What does it mean to be a person who has had an abortion? 

Oof. How do I even start this conversation when we, as a society, don’t even like to use the word abortion? We have shied away from it, often preferring “softer” terms like termination, ending the pregnancy, or even miscarriage management. Somehow, though, when we talk about the people who experienced those things, we default back to the word ABORTION, which, when juxtaposed with the others, seems colder and, therefore, less desirable. Undesirable even. 

That’s what it can feel like to be a person who has had an abortion. In a country where one in four people capable of becoming pregnant will have an abortion in their lifetime (Angus Reid Institute, 2022) and where a recent poll found that 80% of people support a person’s right to an abortion if they so choose (Leger, 2024), why does it still feel icky to be that person? I say this as someone who has had an abortion, as someone who has also had miscarriage management, and as someone who now helps others access abortion. Abortion stigma is real, and it is pervasive. Don’t believe me? Ask yourself if you were surprised to see a positive depiction of an abortion experience (save for one nasty nurse who I think we can all agree should be fired) when you were watching Sex Education and Maeve had a procedural abortion; if you were taken aback by Phoebe Bridgers candid Instagram post detailing her recent abortion; or if you cringe when having to disclose your own reproductive health history. I read the book From a Whisper to a Shout recently, and it brought up an interesting point – that “it’s not the abortion that’s shameful, it’s the pregnancy” based on the idea that if you unintentionally got pregnant, you must have “messed up” (Kissling, 2017, p. 15-16). That messing up, that mistake, THAT is what is undesirable.

This is where we need to flip the narrative, stand up, and remind ourselves and others that we are NOT undesirable. We are college students, parents, trauma survivors, neighbours, friends and most importantly, humans, just trying to do our best while battling the various complexities of modern life. There is no shame in that. Choosing abortion is not messing up; it is an act of empowerment, knowing that you know, better than anyone else, what the best thing for you is. Organizations like Shout Your Abortion and groups like So I Had an Abortion are already doing this work, having real folks share their abortion stories, helping to recentre the discussion from one of blame and shame to one of personal autonomy, strength and resilience. 

So, what does it mean to be a person who has had an abortion? For me, it means that I am a woman who chose to finish school and become financially stable, with a predictable schedule and extended healthcare benefits that would support both me and any future children. Making that choice, prioritizing my needs and not those of the world around me, has proven to have lifelong impacts. It reminded me of my strength when I left an abusive relationship, of my power when I decided to become a surrogate, and of my resilience when I developed a disability. Having an abortion isn’t a great time, but it’s also not something we need to hide or feel ashamed about; no one looks forward to a colonoscopy, but we don’t talk about them in whispers or encrypted Signal chats like we do abortion. 

A few years ago, when I was walking my dog with my mom, I asked her if she had ever had an abortion or considered one. She hadn’t but had been offered one in the 80s after having an x-ray when she was pregnant with my sister. She knew someone who had, though, only after navigating the hospital TAC (therapeutic abortion committee). It was less awkward than I thought it might be, and maybe that’s the takeaway here: that talking about it isn’t as hard as we have been told it should be because our stories aren’t undesirable; they are beautiful. 

I am beautiful, and I am a person who has had an abortion.