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Testimonies
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Two Different People
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Margaret
Georgia,
United States
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I got pregnant when I was twenty two years old. I had just graduated from college, was living with two roommates in an apartment, and working full time. I had a boyfriend whom I thought I loved. When I found out I was pregnant, I panicked and thought that having an abortion was the only possible solution. I had my selfish reasons for choosing an abortion, like the inconvenience of a baby for one. The main reason, though, was that I simply couldn't allow my parents to find out that I was pregnant. They had sacrificed so much to send me to college, not to mention they were devout Catholics. They raised my four older siblings and me in the faith and sent us all to Catholic elementary and high schools. Yes, I had all the makings of a good Catholic girl, but I was far from it, having fallen away from the faith as soon as I left for college. I thought that by having an abortion I would be sparing them the pain and humiliation of having to admit to their close-knit, Catholic friends the shame of their troubled daughter. So the only person I told was my roommate, who tried to be supportive. I knew she felt awkward about it all, and she was really not equipped to help in the way I needed it. My boyfriend knew, too, but he was all too agreeable with my decision. Looking back, I believe that keeping it a secret was one of the biggest mistakes I made, because it meant that no one was there to talk me out of it.
My boyfriend took me to the clinic to have the procedure done. I remember the waiting room was eerily quiet and heavy with our unease at being there. The nurse took me back to the exam room and asked me a few questions about my decision, how long I had had to think it over, was I sure this was what I wanted, etc. I realized that those questions were just part of the protocol, one more thing to be checked off the list. The delivery of her questions sounded scripted and her demeanor told me that she had heard it all and wanted to get on with things. I was fine with that. No one was going to change my mind anyway. The one-more-chance-to-bail-out questions had no effect on me whatsoever. I had a plan and was sticking to it. I just wanted this nightmare to be over so I could move on.
I felt numb after the procedure. I remember the drive home and getting into bed and feeling nothing, no sadness, no relief, just totally devoid of feeling. What strikes me, even today, was the fact that I didn't even cry afterward. Normally, I am a crier. I cry at sad movies, I cry when I'm happy, and I cry if I see someone else crying. Yet, I didn't have tears for myself or for the life I had just taken. The only way I can justify that is to say that I was that convinced that I had no other choice. It was the only option in my mind. I was ready to put it all behind me, brush it under the carpet, and forget it ever happened. That is just what I did. I did it well for a while, too, until some major life events took place in my early thirties.
As expected, the boyfriend and I didn't last. We did get engaged about a year after the abortion, but we both came to the realization that we felt more of an obligation to get married because of what happened, not because we loved each other. A few years later, I met the man I would marry. We got married in the church I grew up in and had a big, beautiful wedding. By the time I was 31, I was pregnant with our first child. At twelve weeks along, however, I had a miscarriage. I was upset, of course, but I took it in stride as I felt in my heart that it was punishment from God for having an abortion. As hard as it was to accept, I felt that I deserved to lose that baby because of what I had done. This was the first time that real feelings of guilt over my abortion had made a permanent home in my soul.
At the age of 33, after a fairly easy pregnancy, we welcomed our first son. This event would become a pivotal time in my life. I was so conflicted. Here I was, a new mother with a healthy son and a loving husband. How could it be that I deserved this kind of joy? Never before had I known a mother's love. Now that I had it, it was all consuming. As elated as I was over this new life and precious boy, the guilt of my past burned my insides. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I knew that this child, as well as my husband and the life I was living, was a blessing from God. Admitting that, however, meant that I had to acknowledge the depth of my sin. My heart started breaking for the life that I took, and the guilt was leading to feelings of self-disgust and self-loathing. I had an overwhelming sense of shame and disgrace, and I started suffering from low self-esteem. I also finally wanted to grieve for the child whose life I took, but I felt I was never allowed that emotion. I was afraid of these emotions and did everything I could to push them down into a deep chasm inside of me somewhere. It was the first time I saw myself as two different people, a broken, guilt-ridden, self-loathing woman on the inside, and a cheerful, friendly mom who seemed to have it all together on the outside. This would become my identity for many years to come.
A year after our first son was born, I had another miscarriage. I was twelve weeks along again, and spent some time in the hospital after having lost a lot of blood. I handled it much like the first miscarriage, accepting it as more punishment from God. I hate to admit this, but it almost felt good to experience this sadness again. I felt so deserving of it that I welcomed the pain. The last year had been such a happy one. I had been enjoying the life I had with my husband and son, but the guilt was always just below the surface. I never felt worthy of that happiness. I knew that our happiness was a blessing, but I couldn't figure out why I, of all people, was blessed. It just did not add up, and I didn't understand why God would waste his blessings on me.
As if a loving husband and healthy son weren't blessing enough, I became pregnant with our second child who was born after another easy pregnancy. I had another beautiful, healthy son. More than ever, my feelings of unworthiness consumed me. At the same time I was so overcome with love for this family we had made. I was almost afraid to enjoy my perfect little life for fear that another punishment was coming. To my surprise, none came.
