Had I known at the age of 27 that that was my last chance of having a child, I would never have had the abortion.

I was in Australia, travelling, alone. Prior to travelling to Oz, I’d been in a short-term relationship, but my true love, ‘the one’ that I believed to be my soulmate was still very much in my life and because of the nature of our ‘on/off’ relationship at that time, wasn’t aware of the ‘fling’ that I’d had. It was more than a fling though. It’s just that my heart was still elsewhere and I never, of course, anticipated getting pregnant. I even took the morning after pill as a precaution.

I said my goodbyes and remember feeling anxious at the airport that my period had still not arrived. In Malaysia I found out I was pregnant. I travelled through Asia feeling tired and sick and did not know who to tell. Eventually I got to Sydney and told my parents and my ‘true love’. My parents pleaded with me to have the baby. My ‘real boyfriend’ begged me to abort. He said we’d have a family of our own. That the child I was carrying would destroy our chances of being together and creating a life for us. I believed him. Afterall, I wanted the baby to be his.

It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. I took his words and held on to them and had the baby aborted, late. It was traumatic. The grief I felt has never really left me; the sadness has not receded. I’ve kept that inside me for the last 20 years. And guess what? The family that was promised never materialised.

We stayed together, we loved each other, but it turned out that he never really wanted to have children. I lived with him through my thirties just hoping that it’d happen. That our baby would come. Thing is, I was ambivalent about being a mum. I neither wanted it nor didn’t want it. I couldn’t really decide one way or the other. Had I been with a man who actively wanted children, there’s no doubt I’d have become a mum. But I wasn’t with that kind of man.

So, the years rolled on, and then I hit forty and I thought, ‘time is running out’. But still, secretly, I hoped it would happen. Ridiculous really since I hadn’t made a proper decision myself about whether I did or didn’t want children! In the end, my indecision made the choice for me. By forty-four, I decided to leave my partner. I think I was so disappointed at how things had turned out, mainlyhis utter reluctance to start a family with me. I’m not the pushy kind so never felt that I could force him to do something he didn’t want to do, but in the end, it’s me that has been most harmed by that attitude.

I still vividly recall him pleading with me to have an abortion and convincing me that we’d have our own family. I loved him so much, but he had let me down too. So, when we split up in my mid-forties (almost), I was overwhelmed with sadness. The loss of hope and dreams. The coming to terms with a life that was not what I had imagined for us. All that hope! Gone. I was full of grief.

Most of my friends, of course, were married with children and I didn’t know who I could express this deep sadness to. Who would understand? I’ve held all of that in for years. It’s still being held in now. What tipped me over the edge happened this year. My younger brother (forty-four) and his forty-one-year-old girlfriend unexpectedly fell pregnant. Our family had given up on having kids. My parents thought they’d never become grandparents. So, this news took us all by surprise. She told me she was pregnant and simultaneously, I expressed joy and happiness for her ‘miracle’ baby at the same time as repressing the most horrendous, gut-wrenching feeling of hurt, sadness and heartache. It felt like my heart had just been ripped open.

I don’t know how I didn’t let that show, but somehow, I put on a smile for her. And of course, I felt terrible about my reaction. How selfish! How could their wonderful news make me feel so wretched when I should only feel happiness for her? But it was that news that brought my buried grief and longings up to the surface again and made me realise just how much I did want a child. I just didn’t know until that moment quite how much I did. I wanted to be pregnant! I wanted a baby. I wanted to be the daughter who gave my parents a grandchild. I felt unbelievably sad about not being the one to do this. I also knew that I wanted to be a loving aunt, to be fully present in this new person’s life. Already thinking that the only way I can be that person is if I can embrace wholeheartedly their new life, not wishing it was mine.

Neither my brother nor his partner know how I feel. Most people don’t. Perhaps it’s only my darling mother who does. I’ve not known who else to turn to, who to talk to, who to share this with. I am an involuntarily childless woman still hung up about an abortion I had in my twenties.The deep shame and grief caused by that won’t go away.

I turned to the internet to try to find someone, somewhere, who could help me. Were there any other women who had had similar experiences, who felt like me? Who could understand and empathise with me? Did I need to seek out a counsellor? But what kind? (I believe that I do, by the way). That’s when I stumbled across Gateway Women and Jody’s book ‘Living the Life Unexpected’. I’m reading the book now. It’s a starting point. I need more though. I need to share my grief. I need to purge my grief. I don’t want to hold onto it anymore as I can’t live the rest of my life with this amount of sadness in me.But I do need help to do that, I’ve finally realised that now. I can’t do it alone.

I’ve just turned forty-eight and I need to let that sadness go and find some sort of happiness again and a life that is fulfilling, meaningful and productive, without children! Perhaps by writing this I will discover that I am not alone and maybe this will help lead me further onto a path of healing and recovery. I do hope so.

Anonymous

Photo by Kristina Tripkovic on Unsplash