Photo by Nick Owuor (astro.nic.visuals) on Unsplash

Dear Self,

I know it feels like it, but I promise this phase you’re in doesn’t define you. The mistakes you’ve made do not devalue you. You’re a damn good woman.

Sitting on your shower floor until the water runs cold hardly reflects triumph, but it’s a necessary part of your journey. Sometimes, we need to hit rock bottom to see how close we are to the top. You’re not as far down as it seems.

Six months ago, you laid there for the first time. The paper on the examination table sticks to your thigh with sweat making you shift uncomfortably. You knew you should be nervous, but the Ativan kept you calm.

*knock, knock* three women came in and one began to explain that she’s the doctor who would be performing the abortion and that the other two were for support. She asked you to put each foot in the stirrups, and before you knew it, your mistake became a part of a stranger’s daily routine.

“That morning you were pregnant but that night you went to bed alone.”

“OK, I’m going to numb your cervix.” she explained. In less than 5 minutes, your uterus had been scraped and emptied.

30 minutes in recovery and they send you on your way. That morning you were pregnant but that night you went to bed alone.

Nothing could prepare you for what happened when the Ativan wore off. Nothing could prepare you for any of this.

A wave of regret and emptiness washed over you and carried you into its dark waters. You desperately searched for something to cling to, not knowing you were in the sea of nothingness. You tried to jump up, but the dark, opaque waters pushed you right back down.

“When you stay anywhere too long, no matter how bad it is, you adapt. That’s exactly what you did, you adapted to the darkness. ”

It’s not that you hadn’t been there before, you just never fell into the trench. Truth is, you had been coming to this place for a long time, slowly wandering farther and farther away from the shore. A childhood of emotional neglect and abuse led to an adolescence preoccupied with searching for love in young men who couldn’t even love themselves. Eventually, any ounce of self-esteem you had was gone. An empty vessel just existing. After a while, you didn’t care what happened to you. Sex became a chore and you weren’t even protecting yourself.

When you stay anywhere too long, no matter how bad it is, you adapt. That’s exactly what you did, you adapted to the darkness. You grew accustomed to the hopelessness. You accepted your fate.

Barely six months passed before you were back on that same table in that same room. The only changes were the season and faces at your feet. Knowing you would need more than Ativan to get through this a second time, the IV sedation you opted for seemed to be doing the trick. You’d never heard your heart beat so slowly.

You knew the routine. Prop your legs up. She numbed your cervix, but wait -- is she sure she numbed you? Each prod, each scrape sends fire through your stomach.

“Are you OK?” she stopped to ask.

“It really, really hurts,” you whispered. She assured you she was almost done. You clenched your jaw and stared at the ceiling as the tears rushed down each side of your face.

“Taren, what have you done?”, you wondered. What have you done to your womb?

“You screamed. Loud. Years of built up pain escaped your mouth.”

The pain finally stopped. Thirty minutes in recovery and you headed back home.

It definitely wasn’t like the first time. If your uterus could talk it would’ve cussed you out and demanded answers. Sitting on the shower floor that night was the first time you truly realized how bad it was. How empty you were.

You screamed. Loud. Years of built up pain escaped your mouth. You couldn't tell where the tears stopped and the drops from the shower began. You were so angry it scared you. You threw the shower curtain open and jumped out and began throwing everything in your path. You were angry at your father for not showing you what love is, for leaving a gaping hole inside your chest. Angry at yourself for being so careless.

The tears didn’t stop, but the motive behind them changed. For the first time in your life you felt compassion for yourself. You cried for yourself. This was the turning point for you, I promise. This was where you became your own lifeboat, coming out to sea to save yourself. Here is where you became the one you always needed.

Today, you’re breaking the curse. You’re preparing for college graduation, going to interviews and making plans. You know you have a future and you know it’s beautiful. You know you deserve it. Most importantly, you have no regrets. You look back at your darkest days and know they not only made you the woman you are today, but the advocate you’re becoming. The apologist is now unapologetic and you share your truth with the world in hopes of guiding other women out of the sea of nothingness.

With love,

Taren

Dear Self: Finding Self-Love After Abortion

Dear Self,