My Abortion Story
What Led to my Pregnancy & Abortion
I want to share something that I do not take lightly. This is the part of my story that is the hardest to tell, but it’s important because sin always has a root, and mine grew in the soil of anger, brokenness, abuse, selfishness, and adultery.
During my first marriage, I faced manipulation and pressure that pushed me into situations I never thought I would find myself in. My ex-husband’s control, accusations, and comparisons wore me down, and I eventually gave in to things that crossed boundaries I never believed I would cross. Out of that season of deceit, manipulation, and my own sinful choices, I became involved with another man. In my loneliness and vulnerability, I compromised my vows and committed adultery.
A month and a half later, I found out I was pregnant. And instead of turning to God, whom I didn’t know, I turned to the world’s solution. I sacrificed my child on the altar of convenience. No one stopped me. No one encouraged hope in me. No one spoke truths against the fears and worries in my mind. I was told having a baby could damage lives and reputations. I also felt it would damage my own life and reputation. I was convinced by myself and others that it was the only way. I told myself it would solve the problem.
But the truth is, I didn’t solve anything. I ended a life that God had created. I carried the weight of that choice in silence for years. I also carried the lie that because I had chosen abortion, that I didn’t have the right to grieve my loss and that I now had to support a woman’s right to abortion.
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The Day of My Abortion
My mom had held my hand through many doctors’ visits in my upbringing, however, for the first time she didn’t go with me to the clinic. She dropped me off with my aunt. My aunt held my hand through the whole thing.
A few days before, I had picked up prescriptions. They were anti-anxiety medications (things to make me drowsy) as well as medications to soften and open my cervix. I had to take certain ones the night before and others that morning. I often look back and wonder, where were the Christians that day when I pulled in? Why wasn’t there someone outside telling me there’s hope, telling me about Jesus? Why wasn’t someone who had been exactly where I was, standing outside of the clinic that day to warn me and say, “Don’t do it. It might feel like freedom for a moment, but it’s a prison for your soul”.
And then I just end up wondering, even if someone had been standing outside that clinic that day, would I have listened? Or would I still have walked through those doors? The truth is, I think I still would have chosen abortion, because my decision was rooted in fear and there was no light or hope in sight. Fear that I couldn’t handle motherhood. Fear of what people would think. Fear of being alone. Fear is powerful and it can cloud judgment and drive us into sin if we let it. And the enemy loves to use fear to keep us bound.
But God’s Word tells us repeatedly not to fear. Isaiah 41:10 says, “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” And 2 Timothy 1:7 says, “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” That day, I chose fear instead of trusting God. But today, I can testify that God’s perfect love truly does cast out fear (1 John 4:18).
I don’t remember everything from that day, I think the medications helped my mind to block a lot of it out, but I do remember bits and pieces. I often pray and ask God to help me remember, because as awful as that day was, those were the last moments I ever had with my baby. As gruesome as the details are, those moments were real. And that is why I am going to share what I remember with you and all others in my life. As painful as it can be to share, people need to know the truth. The world will tell you that abortion is quick, easy, and painless. It’s not.
It was painful physically, but it was even more painful spiritually because deep down, I knew exactly what I was doing. My story is not just about what I went through, but about exposing the lie. Abortion is not freedom; it is bondage that only Jesus can set us free from. And although I have Jesus to lean on, I will continue to mourn my loss until the day that Jesus brings me into Heaven.
I remember the waiting room was quiet and filled with other women who seemed emotionally numb, for me the regret already felt so heavy. They took me into the procedure room. No friendly greeting or welcome from the doctor. It was quiet and tense. I dressed down and laid on the bed with my feet in stirrups, already crying. I tried my best to just look at my aunt and dissociate.
The doctor said I would feel birthing cramps as they inserted several thin metal rods to open my cervix. I experienced mini labor contractions. They were so painful that it made me nauseous. Then, I heard the vacuum sound. I was sobbing, wailing, and squeezing my aunt’s hand, and she just kept saying, “It’s going to be okay.” It wasn’t. Before the procedure, I heard the heartbeat. I didn’t see the ultrasound, but I heard it. Afterward, it was gone. I felt dead inside. The nurse, I don’t think she meant for me to see, set the jar on the counter. It was far from me, but I could still see it. The remnants of my child. I will never understand why, but I remember my aunt even took a picture, saying it was just in case I ever wanted to see it one day. I never EVER kept that picture. Afterward, they wheeled me into a recovery room until I could walk again.
