If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...
This is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm living with a secret that is slowly destroying me. I briefly commented about it on Blogging Baby, but even then I lied a little. I changed a very big detail about this secret on that comment. I'm writing as Paige, here and there, but that's not my name. I'm not even writing this from home, in the fear that someone might track me down somehow. I can't tell anyone else, so I'm coming here.
I am a married mother of two children, and I terminated my fourth pregnancy (the first ended in miscarriage). I told my family and friends, including my husband, that I miscarried and had to have a D&C because it was incomplete. My husband was out-of-town on business at the time and I told him not to come home because I could handle it, it was no big deal. The truth: I was planning an abortion.
I didn't want another child. I didn't want to be pregnant. I was happy with things the way they were. I was getting my life back (my youngest child was three) and I never planned on having three children. Being pregnant was incredibly difficult for me, both times (again, the first ended in miscarriage quite early). I was sick, all the time, and was hospitalized a lot with both pregnancies. I came close to death when I was pregnant with my second child. I just didn't want to be pregnant again. I was afraid.
When we found out we were pregnant with my son, we were shocked but ultimately happy. Our second child was planned. When I took the pregnancy test the last time, I cried. I cried and cried and I never was happy about it. I never got that feeling that everything would work out and that we were being blessed. It all felt wrong and horrible and I wanted no part of it, even though my husband was very supportive and was saying all the right things: it'll be fine, we'll get through it, we'll get the best medical care to make sure you're okay this time.
So when my husband went out-of-town, I invented some spotting. I made up a doctor's appointment where he didn't hear a heartbeat or see movement on the ultrasound. I pretended I was having a miscarriage and I went to a clinic and I terminated. I cried, not because I was sad about terminating, but because I wished I had never been put in that situation to begin with. I never, ever thought that I would be someone who had an abortion. I believed, and still believe, in a woman's right to choose, but when that woman was me...well, it sucked.
I still think I did the right thing. Another pregnancy, according to my obstetrician, would have been hell on me. There was no guarantee that I would have lived through it, since I barely lived through the last one. Besides that, I can barely mother the two children I have now. Every day is a struggle to make sure I don't damage them the way my father damaged me. Every day I have to consciously choose to be kind and supportive and to make sure that I don't destroy their souls. Things were bad in my childhood home, and it's hard to break the cycle. It's really, really hard. Add another child in the mix? It didn't seem like a good idea.
So even though I don't regret having the abortion, I have to live with this secret by myself. It's killing me. Things have gotten better as the years have gone by. I've forgotten what my due date would have been, I've even forgotten the date of the termination. Sometimes I go days without thinking about it. But keeping this secret has changed me. I never, ever kept anything from my husband before. I feel like I've built this wall but I can't ever tell him the truth. It would hurt him too deeply.
That's how I find myself here. I know I won't get a lot of support. I don't expect it, that's for sure. I just had to tell someone.