Lying on the floor of my bathroom, agony slowly subsiding to a duller ache, I stared up at a cobweb bobbing gently in the breeze and wondered what to do next.
There were no dark circumstances surrounding my abortion – no assault, no medical complications – it was simply not the right time. My husband and I had just gotten married and, in something of a cliché, we found out we were pregnant right after our wedding night. Others would have been thrilled, but we looked at each other with a reluctant mournfulness. We hadn’t planned on children just yet; maybe not ever. We hadn’t even been together that long, hadn’t worked out each other’s quirks enough to have a well-functioning relationship, let alone one that was ready to welcome a third person into it. So, we decided on abortion.
It wasn’t an easy experience, and it’s not something I care to delve deeply into, but it was the right decision for us in that moment. Afterwards, I picked myself up off the bathroom floor and we continued to live our lives as planned, embarking on a month-long motorcycling adventure through Mexico, filled with margaritas and laughter, enjoying our freedom and each other.
I’ve always been quite open about my abortion. If people asked, I didn’t shy away from the truth. I even discussed it with a few close friends who were having trouble conceiving, exploring the heavy topics of shame, societal pressure and bodily autonomy. However, despite this candour, there was one person I couldn’t bring myself to tell: my mum.
My mum is a phenomenal woman. Intelligent, insightful and incredibly supportive. We share a bond where honesty prevails, and we agree on nearly all things. Except, perhaps, on the inherent calling of motherhood. Despite being an extremely successful career woman, she’s always felt it was her destiny to be a mother, a role she cherishes above all others. I, on the other hand, was long uncertain about parenthood. My decision, I feared, might devastate her. I worried she would view me differently, perhaps even with disdain or reproach.
The secret weighed on me, altering the dynamics of our close relationship. I found myself skipping over certain topics at meals out, conscious, as time went on, that our once inseparably close bond was now tainted by this serious thing that I couldn’t reveal to her.
And then came a day when everything changed….
My dad was sick in hospital. My sister, mum and I were holed up in our parental home, lying on mum’s bed having a deep heart-to-heart. The conversation drifted to the Roe V Wade repeal in America, and we launched ourselves into an empathic discussion about what women go through when they make these kinds of decisions. Full of nerves and apprehension, I made the leap to reveal the one thing I’d been so closely guarding from her, bracing for impact, anticipating her crestfallen face.
Her reaction was not at all what I expected. She smiled - a knowing, melancholy smile – and shared her own story. She too had made the same difficult decision in her twenties, under not dissimilar circumstances. She had also felt compelled never to mention it to us. This revelation not only lifted an immense weight off my shoulders but also altered my perspective profoundly. I realised that even those who embrace motherhood with fervour can also find themselves exercising their right to choose. And when they do, they aren’t required to disclose it, or explain themselves to anyone.
Today, the topic of abortion remains as vital and contentious as ever. In England and Wales, the right is under scrutiny once more. Two Conservative MPs have proposed amendments to the Criminal Justice Bill that threaten to restrict access to abortion, a move that could have profound implications for many in the UK. Concurrently, there's a significant effort, led by MPs like Stella Creasy and Dame Diana Johnson, to move abortion out of criminal law entirely, a change that has already occurred in Scotland and Northern Ireland. Their success would ensure that no person seeking an abortion pill online or doctor performing this procedure could be prosecuted, safeguarding the right to choose and reinforcing the freedom I once exercised.
Since revealing my secret, the bond between my mum and I has deepened even more. Our shared experience highlights the essential nature of maintaining and protecting the rights that underpin such deeply personal decisions. As we watch these legislative battles unfold, it's a poignant reminder of the ongoing struggle for autonomy and recognition women face across generations.
A few years after my own abortion, I had a baby boy, in a pregnancy that my husband and I prepared for with lots of thought and consideration. Our son is truly wonderful, and every day with him strengthens my conviction. I have no regrets about the steps I took along the way – and that’s what matters: my right, my mother’s right and all women’s right to choose.
Natasha Bird is the Former Executive Editor (Digital) of ELLE.
