In the 1970's, our family watched a TV documentary about the growing teen pregnancy crisis. I turned to see the horror on Daddy's face. As a preteen, I didn't know what 'getting pregnant' meant, but I knew how ferocious Daddy's wrath could be. I silently vowed never to disappoint him by getting pregnant like those loose, disobedient girls.
The church we attended was also adamant about girls not getting pregnant. As a pregnant 15-year-old, I couldn't tell my Dad or face being ostracized by the church, so I opted for what would be the first of three abortions.
The waiting room looked like a typical doctor's waiting room. The hallway to the procedure room was painted white, I think. Were there pictures on the walls? I don't remember.
An internal kind of stripping takes place when they ask me to undress and slip on a gown. I'm not aware that they're assisting me in an ongoing visitation of premature and often violent deaths in my family line.
My identity is verified with my driver's permit. I give the receptionist $145 in cash.
The anesthesia must have had an amnesia effect. I don't recall meeting the doctor or getting dressed afterward. I only remember being instructed to pin the oversized pad flaps to the front and back of my panties.
The attendant helps me into the car. I don't feel like a patient in the true sense of the word. I feel relieved about not having to face Daddy or the church, but I don't feel better having accessed their 'services'.
When I get home, I pretend I have awful cramps from my menstrual cycle (not from my uterus returning to normal size). Should Daddy ask, this is why I'm lying down for the rest of the evening. He doesn't know enough about menstrual cycles to protest. Momma comes to check on me. I'm glad Daddy doesn't bother.
The relationship with one young man resulted in three abortions at ages 15 and 16. After we break up, I'm determined not to fall into the trap of sleeping with other men; only I don't know how to resist their advances.
My past looms over me daily. I can't speak to anyone about the abortions because everyone thinks so highly of me. I know I'm not a whore, but it would be futile to convince anyone of it now. I learned later that I submitted myself to men sexually because I hadn't experienced love from my natural father.
Based on what I'd done to my babies and not wanting to repeat the abuse I experienced as a child, I made a pact with our Heavenly Father not to allow me to have babies if I ever got married. I didn't realize He hadn't agreed to it.
When I married and became pregnant, I told my husband about the abortions and the abuse that drove me to have them. I beg his forgiveness for not telling him. He holds the encounters before our marriage against me. We lost that child and several more.
I eventually conceived three children successfully. As a precaution to not repeat my childhood abuse, I take care to ask God how not to abuse them like I had been.
Just in case I missed some aspect of healing, I attended Rachel's Vineyard Abortion Healing Retreat. While there, I have a vision of my children under a tree with Jesus. They invited me to play Ring-Around-the-Rosie. We roll in the grassy meadow, challenging each other in a human log race down the hill. I have great comfort that they are safe with Him.
Interestingly, I've only felt condemnation and shame from religious people about the abortions - never from God. Throughout my life, I received His help from the effects of the abuse I suffered, which resulted in my decision to end my pregnancies.
Our good, kind and loving Heavenly Father never abandoned nor shamed me. Through constant reassurance of His love and because of programs like Rachel's Vineyard, I wrote a victorious book about my experience called "Don't Disappoint Daddy"," which is available on Amazon.
I'm God's beloved daughter, and He's never thought of me as less. I want others to experience the great love and acceptance I've found in our Heavenly Father. That's why I'm silent no more!