I Had an Abortion at 44. As a Christian, I Made Peace With My Sin

I was 44 years old and pregnant. Unbelievable. Five pregnancy tests, all torn apart in some hotel in Kansas City. All positive within seconds. I was flabbergasted.
My partner and I hadn't used birth control in years. Not because we were trying for a child, but because after years of being casual about birth control, we assumed he shot blanks. I guess the joke was on me.

That night, I met an old colleague, and we caught up. I was dying inside but couldn't—wouldn't—share. Not that he wouldn't have accepted me. I was just afraid. Prideful. In shock. In denial.

I called my partner and told him. He asked how that happened. I said, "Lack of birth control, bud." By this time, our union was just a shell game. Smoke and mirrors. A happy looking, successful, and beautiful couple turned into a sham.

I recall praying. I recall crying. I recall the decision to call the clinic and make an appointment to terminate the pregnancy. I called my mom and gained her support. I distinctly remember it was my choice.

I did not consult my partner on the topic at all. Some regrets live on, and some don't. This was one that didn't. I simply was not going to get myself into any situation that would force me to be dependent on or intertwined with him. I couldn't trust him with anything. I certainly could not depend on him to be a father, and I was not going to do it myself.

As I walked into the clinic in Dallas, they were holding an anti-abortion rally outside its doors. I saw them approaching the young, scared, soon-to-be mothers entering and engaging them in persuasive conversation.

Not me. I stood tall, was dressed in business clothes, and walked through that crowd like I was going on a sales call. Confident, scared to the root of my soul, ashamed, assured my decision was accurate. I'm pretty certain none of them expected a 44-year-old client.

Once inside, I was at peace. The waiting room was full of such young, scared girls. Some sat with their boyfriends, others with mothers or sisters, and some alone, just like me. I realized as we sat there waiting for our names to be called that we all had such different paths and stories that had led us to the exact same point. I somehow found peace in that.

My name was called, and I slipped into my gown. All the nurses were so kind and gentle and soft-spoken. The furniture, beds, and clinic were threadbare and reminiscent of the 1950s. But to me, it felt like a comfortable old blanket. Like grandma's house. Not fancy, but spotless and full of love and peace. I felt comfortable, safe, and unjudged.

The realization of seeing the tiny heartbeat and having the nurse assure me that I was, in fact, six weeks along was surreal. I could identify the night of conception. Oddly, I recalled thinking at the time that we should have used birth control that night. I had let my guard down.

Next, the doctor came in. He was in his sixties and looked like he was tired of fighting the daily fight to perform procedures that are firmly protected by our constitution in 2007. He asked me why I was thinking about an abortion.

I explained that I did not have a partner who gave two cents about me, how much I loved my career, and how I could not afford to give my job up to raise this child. I told him I had three beautiful adult sons, and that I was done with the child-rearing time in my life. I told him I had based my decision on logic, knowledge, and not fear.

While recuperating in this warm, dark, soft, music-playing wardroom, I felt at peace. Nestled into my blankies alone with my thoughts, I knew I had made the right decision. Six hours later, I got up, got dressed, and walked out the door into the same crowd I'd walked past seven hours earlier.

They now knew. I knew they knew. Again, I strode past them, head high, my eyes up, confident that I had taken control of the rights of women to own their own bodies. Even now, as I write this as a reborn Christian, I do not know if I would have made a different choice.

That was my path—the same path that led me to Christ and the same Christ-driven path I am on today. Judge me. Applaud me. Pray for me. Cry for me. The choice is yours—just as the choice was mine.

I do not believe abortion is birth control to be abused, but it should be an option. I believe women take on 100 percent of the responsibility for carrying a child and 70-90 percent of the care. There are great fathers out there who break that mold, but holistically, I believe that it is the mothers who raise the babies a lot of the time.

It seems impossible to believe that male birth control pills have not been invented to share the responsibility, but they haven't. When we find ourselves pregnant, we must act fast and trust our instincts.

I believe that if a woman is pregnant, she alone may choose her destiny. Roe vs. Wade was signed into place to protect women in need of medical choices. With it being revoked in a number of states, we are casting shame on women needlessly as they franticly search out council facilities to end pregnancies.

I am not justifying murder, but I am not doomed to eternal damnation because I sought an abortion. As a Christian, I believe that all sins are heinous, and all sins can be erased with Christ's mercy. If He didn't die for all sins, then his sacrifice on the cross was futile.

Motherhood is a destiny and an honor. I would advise women to prayerfully decide when it is their turn to be mothers and to prayerfully make their own decisions.

Joanne Richardson is President of Gailwinds Group LLC. She has 3 adult sons and 6 grandchildren. She is a semi-retired veteran of OEM corporate sales leadership, and is experienced in HVAC-R/Boiler engineering, Digital Buildings, IIOT, Alternative Power, and electrical. Joanne has recently published her first book, Virtue of Honor. Acquiring Truth.

All views expressed are the author's own.

Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? See our Reader Submissions Guide and then email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com.