My wife and I are big fans and supporters of a website called Abort73.  If you’re not familiar with it, the website offers resources, information, links to other websites where you can find help, and merchandise to help share the message that abortion is not a loving choice.

One of the many T-shirts available from Abort73

But one of the more unique areas of the website is the personal testimony area where people can leave stories in their own words about making a decision for life (keeping the baby) or going through with the abortion.

Reading some of the stories I was reminded of a main reason why I got involved in the life issues in the first place: modern feminism has eviscerated the role of men in our society, especially the important role of men protecting their wives. As a Christian man, I was, and continue to be, embarrassed how many women find out they are pregnant and then are left with no support or help from their boyfriends, fiancés, husbands, or fathers.

The stories that appear on the website are unsolicited and the individuals are free to leave their name (not shared publicly) or to remain anonymous. I’ve included excerpts below from three stories that struck me; they’re lengthy but I believe it’s worth your time to read them.

From a 31-year-old woman in Columbus, Ohio, who was 19 when she had her abortion:

I took a pill and sat in a waiting room with other girls who had taken the pill. It was horrible. I sat there crying, knowing that the room was filled with dying babies. …

For the first year, I couldn’t even go past the baby section at the store without getting emotional. With every passing year I would reflect on what could have been and how old my child would be that year. I ended up finishing school but changing my major to get out early. To shorten the story of the past 13 years since my abortion, I ended up getting addicted to drugs, was in many worthless relationships, I had crappy jobs, and never felt worthy of another child. I felt that I was never with the right person and never made enough money. I didn’t feel I could give a baby anything more now than I could have then. …

A year ago, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy boy. When I found out I was pregnant, I stopped drinking and partying. … I don’t have a lot, and I have a low-paying job that any 19 year old could get. I was no more ready a year ago than I was at 19, that’s for sure. … The point I’m trying to make is this. There’s no such thing as, “you’re not ready,” because you never will be ready! … Oh how I wish I could go back in time, but I can’t because abortion is forever.

From a 49-year-old woman in the USA, who was 34 when she had her abortion:

I want our baby back. The year was 1999; I was 34 years old and married. I don’t remember much of anything. All I do remember is letting an older, nameless woman take my baby from me—and not even telling my husband. … I felt like my heart was as hard as stone that day. It stayed that way for a long, long time. I remember the look of bewilderment and horror on my husband’s face and in his voice when I told him what I had done. …

I am desperate to be forgiven, but I know I don’t deserve it. All I can tell you at this point is I weep many tears of sorrow when I think of our baby being ripped from my body and laid aside—nameless. Nobody was there to say a prayer or think about how precious and worthy they were—while they were thrown out like a piece of trash. I am so sorry, so very sorry. I hope I am forgiven someday. I would give my life for that child.

From a 41-year-old woman in Colorado, who was 17 when she had her abortion:

I can still hear the nightmarish slurping echo from the suction aspirator machine in my dreams. I vividly recollect the day, twenty-three years ago, that I heard that dreadful appliance’s deafening hum. … Through my progressive promiscuity, I became pregnant at seventeen years old. I was naïve, frightened, distraught, and in panic mode. …

I suppose I was a Christian in name, but I did not truly believe in anything. I made the appointment and ambled into a “Planned Parenthood” abortion clinic. It was like entering a police station, down a narrow and sinister hallway that seemed endless, and ultimately ending up at a window paned with multiple sheets of bullet-proof glass. Midpoint was an undersized, circular opening. Not wanting to make eye contact with the young woman behind the thick panes, I whispered my name into the hollow. She sifted through some loose papers, then pressed a button that buzzed me inside. …

The clinic staff was stern and structured, rushing me through the process. Everything about the procedure was completely void of life, and the lies were manifold. They did not care what my rationale was or why I wanted an abortion. They simply validated my “proper” decision to end the pregnancy. I was not given any counseling or information about other options, like keeping the baby or giving the baby up for adoption. …

The … doctor leisurely walked in, hastily introduced himself, and instantaneously began. I kept lying to myself over and over; “it will all be over soon.” The suction machine was flipped on, that ghastly, piercing drone that continues to wake me today. The nurses … told me the abortion would feel no worse than, “bad menstrual cramps;” liars! The unbearable pain took me by surprise and I involuntarily started gagging. I writhed in agony with each pitiless tug. It felt like my bowel was being ruthlessly dragged through my vagina. I pulled in a deep breath, but when the stagnant air hit my nostrils, so did the nasty stench, which I soon realized was the smell of blood. My blood, the baby’s blood. Oh my God! …

Eventually, I was moved to a crammed and soiled “recovery room.” It was overflowing with young women, all with sorrow-brimmed eyes and in immense pain. Before I could even finish scanning the room, the queasiness hit. I folded my hands over my mouth and dashed for the bathroom, but I wasn’t alone. I found myself leaning over one filthy toilet with four other women, all squirming and twisting around to find a tiny opening to vomit into. … We wordlessly laid there, like beaten dogs stricken into submission. An irritable nurse … demanded that we all go sit down. Everyone lingered in immobilizing pain. So she began … pulling us by the necklines of our shirts from the toilet’s musty edge.  A brown paper bag filled with condoms and birth control pills was shoved into my hands, and I was … pushed out the back door. … I limped away, as sheer emptiness settled into the very foundation of my being. I was not told that I would be unable to look at my own disgraceful reflection in a mirror, or that my confidence and self-respect would be gone immediately.

The thing about our choices is that after we have made them, they turn around and make us. … Abortion didn’t “help” me as I exercised my “right to choose” at seventeen years old. I [had] hurt myself even more, and I knew it instantly. … I buried my dirty secret for over ten years, telling myself I would never have an abortion again. … I tried to lie to myself to quell the anguish and guilt, but I couldn’t bury the truth forever. … For anyone who thinks abortion helps women, there is a village missing its idiot.

I felt lower than pond scum, but I certainly didn’t change for the better. In about a year, my caustic lifestyle left me pregnant again, but this time, everything would be different. I refused to make the same lapse in personal ethics again. I was keeping my baby, no matter what. My parents wanted me to abort their grandchild. What they didn’t know or understand was that I had already taken the life of one of their grandchildren, and I couldn’t do it again.

Click on these links to read more abortion stories or birth stories. Listen to the voices of abortion and understand that this is not a political issue.