When I shared with a friend of mine that I was going to be writing this, she paused and said, “Do you think this is the best time?” I knew what she meant because considering all that is happening politically around abortion, you’d have to be a bit of a masochist to share that you’ve not only had one abortion … but four.
Here’s the thing, though. Abortions are complicated. Case in point: Back in college, after having my second one, a friend (at the time) first told me that I was going to go to hell for doing it. Then, a few months later, after her own period was a week late, she asked me to tell her about the clinic that I went to. See? Complicated.
I don’t care what anyone says; until you’ve been in the situation, it’s so easy to say what you would or would not do. And for me, during the years of 1993 to 1999, I was young, healing from a myriad of childhood wounds, and in some somewhat strange dynamics with men that caused me to see abortion as a solution to a problem more than anything else at the time. Not to mention that the relationship I had with my mother was so dysfunctional that I wasn’t sure I could even fathom how to parent my children in a healthy way. Hey — that’s not an excuse. That’s just what my reality happened to be.
At the same time, I was conflicted.
Because I grew up in the church, I was aware that God gives us free will and that there are Scriptures in the Bible like, “Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb is a reward” (Psalm 127:3). I had seen a play where a woman found out that she had AIDS and an imaginary child-turned-teen-turned-adult surgeon appeared to her and said, “I am the child that you aborted and I had the cure for AIDS."
Even to this day, I find it fascinating that when someone sees a positive sign on their pregnancy test and they want to be pregnant, pretty much the first thing that they say is, “I’m going to have a baby!" Yet somehow, if they don’t want a child, all of a sudden there’s a debate on whether the fetus within them is a baby or not. Does the status of the child shift based on our own emotional perception of he/she? Again, abortion is complicated.
What I do know is December 4, 1999, while I sat in a clinic in Kentucky (I live in Tennessee and you legally couldn’t have more than four at the time), I heard something within me say, “You don’t want to do this."
Not just once. Over and over again. And although a part of me had always been at war while sitting in clinic chairs as I waited for the procedure to transpire, this time came with a unique kind of pressure. My child’s father was with me and didn’t want to keep it (although he had a baby with someone else a year later) and I was still going through all of the things that I mentioned earlier, and so … I ignored the inner voice.
Twenty-three years later, here I stand. No children. My father took his life two months before I turned 40 and I was his only child. I am 48 and made the decision around 42 or so that I was done even thinking about birthing kids (even though my period continues to come, right on schedule) because I have friends with much older parents; it’s a lot of work for them.
I didn’t want to put any kids of my own through the financial burdens and emotional stress that they have to go through. And so, when I take my last breath, whenever that is, my father’s legacy will end as well. That’s a heavy concept to think about. And I think about it often.
This is the kind of thing that a lot of people don’t think about when they make the kind of decisions they feel are “good for them” at the time.
This is why it’s so important to be hypervigilant about the choices you make before pregnancy even becomes an issue. But that’s another article for another time.
So, how do I handle it whenever the people who are super against abortion find out about my story? I mean, my mother is one of those individuals, so there’s that. I wrote a book about it in 2004. I live by the personal motto that “Sin is whatever you don’t do” — meaning that all of us can justify the weaknesses that we have while stomping all over the weaknesses of others.
Thankfully, God extends mercy and grace to us all. I know about the scripture “Confess and be healed” (James 5:16), which is why I have told my story multiple times (and yes, that verse has a lot of truth to it).
I named all of my children — Damien means “to tame,” Ava means “life,” Nasya means “miracle of life," and Solomon means “peace” — and I strive to live out the purpose of those names on a daily basis. Because when you decide to stay in the way of someone fulfilling their purpose, for whatever the reason, it’s the least that you can do.
It’s actually that last point that explains a huge part of the reason I decided to become a doula — a birth support specialist to other mothers and their partners.
Between once being the teen mom director for the local chapter of a national nonprofit and seeing how dismissive so many doctors are to pregnant young women (to the point of sometimes scheduling C-sections a couple of months in advance when they physically didn’t need them) and wanting to learn more about an experience that I would never have — being a doula was an ideal choice for me.
It helps me to be an advocate for others when I, once upon a time, wasn’t one for myself. It lets me experience the seasons of pregnancy that I never got to go through. When other pregnant women trust me to make their labor and delivery process as stress-less as possible, something in me is restored because I remember back when I didn’t trust myself, pretty much at all.
And you know what? Each and every time I first see a baby’s head crown, then come out, and I look at his/her face, the mom’s facial expression, and oftentimes witness the dad cut the cord, I sob. I can’t help it. The tears are cathartic and cleansing. Shoot, that’s an understatement, to tell you the truth.
I am open with my clients about my past, so oftentimes they ask me if the tears indicate some level of guilt.
They aren't. I forgave myself a long time ago. For those who are super pro-choice and wonder why forgiveness is even necessary, I made the decision to have four abortions when I wasn’t in the best mental or emotional space. So much to the point that I know if I got pregnant, as the woman I am now, I would’ve gone a different route.
And so yes, there is some remorse surrounding all of that. Guilt, however, means that I would not be loving on the old me while understanding that I am not her anymore — and that is not the case.
No, the tears are because conception, pregnancy, and birth are miracles. Every time I get a front seat to witness it, I am reminded of that — and it is truly overwhelming in the absolute best way possible. That’s actually another part of the reason why I became a doula. It’s because, back in the '90s, a lot of what I did — even outside of abortion clinics — was about fear. These days, I want to witness miracles. I can never get enough of them, really.
So, is it hard to be around so much pregnancy and so many babies knowing that I will never have any of my own?
The answer to that question has a lot of layers, but overall, no. I have two goddaughters who’ve emotionally restored me in a lot of ways. The decision to not have children at this age and stage in my life was made calmly and maturely — very different from how I was 20-something years ago. And I’m still a woman with a womb: We birth things in metaphorical ways as well. I am at peace.
I do think it’s important to keep sharing this part of my life, though. One reason is because I hope it encourages others to really think about how their present affects their future. Ironically, the second reason is because I hope that it helps those who may not have used full-on discernment with their own past choices (that they may now regret) to see that there can be beauty for ashes and silver linings in spite of things.
There’s a story in Exodus 1 that talks about two midwives — Shiphrah and Puah.
Because they protected little Hebrew baby boys, God blessed them with their own households. A household is simply a home. I smile whenever I think about that story because being a doula has healed and blessed me in a myriad of ways. Protecting teen moms. Assisting grown women. It has all helped to make me whole.
I don’t expect all of what I wrote to make sense to everyone who reads it. After all, it’s my story. However, I do believe that it can bring some hope and clarity to a few. A part of my journey is that I had four abortions. Another part of my journey is that I am now a doula. It’s the journey and not the destination that makes us who we are. Wherever you stand on abortion at this time in our country’s history, always remember that.
When it comes to yourself, and when it comes to others, it will make you a better and more compassionate person. Trust me.
Shellie R. Warren is a marriage life coach, doula, and the author of Inside of Me: Lessons of Lust, Love and Redemption.
