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Healing the Shockwaves of Abortion


Do You Regret Your Abortion or Your Lost Fatherhood? By filling in the form below you can add your expression of regret to our list. All information remains confidential and is presented anonymously

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A Part of Me was Broken
New Mexico, United States

At age 18, I thought I had my life all planned out until my birth control failed and I became pregnant.  I knew what I would do because I not only believed the lie that “it’s only a clump of cells,” I thought abortion was the most responsible option a young woman in my situation could take.

It was the only option that I thought I’d be able to forget …. that wouldn't destroy my plans…. that would affect my life the least.  I was selfishly wrong on all three.

During the procedure, I felt a sharp pierce on my left side, heard myself cry out, and then it was over.  I now know that when my child was severed from my body, even anesthesia couldn’t stop the motherly instinct to cry out. It wasn't pain, it was anguish.  

I convinced myself to get on with my life.  But inside, a part of me was broken because my abortion not only left a hole in my womb, it left a huge hole in my heart.  And no matter how many ways I tried to fill that hole, it only got deeper.

Many year later, I was taking a pregnancy test and it hit me that if it was positive, the only difference between that baby and the one I aborted was that I didn’t want the first one.  The heartbreaking realization that I had killed my child brought me to my knees and I begged for God’s forgiveness.  And as it turned out, the baby I aborted, Brittany Danielle, would be the only one I would conceive.  

It was only after I grew close to God & received healing that I was given the courage to be silent no more about my abortion.

Part of that courage came from the book The Christmas Sweater : “Pick up your redemption,” it read, “Cherish it.  Wear it.  Share it.  It has the power to transform lives.”  

Thank you for being here today to not only save the lives of the unborn, but to transform the lives of their mothers.


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