Refusing to pass on the pain

Ashli was once one of the magnanimous prochoicers throwing the bone of abortion to desperate, frightened women, then patting herself on the back for her compassion and generosity of spirit:

I reflect on the times friends or people I knew got pregnant in college. If it was someone I barely knew, I'd offer to drive her to the clinic myself. (Thank God no one ever took me up on it.) But curiously, if the person was a friend I had known for years and genuinely cared about, abortion was the last thing I wanted for her. I desperately tried to talk her out of it and then agonized when she wouldn't listen. I knew I must be contradicting myself somehow, but I didn't want to explore that. Abortion was good enough for all the uncaring faceless women of the world, but not for me, and not for anyone I cared about. What that says, what it really says about me is that I didn't care about all those other women for whom I advocated abortion. I didn't care about them or their children. Abortion was just a solution for people who, outside of my own little world of acquaintances, existed to me as much as individuals that pass by in cars on the interstate.

I don't think anything ever would have changed my mind, because to evolve would have required genuine thought, and it never occurred to me to think at all about it. It was abortion for crying out loud, the big solution. What was there to think about? Besides, it was always someone else's problem. It would never effect me, because I was smarter and nicer and made better choices. It was settled, and there was nothing anyone could say to cause me to reexamine my hollow beliefs. But one person did come and grow with me for a time, and I learned everything I needed to know without any words at all.

She learned the hard way. But she did learn. And she refuses to grease the skids into the mill for the next woman.

Abused children, when they become parents, have the choice to break the cycle of abuse. Aborted women, likewise, can also choose to break the cycle.

Thank God, many are saying "Enough is enough. We're not passing on the pain any more."

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Ringing true

HT: JJ.

Kate shares her experience with abortion and the moment when her efforts to suppress her feelings collapsed:

When I was 30, I had a quasi-nervous breakdown about the abortion. I had no idea that it bothered me so much. I uncontrollably heaved waves of tears, and in between sobs blabbered about having an abortion, and how I murdered my unborn child. I went on to say that I felt such guilt at having a good life and that after the abortion, I went on to have fun and finish college and do all of the things I'd always hoped to do and that I didn't deserve my life.

Oh, I know that there are plenty of skeptics who will say, "Yeah, you just suddenly realized that it was the abortion that troubled you so much!" and want to claim that it's just bogus guilt. I have to say Kate's story reminds me of my own.

I was coming unglued and had no idea why. I thought it was ordinary stress piling up. Certain things were making me shake and cry, and after work I'd just get in my car and scream. I was wrestling something inside, but I had no idea what.

I went for professional counselling, and was in a group "wind down" relaxation session at the end of the day, where they just played what was supposed to be soothing music. One of the songs was "Somewhere Out There." A song I could never stand to listen to, but I never knew why. I would leave the room or turn off the radio or do anything to avoid that song. It just made me hurt. And now they were playing it when I was supposed to relax and get soothed and comfortable. That wasn't gonna happen.



My first urge was to just buck up, ignore the feelings, not let myself listen to the song but just grit my teeth and get through it. Then I thought, "I'm going to all this trouble to arrange counseling in a safe environment to find out why all these things are stressing me so much. I need to go with this."

I went down the hall, grabbed my counsellor, and just pleaded "Help me!" She took me into a private room and the minute I felt I was safe I just let go.

I sat there crying and screaming, "DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T LEAVE ME!" over and over and over again. And I suddenly knew exactly what was wrong. I was screaming for my brother, who had died in a freak accident when we'd been playing in the yard when I was just a little girl.

Of course a song about a brother and sister trying desperately to find each other would make me come unglued.

Suddenly everything clicked into place. I could see exactly why each of the things that had set me off had been setting me off. I could see exactly where each of those things had reminded me of the day my brother died. But I hadn't wanted to go there, to visit something that painful, so I'd tried to play the "It's just stress" card and hope I could hold on by my fingernails.

