First, let’s hear it for the beet, ricotta, and caramelized onion pizza with arugula topping that I decided to turn into a side salad. 

TW: abortion

I (30F) had an abortion 19 months ago. My husband (31M) and I had not started actively trying, but had the conversation of, “if it happens, it happens” when I got off hormonal birth control due to the horrible side effects of all 8-9 types I tried over 12 years. Figured it wouldn’t happen easily, as I’ve been told over and over again throughout my life that my chances weren’t great if I couldn’t even have a “regular” cycle on the pill. Got pregnant my second cycle off birth control… unexpected, terrifying once it had actually happened, unplanned, but not unwanted. By me. My husband’s immediate response, like actually very first words were asking about an abortion. He softened a little bit over the next couple of weeks off and on (it was just before the holidays and I couldn’t do anything immediately since we had travel planned to see family), but ultimately made it very clear he was not ready for a baby and though it wasn’t his decision, he hoped I would not have it. As the child of tragically broken home, like so many others, I did not want to have a baby that wasn’t very wanted by both parents. 

I didn’t realize how much it would fuck me up, or I would’ve never done it, but I had the abortion. I opted for surgical so it would be over sooner and had a copper IUD placed at the same time. And then I fell into a bottomless pit of depression for a good 6 months, at least before I stopped crying nearly every day. I don’t really want to go into detail, because it doesn’t sound great for him, but my husband did not support me well emotionally. I know he went through a lot of guilt and shame as well, but ultimately, it was my body, my choice, and he has still never even seen the ultrasound photo I keep in a box. And he just didn’t show up. And I never told another soul until a few months ago—when I was breaking under the weight of a medical emergency and major intervention for one of our dogs—and I haven’t talked to that person since that day, so I’ve suffered alone. I was and still am wholly pro-choice, but I just cannot get rid of the feelings that make me think less of myself. For a while, I swore I wouldn’t ever have kids, just in case my husband was on board and then not, again. 

We’ve put a lot of effort toward working through things, have gone to counseling, and *he* started expressing a desire to have kids back in the spring, a little more than a year since the abortion. I had a lot of emotions to work through, but I let myself get onboard and be excited. We both come from heavily addicted families, and he struggled some with alcohol and benzos in his early 20s himself—not a great time for our relationship, obviously—so I told him how important abstaining from drinking and THC for at least 3 months before conception was to me. We both were social drinkers, a few drinks a couple times a month, never any beer at home or when it was just us out to eat, and we would occasionally take THC gummies a couple of times per week. I quit everything as soon as we started discussing the possibility of having kids again; it’s been about 4 months for me. Scheduled a LEEP to have my longtime, persistent cervical ectropion resolved before pregnancy—I have discussed the risks with my doctor, my procedure was incredibly superficial and incredibly unlikely to impact cervical sufficiency—so that I wouldn’t be stuck bleeding during sex for the next… however long until I’d given birth, if all were to go to plan. Scheduled it so that my intercourse restriction would be over by the time his 3 months were up, and had my IUD removed at the same time.

He planned a trip to see his family—rather his family bullied him into a $1,500 trip after we took a trip to see other family and did not have time to visit them, since we *always* visit them—and I chose not to go along for the first time since we moved 2,200 miles away. I knew the trip was a bad idea, and expressed as much, because his family of drunks isn’t happy with his presence unless they get him drunk. Can’t tell you how much we talked about how important it was for him not to drink. Talked about it in counseling. Everyone understands. 

A few days before the trip, he starts waffling about the idea of kids again, because we’d had a tough round of counseling that brought up some deeper issues, and there was a lot of distance between us after a fairly big fight after that counseling session. As an aside, I’m actually not so sure our current counselor is a great fit… so I’m panicking, and those feelings I had when he reacted to me telling him I was pregnant started to creep back in. I just have a feeling at this point that he’s not going to try very hard not to drink. And of course I was right. He got pretty drunk yesterday and put the nail in the coffin for my carefully planned timeline, and I’ve just been so sad. All of the things I’ve put my body through lately could’ve waited, at least, and I could’ve *not* done it in the summer, where I’ve had to miss out on a month of swimming and weeks of hiking. And now I have to figure out whether I want another copper IUD or to endure side effects of hormones for a while, while I figure out what I want from here. Planning to use condoms was what led to my pregnancy, so… Beyond the more tangible inconveniences and discomforts, I am also feeling like the rug is being pulled out from me again. Feeling like I can’t trust when he says he wants kids. Like I’m doomed to relive the same experience over again. It just makes me want to revert to swearing off of having kids and be done with it. 

And I *want* kids. But I’ve been with my husband 14 years, and I want to be with him, too. And I have empathy for the fact that his family pressures him hard on drinking. He’s even texting me now about fighting with his brother because he didn’t drink today and doesn’t want to go out to a bar. But… you’re 31, stand up for yourself and your family, or stop going places and spending time with people who bring out the worst in you. I just don’t know how to feel. 

Sad girl, sad paper plate dinner