The Louisiana Abortion Archives is a space where people can share their abortion stories within the safety of the larger nah brah community. The goal is to humanize our stories and our bodies to create empathy and affect change.
I was 23 years old. It was May of 2021, and at that time, I was incredibly proud of myself. I had just completed my second year of law school and was off for the summer to work at a firm that I considered my dream job, but those accomplishments paled in comparison to one. I had finally summoned the strength to get myself out of a four-year emotionally destructive relationship.
Those four years were filled with some of the darkest moments I’ve ever known. I lost almost every single one of my friends—friends who fought long and hard for me but simultaneously could not bear to witness the trainwreck I refused to stop before their very eyes. My parents no longer understood me; likewise, I no longer understood myself.
Right before I left for the summer, I realized something was off, and I took a pregnancy test. I’ll never forget the feelings that consumed my body when I looked down at a positive pregnancy test—sheer terror, body shakes, and weightlessness. I had finally escaped my abusive ex-boyfriend; I thought I was safe. Without hesitation, I knew what I had to do, as every thought that ran through my head was, “I will likely die if I don’t.” I genuinely mean it when I say this: if I had not had a choice in this, I would have and was prepared to go to extreme lengths to not be pregnant with my ex’s child.
I cried every day until I had my abortion. I was terrified. I played the “what if” game each waking moment. What if he finds out and stops me from getting the procedure? What if somehow, someway, he forces me to stay with him? Even as I write this a year removed, I still tremble at the thought of “what if.” Every waking moment was plagued with justified fears until the day I walked into Planned Parenthood in Texas.
I could not get an appointment in Louisiana within the month, so my friends and I had to make two trips to Texas. I learned that I was six weeks pregnant at my first appointment, aligning precisely with the weekend I decided no longer to tolerate abuse at the hands of my ex-boyfriend. I cringed. I was sexually responsible and did everything I should. Yet here I am, deciding if I want to hear the “heartbeat” of the foreign vessel inside me. No—I did not want to listen to what Texas describes as a heartbeat. No—I did not want to look at the ultrasound. No—I did not want to look at a pamphlet on the different stages of fetal development. No—what I so desperately wanted was for this nightmare to end.
Finally, at my second appointment two weeks later, my nightmare ended. Before the procedure began, I was overcome by fear and emotion. Namely, how I could not raise a child with such an abusive person and how thankful I was to be in a room full of people who could prevent that. While the nurses held the hands of an ostensibly terrified twenty-three-year-old, it was the words of the physician that I will never forget, “it is done, you are okay, but most importantly, you are safe.”
And thankfully, I am safe, but thousands of people like me are not. I did not want to live in a loveless home, and I did not want my future children to grow up in a loveless home. I have never been so sure of a decision I made. I saved my life by getting an abortion.
It takes my breath away to think that someone, somewhere in this country, will be placed in my same predicament. My heart breaks for all of the sufferings to come. There are no adequate words, but I will add that I am so sorry we have all lost such a beautiful choice.
—Anonymous, Orleans
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