And then I left, empty, broken, and stripped of my integrity. That day left a void in me that only Jesus has ever been able to fill.
And yet for years afterward, I sinned more, attempted suicide, and I just tried to fill the emptiness with alcohol, lust, and distraction. I displayed a lot of self-destructing behaviors. I struggled in my relationships with people. I always felt everyone was against me. I could even tell people I was pro-choice. I could say abortion was fine and it was the best decision that I made for myself. But looking back now, I know that I was just in denial, my mind was still blocking the truth to protect me from the pain, and I was spiritually blind.
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Exhortation to the Church
Sometimes Christians stand outside of Planned Parenthood with signs that say, “Please don’t kill your baby.” And, I will say, that does not help. That assumes a woman’s intent is to murder her child, when in reality, her heart is consumed by fear. And that assumption comes from root sin of pride because only God knows the heart. Pride points fingers at others and in that moment, with that kind of sign, it’s not meeting her with compassion, it’s immediately calling out her sin as she pulls in, before you’ve even seen her, before you’ve even heard her heart, all while forgetting our own sin, our own idols, our own desperate need for grace. When we stand outside of an abortion clinic, the words we hold in our hands matter just as much as the posture of our hearts.
Too often, women driving into Planned Parenthood already feel condemned before they even see a single sign. The second she saw the pregnancy test, she felt some kind of discouragement, distress, worry, or fear. The second she scheduled the appointment, she felt shame. She doesn’t need another finger pointed at her, she needs compassion.
Jesus calls us to humility, not superiority. He said in Matthew 7:5, “First take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.” If we forget that, we risk speaking from pride instead of compassion. What was missing that day were Christians who could stand in humility. Every one of us has sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23).
That’s why I can genuinely hold a sign that says, “I had an abortion… can we talk?”. It doesn’t condemn. It doesn’t play God. It simply says, “I’ve been where you are. You still have free will. But if you want to turn around, I’m here.”
And maybe you’ve never had an abortion. But you still want to walk out your conviction for sidewalk advocacy in a way that really reaches women. I believe our signs should come from a place of humility and love, not accusation.
Instead, imagine if we had signs like:
“You are loved. You are not alone.”
“We are here for you - before or after.”
“We will walk with you.”
And for those walking out, even after the abortion:
“We are here for you, even now.”
“Your story doesn’t end here.”
“You are not beyond God’s grace.”
This doesn’t enable sin. It doesn’t approve of abortion. It simply reflects the truth of the Gospel: that sin is sin, and grace is grace. None of us were saved before we sinned. All of us had to reach a place of brokenness; the end of ourselves, before we turned to Jesus. Why should we withhold that same compassion from women at the clinic?
The goal is always repentance. The goal is always life. But to reach her heart, we must come with humility, confessing that we too are sinners in need of grace. That is how we open the door for her to turn around, whether she’s walking in or walking out. Because ultimately, it is not our words that change hearts, it is the love of Christ working through us.
Planned Parenthood can offer a procedure, but they can never offer comfort. Only Jesus can. They can numb her body, but only Jesus can heal her soul. They can offer a quick fix, but only Jesus can give eternal hope. And that is why it is the mother’s heart we must reach. Because if her heart softens and she finds hope, she can turn around.
Friends, this is what Jesus asks of us as His followers. Luke 9:23 says, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” Following Jesus means giving up our pride, laying down our reputation, and being transparent about our own sins so that others can see His light. We can do this anywhere really.
I’ve seen God use my abortion story to help lead women to Him who have never had an abortion in their lives. Because what they saw was not me, but the humility and transparency of Christ at work in me. They can see and hear of the wretchedness I once lived, and then Jesus. This builds trust. That is the kind of posture that changes hearts. That is how the church stops abortion from being a taboo and starts becoming the place where women come running for healing.
