I had my abortion in 1971, pre Roe v. Wade, in NYC. I had never been outside my Southern state by myself before and I was terrified.

I was raised in the Mormon church, and had been told to always be a good girl, and learned how to be codependent at a very early age.

I was 15, my boyfriend and I had been dating since I was 14 (which is when I lost my virginity). My parents were going through a divorce and I felt I had no one so I felt like HE understood me.

I was 22. I already had a 2 year old son whose biological father had abandoned us when he was 2 weeks old. I had just ended a one-year abusive relationship. A few weeks after it ended, I found out I was pregnant.

I was 18 when I had my abortion. I had been dating the guy for nearly two years and for most of that time, I had been on the pill, but out of nowhere, my insurance stopped covering it and I had to see my OBGYN to get a different prescription. 

Growing up so fast wasn’t my plan in life. Being 15 and “falling in love” wasn’t in the plan. Being 16 and pregnant was definitely NOT in the plan. The plan was to pass my ACTs with flying colors, get into a wonderful university and possibly a sorority, student government, maybe start a club. But it was just my junior year of high school; the day before New Year’s Eve when I found out I was pregnant.