When I was a little girl, I dreamed of having a hundred kids. A family. What a great dream! 

Yet, years later, after drinking too much alcohol, I was unexpectedly pregnant, being pressured to have an abortion.  Fear and misplaced priorities took hold. I wanted to protect my relationship with the father more than I wanted to protect the tiny life inside me. I remember the day the doctor said, “You’re pregnant.” After the appointment, I went to an attorney to see if there were any legal issues. She listened warmly, and said, “See you next year when your baby is one year old.” For one brief moment, I held on to that hope. Tragically, I let go of the vision.

During the abortion procedure, I felt overwhelming sadness. There were no probing questions, no information about what would happen, no one asking about my goals or my heart. The room was cold, the people distant. I put on the gown, got on the table, stared at the ceiling, and felt nothing — and everything. Shame. Fear. A desperate desire to leave. But I wasn’t strong enough. I’ve never forgotten that emptiness.

Immediately afterward, I felt regret. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t proud. I wasn’t relieved. Later that day, at a Mexican restaurant below the Huntington Beach pier, the father said, “I only went with you to make sure you went through with it.” Standing on the beach — one of my favorite places in the world — my heart broke. I felt betrayed, unloved, stupid, remorseful, and deceived. I was devastated, horrified, ashamed. I cried alone, pretending it had never happened because I couldn’t face what I’d done.

As time went on, sadness, shame, insecurity, guilt, and heartache grew. I was angry at myself for not standing up for my baby, my faith, my values. I struggled to trust others, especially men. I couldn’t talk about abortion, let alone take a stand against it, even though my heart was screaming NO. The hardest moments were birthdays, Christmas, Easter, family gatherings, and the date I guessed would have been her birthday, August 4th. I sobbed and prayed, asking God for forgiveness and trying to forgive myself. 

But God never stopped reaching out. In my quiet moments, I felt Him urging me to repent, to accept forgiveness, and to help others choose life. Still, I resisted — afraid, uncertain, convinced the topic was too heavy and too painful. But silence doesn’t heal; it prolongs the hurt.

Healing finally began when I joined an after abortion recovery ministry program at my church with five women ranging from high school age to retirement. Through that program, I received God’s forgiveness, learned to forgive myself, and began moving forward. I took responsibility for my choices — the abortion, the circumstances that led to it, the influence of alcohol, and the pressure from others. As God continued healing me, He showed me that my story wasn’t meant to stay hidden. It was meant to help others. I confided in friends, my husband, and eventually spoke at women’s conferences. I now volunteer at a pregnancy resource center to empower women to make life-affirming decisions.

Because after everything I’ve walked through, I know

-Each of us can be the voice I once needed — the one that says: You’re not alone. You are strong. Choose life.

-We can prevent abortions and the trauma women face making these decisions. 

Which is why I stand here today forgiven and free… and why I am silent no more!