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Explaining Disenfranchised Grief
There is a name for the grief that a woman experiences who has had an abortion. It’s called disenfranchised grief. That’s when your loss is real, but the world around you doesn’t recognize it or worse, tells you you’re not allowed to grieve it. Women after abortion face this constantly. Society tells us either: “There’s nothing to grieve, it’s just a procedure,” or “You did something unforgivable, so you can’t mourn.”
Just this year at church, our pastor had all the moms raise their hands to be honored with flowers. He even emphasized that anyone who has conceived is a mother. I remember sitting there with my friend, who also had an abortion, and we just looked at each other. Technically, we had both conceived, but we didn’t have our children with us. It was awkward and painful.
I sat in silence, feeling unseen. Part of me believed I couldn’t claim the title of “mother” because I hadn’t raised or mothered a child. I thought motherhood required years of nurturing, not just conception. I worried that if I raised my hand, people would think I was just drawing attention to myself. But if I stayed silent, I denied the truth that biblically, I do have a child in heaven, and that does make me a mother in God’s eyes. God calls conception as the beginning of life when He knits us together in our mother’s womb (Psalm 139:13). Which means the moment I conceived, I was a mother. It was an uncomfortable moment where I felt stuck between shame and truth. My baby never lived in my arms, but their short life still left me with mother-like instincts (a tenderness toward the poor in spirit and a sensitivity to brokenness in others). In that sense, even in my loss, my child left a mark on me. God sees that, and He still calls me a mother, even when I don’t feel like I deserve it. It may be a hard truth to remember at times in this world, but I have faith that when I join Him in Heaven, I will be fully healed from this grief. If you’ve felt these things, you’re not broken, and you’re not alone. Your grief is valid. And it does matter to God. One of the hardest parts of disenfranchised grief is how isolating it is. I have often noticed that when a woman miscarries, the world, her family, and her friends will all mourn that loss with her. They bring meals. They send flowers. They cry with you. But when you’ve had an abortion, the loss is still the same, it’s still your child, but nobody mourns with you. The silence can make the grief even heavier.
And I’ll be honest, in my mourning, I’ve brought a lot of anger to God. Anger at myself for even choosing abortion. I get angry when people always seem to want me to be one of the first ones they tell when they find out they’re pregnant. I have gotten angry and questioned God wondering why the man who paid for my abortion already has a baby of his own, while I’m still waiting, still trying to conceive. Angry that I haven’t been able to get pregnant and have my re-do with my loving husband in a healthy Christ-centered marriage. I’ve been to what feels like a million baby showers, smiling on the outside while my heart breaks inside. Truly, I am happy for my friends, but I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t sad for me or slightly jealous.
Then, I get angry with myself all over again. Because I remember the Gospel. I remember that Jesus died on the cross for me, and that my sin is forgiven. Then I feel guilty for feeling angry at all, and I start thinking, “Why am I even throwing this pity party? I’m selfish. I’m mocking Christ’ sacrificial love on the cross.” It becomes this swirl of emotions, grief, anger, guilt, shame, all mixing together. And yet, even there, God doesn’t turn me away. He meets me in the mess and reminds me that His grace is big enough for all of it.
In those moments, I’ve had to turn to God, not hiding my feelings, but telling Him plainly, “Lord, I am angry. I’m hurting. Help my heart heal.” And every time, He meets me there. He reminds me that He is big enough to handle my honesty, and gentle enough to carry my pain.
Now, years later, as my husband and I have been trying to conceive, I find myself grieving differently.
I’m not just mourning the sin anymore; I’m mourning my child. Who were they? Would it have been a girl or a boy? What would their laughs and cries sound like? I often think of the life they never lived. I’ve prayed for God to reveal their name to me, but it hasn’t happened yet.
Because I can’t hold my child here, what I can do now is speak and lead other women to choose life, and to love those who still believe abortion is the answer.
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Transparency & Loving Others
The Bible says in John 8:32, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
Speaking of our stories, even the ugliest parts, brings them into the light, and light brings life.
Proverbs 18:21 says, “The tongue has the power of life and death.” When I speak life over my abortion story, when I refuse to hide it in shame, it gives my child’s life meaning and purpose. Transparency opens the door for others to be honest too, and love grows in the soil of honesty.
We are called to speak the truth in love. That means not just shouting “Choose life!” at people but living out the fruit of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control). The Holy Spirit changes hearts, but He often uses our gentleness and our willingness to share to plant those seeds.
