A New Take on a Fraught Debate: One Woman's Unique Journey with Motherhood, Miscarriage, and Abortion

I am a mother and I’m expecting my second child. And I’m so, so excited. But, this isn’t a piece about the excitement of my second pregnancy. This is my story about the full experiences of motherhood: pregnancy, miscarriage and the abortion I had when I wasn’t yet ready to be a mother. It’s a story that millions of women – and millions of mothers – share. Because six in 10 women who have had some kind of abortion are already mothers.

I became a mother in April of 2020, giving birth to my daughter at the very start of the pandemic (I’ll write about my solo hospital experience and the trauma of those few days another time).

While the world felt very heavy that April, it felt “normal” and lighter in August of 2019 when I found out I was pregnant. At that time it felt completely natural to announce my pregnancy on Instagram with no reference to the previous experiences I’d had with pregnancy and fertility. My earlier life moments felt separate and private – something I’d only shared with a few people.

But the world has changed a lot in the last two years – and my feelings about my path to motherhood have become more layered – a product of on-the-job experience no doubt, and also a reaction to the current American female realities and the Supreme Court’s decision to strike down Roe V Wade. A decision that affects every woman and man in this country. Whether you need to utilize medical intervention during pregnancy or not: you know someone who has.

I know personally how crucial access to those procedures can be. This pregnancy wasn’t our first attempt at a second baby. I had a missed miscarriage last year. I spent 11 weeks believing I was pregnant and would be giving birth this past June, only to find out at my first ultrasound that not only was there no heartbeat, there was no baby at all. My embryo had never developed, and my body hadn’t noticed. There were no signs that anything was wrong. I felt pregnant (a.k.a. pretty terrible) all the time. I had told my family I was pregnant. I was starting to look pregnant. And then that first doctor’s appointment revealed an empty uterus that had developed everything it needed to carry a baby…except the baby.

I was given a choice by my doctor: take a pill to get my body to expel the remnants of a failed pregnancy or schedule a D&C – both procedures that are medically classified as abortions. For many reasons, I chose the D&C.

I had some previous knowledge in this area that informed my decision. This doctor-directed abortion was not my first.

Ten years ago, when I was in my late 20s, I reconnected with an old crush while I was home for the holidays and unexpectedly became pregnant. Very fortunately for me and my physical + mental health, I discovered the pregnancy almost immediately, just a few days after my missed period, or about three weeks along. I was shocked because we had used protection. And I was terrified. I was job hunting and interviewing for some exciting new opportunities in my career at the time. I felt the chances of getting hired for a new position with maternity leave on the horizon were slim.

Like I said, I have always wanted to be a mom. But I wanted to be able to make that choice when I felt prepared to do it. Ideally when I had a stable partner to parent with, or, in lieu of that, when I could afford to support myself and another. Neither was the case for me a decade ago. The person I got pregnant with let me know as soon as I told him that he was not interested in becoming a father at that time and that this would be a solo endeavor if I decided to continue. Instead, he offered to pay for half the cost of the abortion.

I was wracked with anxiety. And fear. And sadness. I never wanted to have to make that choice. I am Catholic and was morally worried about the choice. But I ultimately decided that the compassionate thing to do was to terminate and give myself the time and space to come to that life change when I could be excited, ready, and 100% willing to do it.

I chose to take the pill and handle the experience at home. One of my best friends came to sit with me, which turned out to be an enormous blessing because the abdominal contracting was so intense, for the first – and only – time in my life, I actually vomited from the pain. (For what it’s worth, I didn’t even vomit from the pain of actual childbirth years later.) She helped me through one of the worst nights of my life – despite never having had any personal experience with the choice I’d made. I will forever be grateful for her kindness and compassion.

I strongly felt – and feel now – that was the exact right choice for me at the time. ESPECIALLY now that I am a mother. Childbirth, child rearing and child-related expenses are difficult, all-consuming, and huge requirements for you. I was not prepared, financially or mentally, for them at the time.

Knowing it was the right choice did not make it easier. I was haunted by my decision for years. I sought a dispensation during the following Lent from my church – which I received – though I still have trouble sometimes at mass.

And so when once-again faced with an abortion, because, yes, that’s how they classify the procedure even when there is no fetus, I knew that I wasn’t mentally prepared to experience the loss of this very-much-wanted pregnancy from the top of my toilet. I also didn’t want to take the chance that the pill might not get everything out and I’d have to have both procedures. I opted for the D&C. I was still a wreck.

My husband and I were very concerned about timing, knowing I was months away from turning 39 and that getting pregnant again would only get harder by the day. We wanted to give our daughter a sibling. We had been so excited to be on our way.

I sat alone in the pre-op room praying. The nurse put an IV into a vein in my hand and the vein blew. My hand had a tennis-ball sized pocket of fluid in it when I went under for the procedure and it hurt for over a week. Afterwards I slept for a full day while my husband and mom cared for my toddler. Dealing with the come-down from the anesthesia and the full-body despair I felt at having failed at this try, and the full-body fear that I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again, was completely overwhelming. I share these details not to inspire compassion for me, as I had ample support and resources, but to showcase the fact that these decisions are mentally and physically HARD even when you do have all the resources and access you need.

I did get pregnant again. Just a few months later. And I’ve been a wreck the whole time. Worried that my body would fail me again. That something would go wrong and I wouldn’t feel it just like the last time. And then, a few months into it, just when I should have been getting to a healthier, more secure mental state, I had a whole new issue keeping me awake at night. I watched in despair as the rights of millions of women were taken away. As the rights of my daughter were taken away. Sitting with the knowledge that people in many places in our country will no longer have the freedom to make the choices that I’d been able to make.

Already we’ve seen the courts rule that a legal minor is “not mature” enough to have an abortion, but mature enough to be responsible for carrying a pregnancy to term and raising a child. Already there are women who have been denied medical exemption and are being forced to carry unviable pregnancies to term only to experience the trauma of stillbirth, or a baby who dies post birth. Already we’ve seen politicians make moves to institute a national ban on all abortions, and in 14 states this medical procedure is now almost completely illegal. It is estimated that nearly 30 million women of reproductive age now live in a state with a ban.

I am so excited to meet this child, when, God-willing, they arrive. But I am bringing them into this world on the back of many small choices and a few very big ones. All choices I should have the right to make because it is my singular body and my singular life.

I have had a miscarriage. I have had an abortion. I have had a baby. I hope to have another in just two months. And I will continue to count my blessings that I’ve been able to make every heartbreaking, difficult, glorious, amazing choice about my own body. And it is my sincerest hope that I’m able to see America return to a state of bodily autonomy for both genders in my lifetime.

Lauren Schutte is an award-winning marketer, former journalist and communications director. She lives in LA with her husband, 2-year-old daughter and is excited to be expecting her second child very soon.