A Journey of Faith and Choices

A Young Woman's Story of Courage and Reflection

Discover the heartfelt journey of a young Catholic woman as she navigates the complexities of faith and personal choices in the face of a medical abortion.

Maria

Maria grew up in a close-knit Catholic family in upstate New York. Her faith has always been a guiding light in her life, shaping her values and decisions. As a dedicated member of her local parish, Maria has been involved in various community outreach programs, advocating for the sanctity of life. Her journey, however, took an unexpected turn when she faced a deeply personal decision that challenged her beliefs and understanding of faith.

Facing Difficult Decisions

I never thought this would be my story...

I grew up in a Christian home. Sunday mornings in the pew. Youth group lock-ins. Bible verses taped to the bathroom mirror. I believed life was sacred — not just as an idea, but as a conviction.

But when I found out I was pregnant, all of that seemed to blur.

It happened quickly. One moment, I was just a girl in love, trying to balance college and a part-time job. The next, I was staring at two pink lines that changed everything. I didn’t tell my boyfriend. I told myself I would… eventually. But deep down, I didn’t want to see disappointment on his face. I didn’t want him to feel trapped — or worse, to tell me it was “my choice.”

So I made the decision alone.

I took the first pill in silence.
I had read the instructions a dozen times. I knew what to expect physically. What I wasn’t prepared for was the spiritual weight of that tiny tablet.

I sat there in the clinic in a chair next to the nurse as she encouraged me to take it and swallow it quickly.  I looked down at the pill in my hand and could tell the nurse was becoming impatient.

I whispered a prayer – God, please forgive me. I don’t know what else to do.

I swallowed it. And just like that, something inside me shifted — like I had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.  The nurse gave me a brown bag – like a lunch bag of all things!  Inside were the pills I should take tomorrow.

She told me to quickly make my way to my car and not to pay any attention to the people with signs outside.  As I pulled my car from around the back of the clinic, I did see five people with signs, but what bothered me the most was seeing their Rosary beads.  And what if someone recognizes me and tells my mom or dad.

 

The second pill came 24 hours later. I was alone in my apartment. The cramps started fast and sharp. I curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching a towel and biting back sobs.

And then… it happened.

A gush of blood. Clots. Something more. I saw it.
Not just tissue. Not just “contents of pregnancy.”
It was real. Formed. Small. Fragile.
And it was gone.

I flushed, but the image stayed burned into my mind. I shook and cried and rocked myself like a child.

I had never felt more alone.

The days that followed were hollow.

Physically, the bleeding slowed. The pain subsided. But the ache inside me deepened. I went back to school, to work, to smiling at people. But my soul was numb.

Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the blood.
The toilet. The silence. The way I felt afterward — empty and unworthy.

I still believed in God. But I didn’t know if He still believed in me.

Then something changed.

It started with my boyfriend. One night, he looked at me and said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I love you, and I want to carry it with you — whatever it is.”

So I told him.

Everything.

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said something I didn’t expect:

“That was our child.”

We wept. Not in anger or blame, but in grief. Something holy and broken passed between us — the shared pain of a life lost and a silence that had kept us both apart.

The next day, I went to confession.

It had been years. My hands shook as I opened the church door. I knelt behind the screen and finally said the words I had been terrified to admit:

“I ended my pregnancy.”

The priest was quiet. Then he said:
“Jesus knows. And He still loves you. He has never stopped.”

I cried — harder than I had since the day in the bathroom. But this time, the tears were mixed with something else.

Hope.

He offered absolution. And as I heard the words — “I absolve you…” — something in me broke free.

I didn’t walk out of the church healed completely. But I walked out forgiven.

Now we light a candle every night. We pray for our child. We ask Jesus to hold them. We tell them we love them.

And we ask God to help us do better. To trust Him more.
To tell the truth next time.

To protect life — not just with words, but with choices.

If this is your story too… you are not alone.

Maybe you feel ashamed. Maybe you think you can’t be forgiven.

But you can! God still sees you. He still loves you! He still wants you to come home.

Your story is not over. Even now — especially now — there is grace.

 

Need healing after abortion?

Visit Rachel’s Vineyard, Support After Abortion, or talk to a trusted priest, pastor or Christian counselor.

You are not beyond mercy.