I remember that week vividly. I was wearing my boyfriend’s oversize sweatshirt and tried to comfort my baby — and myself — as I walked around campus. I named her. And then walking through the doors of that abortion business, nothing felt right.
No information, no care, no compassion. I was still making up my mind, and I asked to view the ultrasound they performed to see how far along I was. The technician refused. It was against their policy. Nothing about that day restored my choice, my autonomy or my sense of empowerment. They were just stripped from me over and over. I aborted my first child that day. And that decision has been with me every day since.
In the years to come, I faced the challenges of timing and circumstances of conception that push hundreds of thousands of women to the abortion storefront each year. I did not grow up in an actively pro-life household and I was urged by family, friends and medical professionals, to seek an abortion with my next two children.
Thankfully, I chose life for my now-13-year-old daughter and 8-year-old son.