I was seventeen when I found out I was pregnant to a boy (also seventeen) who I had been dating for a little over a month. I barely graduated highschool, and had serious depression, anxiety, bulimia.

When I first took the test I refused to believe it and had to take four more just to be sure, even though deep down I think I already knew. I had been very, very sick. Upon telling my boyfriend I had the overwhelming desire to purge, like I could throw up a fetus and be done with it. I didn’t want a child, I knew I was in no state to raise a child and I thought about adoption, but that wasn’t something I think I could do either. My partner wanted to abort, his family being very religious would have not approved of a child out of wedlock.
I made the decision for myself in the end, my mind could not take giving away a living breathing child, and I could not care for one either. I could barley get myself out of bed, or hold down my food let alone care for another human.
My parents supported me every step of the way. It was their love and support that got me through the next few weeks.
Walking out of the abortion clinic I felt relief and sadness. I sometimes shed a tear for what might have been, but honestly looking back I know I wouldn’t have made it. It took me years to overcome my depression and my boyfriend was abusive. Raising a child in that situation would have been extremely traumatic.
So I’m glad, I’m glad I didn’t bring a child into a broken family. When I have children it will be with someone who loves me, it will be when I can take care of them and give them all the love they deserve. That’s how it is meant to be.