So I've had the experience of not knowing why things were triggering such an extreme emotional response, then suddenly having it come like a flash of lightning. Kate's story rings so true.

BTW, it still makes me cry. But at least now I know why, and it doesn't cripple me any more.

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New post-abortion resource

For everyone. The parents who meant well when they pushed for the abortion. The girl who wanted so desperately to keep her boyfriend's love. The siblings who never got to know their brother or sister.

Abortion Changes You

Abortion's impact on women

Dear Dr. X., Psychiatrist from Abortion Hurts has lots of food for thought for the prolife and prochoice alike.

Healing after "therapeutic" abortion

Poor Pre-Natal Diagnosis: resources for coping after abortion. A retreat will be held Sat. Nov. 24, 2007, 9:30 am to 5 pm, Bronx, NY.

HT: After Abortion

A soft answer turneth away wrath

“Are you guys really going to be out here for 40 days?”

I received a long-distance phone call and a young woman's voice began, "Is this the 40 Days for Life hotline number?" Then, with great anger in her voice, she spoke for several minutes with this theme: "I'm a Christian, but I don't know how you people can judge women who are going in for abortions. You don't know anything about them! How dare you!”

This gave me an opening to tell my story, explaining that I had not always been pro-life, but actually helped my best friend obtain an abortion over twenty years ago, because that is what I thought a "best friend" would do. My friend has suffered tremendously, and I am very regretful for not helping her and her baby.

The woman’s anger gave way to sobbing as she described the "choice" she felt forced to make several years ago. "If someone had only helped me... I was so desperate," and "If I had only known how much it would hurt me, every day of my life, I wouldn't have done it". After about 20 minutes of conversation, she was very receptive to my suggestion that she contact Rachel's Vineyard Post-abortion Healing ministry – in Sacramento: (916) 733-0161, or on the Internet at www.rachelsvineyard.org. A call that began with anger turned into a miracle by God's grace.

Well done, good and faithful servant!

Jennifer's story

Click here to listen.

I could do without the man's commentary. Just tell us where she's speaking and to whom, and who she is, then shut up and let the her tell her story.

Keep Ashli in your prayers

She's coming up on the tenth anniversary of the day she capitulated to despair, the day she acted on the knowledge that she had been abandoned by doctors she'd trusted, medical professionals she should have been able to trust; the day the HG and severe dehydration robbed her of her will, of her ability to think clearly, and, eventually, of her child.

For those of you who think that aborting for "maternal indications" is something you just do and get over, remember Ashli. The ninth anniversary. The eighth. The seventh. She hadn't blogged an anniversary before the seventh. But she did blog just after the sixth anniversary.

Here is her story. How she ended up on a table in a sleezy abortion mill, letting somebody take her loved and wanted baby from her, because nobody would help her.

And it doesn't just come up on anniversaries. The littlest things can be reminders.

She was abandoned. By society. By the medical establishment. By the pro-choice movement. And even by the pro-lifers, who seem ready to concede that an ailing mom can just be scraped out and sent home. We failed to let women like Ashli know that we'd be there for them.

Eventually I start a blog. I talk about my child, my loss. I expose the royal scam. A few people even care.

Days go by. Months go by. Anniversaries come and go. When they arrive again I try not to think of it, but I can't not.

Curiously, I focus on the moment when the cruel lance first touched the amniotic sac. That split milisecond just before the end of all things. That shallow short breath that divides the space between life and death, happiness and horror. I see a delicate, precious orb and a sharp threatening instrument puncturing it. It's too late now.

Liquid spills out onto the pad. Diamonds flow into an oversized sanitary napkin. Diamonds... and rubies.

There is no turning back. This is the rest of my life. This is what one human life will buy.

Another anniversary. Another one. Another one. Another one...

For more on "maternal and fetal indications" see:

• "Don't Like Abortions? Don't Have One."
  
• Protecting Yourself and Your Unborn Child
  
• When Pregnancy Threatens a Mother's Life
  
• Beware of "Maternal and Fetal Indications"