Whether you have had an abortion or not, we can all share these truths with patience, kindness, and self-control, trusting the Holy Spirit to do the heart work.
I’m not writing this because I’ve figured out how to undo my past. I’m sharing because Jesus has redeemed it. He took my guilt to the cross and gave me a new life in return. That same forgiveness and healing are available to you no matter what your past looks like. Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” If your spirit feels crushed due to abortion, He’s near. Your grief is real. Your baby’s life mattered. And through Jesus, your story doesn’t have to end in shame it can end in redemption.
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Forgiveness Sets Us Free
Here I am, 10 years later, and I’ve realized something vital: true healing requires forgiveness. Not just forgiving myself, but forgiving everyone in my story. My ex-husband for the manipulation and control that planted destructive seeds in my mind, the man I had an affair with who helped pay for my abortion, even the abortion doctor, and even those I once blamed for not being there to stop me.
Four years ago, God convicted me with Matthew 6:15: “If you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” That verse began a long road of surrender. I thought I had forgiven, but this year the Holy Spirit showed me I was still holding on to roots of unforgiveness — bitterness that surfaced whenever I encountered people who reminded me of my past.
So I obeyed. I called my ex-husband, not to excuse him, but to release him. I admitted my own sin in the marriage instead of blame-shifting. I asked forgiveness, and by God’s grace, I was able to point him to Christ.
I also felt led to repent to the other man. I reached out through his wife and told her what I needed him to know: that what we did was sin, and I was sorry for my part. I wanted him to know that Jesus had set me free and made me new. She told me he still mourns the loss of my child, but he also knows that Christ has forgiven him. That reminder showed me that God isn’t only working in me, He’s working on the other side too.
Forgiveness isn’t just something we ‘should’ do, it’s something Jesus commands us to walk out in obedience. And when we obey, it humbles us. I can’t forgive anyone else until I first remember what Christ has already forgiven in me. The cross has to come first. Ephesians 4:32 says, “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” When I realize the weight of what Christ has forgiven in me, I am able to forgive myself and others. Forgiving myself meant believing the Gospel and that Jesus’s blood was enough even for my abortion.
If I hate myself, if I hold onto condemnation, then I can’t really love others the way Christ calls me to. But when I forgive myself, forgive others, and receive His grace, I am finally free to love others. 1 John 4:19 says, “We love because He first loved us.”
Forgiveness humbles us. Humility opens us to grace. Grace empowers us to love. And love is what this hurting world desperately needs to see.
When I forgave others, repented for my own sin, and forgave myself, I finally made room for His grace to heal. That is where true freedom begins.
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Closing and Call to Action
Before I close, I need to be honest. I believe the body of Christ has, in many ways, has enabled abortion to remain a taboo topic. Even in pro-life churches, abortion and post-abortion are rarely spoken of openly and lacks compassion.
If we really want to put an end to abortion, it requires both what happens on the sidewalks and what happens inside the church. They go hand in hand. On the sidewalks, we stand in humility and compassion to reach women in crisis. But in the church, we must also create safe spaces for post-abortive women to bring their stories into the light.
Who better testify about the truth of abortion and redeeming love of Christ after, than those who have walked through it themselves? Just like any other sin. How can they testify if they never feel safe or encouraged to speak? How can healing begin if the very place meant to carry each other’s burdens keeps this burden locked in silence? Galatians 6:2 says, “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” We need to encourage our sisters in Christ to share their abortion stories, so they can heal, and to glorify Jesus. Their grief is real, their babies’ lives mattered, and their testimonies could save countless others.
If we want the world to see Jesus, we must first be willing to show how He has saved us from our own sin. Only then can His light shine through the darkest stories.
Ten years ago, I was living in darkness.
Today, I am standing in the light. Only God can do that.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” — 2 Corinthians 5:17
God has been showing me that He is the author of redemption, and that His forgiveness covers even the most painful parts of my story. If you are carrying guilt or shame from your past, I want to encourage you to bring it into the light. Confess it, release it, and let God do the healing. Sometimes, it’s not about fixing the past, it’s about letting God transform it.
And when we truly surrender our story to Him, He turns our deepest pain into a testimony of His grace.