be silenced again.
I was never ashamed of the abortion I had when I was twenty-one, but I also never really spoke about it either. No more. In the weeks and months ahead, every woman needs to find her voice, and be silent no more. If not for ourselves, then for our daughters. Because I think that they are probably all badasses who will change the world—but only if we all start using our voices to let them.