My husband and I had gone to church sporadically when our boys were young, but church really made me uncomfortable. I made excuses all the time for why we should miss mass. I had received the sacraments of baptism, reconciliation, communion, confirmation, and marriage, so I was fully aware that I had broken, and was still breaking, most of God's commandments. In 2012, our boys were eight and eleven. We decided to start attending mass regularly then, since we felt we needed to start setting an example for them. I really wanted them to know God. While I was making an attempt to help them form their own faith, I had completely given up on my own. I had alienated myself from God, so going to church for me at this time in my life meant just going through the motions. I usually managed to utter a "Thank you, God" to show that I was grateful for all of the blessings in my life. I was leery of opening up too much and risking an unleashing of all of my inner turmoil. I was well aware of the confessionals in the back of the church, too, but I was too scared to even look in their direction. I truly thought my sin was too big for God. I kept pushing that guilt back down, but the more I went to church, the more I felt it rising to the surface. I wasn't sure what was happening to me, but I was determined to suppress my problems and keep my happy front up. I tried to do that until I overheard a couple of moms at my son's elementary school talking about a retreat at church called "33 Days to Morning Glory.”
Curiosity got the best of me, especially after I heard them raving about it. I asked them what it was. They said it was a mini retreat on Marian consecration. I had no idea what that meant, so I had to look it up. It means we consecrate ourselves to Jesus through Mary. Consecrate means to make holy, so in essence, Mary helps us make ourselves holy for Jesus. The retreat claims to be the surest, easiest, and shortest way to becoming a saint. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure that this was for me after all. It sounded intriguing, but I was entering territory that was way beyond my comfort level. I had never done a religious retreat, nor ever gotten together with a group of women to talk about our faith, so this was a new and very intimidating idea for me.
I thought I must be crazy, but I made myself go to the first meeting. I remember feeling so out of place. I had no idea how to talk to these women who were all so nice but undoubtedly very religious. I distinctly remember thinking, “They're so holy, and I'm so not!" I did a lot of listening and only spoke when I absolutely had to, for fear of making a fool of myself. I was sure I had nothing to contribute to our discussions. I figured, though, that since I was already there, I might as well just sit, listen, and maybe go home feeling better about myself than when I went in. Boy, was I ever wrong! I was feeling so much worse about myself that I wasn't sure I wanted to go back at all. It was nothing anyone said. As a matter of fact, the women were saying all the right things, not directly to me, but within our discussions. They were words I actually needed to hear but was afraid to process. I also had the feeling that if I continued with this retreat, I would have to make some changes in my life. I wasn't sure if I was ready to do that.
I decided to go back for another meeting and give it another shot, but I came out feeling much the same way as after the first meeting. I did not like myself at all. I could not figure out what was going on with me, as I felt stressed and agitated all the time for seemingly no reason. Then it hit me. With every mention of Jesus and Mary and prayer, things I had avoided for so long, I was being forced to face my mortal sin head on. The guilt was wreaking havoc in me, and I felt like I was on the verge of one huge anxiety attack. There was a specific quote in our retreat book from Blessed Mother Teresa that really got my attention, however: "Be careful of all that can block that personal contact with the living Jesus. The Devil may try to use the hurts of life, and sometimes our own mistakes to make you feel it is impossible that Jesus really loves you, is really cleaving to you. He loves you always, even when you don't feel worthy, when not accepted by others, even by yourself sometimes. He is the one who always accepts you." I read this over and over, as if it were written just for me. Just one message started unraveling the knots inside of me and brought me so much peace.
I continued on with the retreat and, at the book's suggestion, I miraculously worked up the courage to go to confession. This was a major step for me, but if I wanted to be consecrated to Jesus through Mary at the end of the retreat, then I had better do so with a clean soul. I didn't go to confession at my parish, though. I was still too ashamed to confess my sins to someone who knew me. I know that in confession the priest acts as a vessel for God, and it is completely confidential, but I still couldn't bring myself to face such a familiar person. I made an appointment on a Saturday afternoon to have a different priest at a nearby parish hear my confession. I was so nervous in the days leading up to it, that I had to write it out so I wouldn't forget what I wanted to say. Once I confessed my abortion, there were so many other sins that just came pouring out. I cried so hard but felt the weight of the world lifted from my heart when the priest told me in the gentlest way that God had forgiven me. Another flood of relief came over me after I heard the words that my baby had forgiven me, as well, and was with God now. He asked me to name the baby, something I never considered doing, so that I could apologize to him/her. From that day in May of 2012, my life has taken on a new meaning. I was greatly humbled in that confession, and I felt I had been given a whole new life in a sense.
I completed the retreat a few weeks later. I loved it so much that I bought the materials needed to hold a group retreat and sent them to my mom so that her parish could start their own Marian consecration group. I owe so much to my consecration to Jesus through Mary. As Jesus' mother, and our spiritual mother, Mary has presented so many opportunities for me to get closer to Jesus. In these last three years, I have become a completely changed person from what I was. I will always feel the heartache of the abortion, but I no longer have to face it alone. It is an amazing grace to feel the love of Jesus and to know that he's always by my side.
My story doesn't end there, though. I do my best to live out my consecration every day by saying the rosary and asking Mary to guide me to do the will of her Son, and to put me in situations where I can be of service to someone. I find time to pray every day, something I had never done before. The main message I want to convey more than anything, though, is that in order for us to heal, we must be willing to step out of our comfort zones. I'm not saying that the only way to heal after an abortion is to do a Bible study or a group retreat. That was just something that worked for me, and it helped me get on the right path. I had no one to talk to about my feelings, not even my husband, so that retreat was what saved me. The change in me didn't happen overnight, either. I have come a long way from the miserable person I was, and I know I still have a long way to go to be the woman God is calling me to be. The key, for me, is to take one day at a time. In many ways, I'm still healing, but I have felt and continue to feel God's great mercy and that is why I am silent no more.
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