Today’s guest post was written by my lovely friend Kirsten. Normally I put up an intro paragraph. But this time, I’m going to just let Kirsten’s words speak for themselves.
I’m going to ask you all to please do me two favors today. First, please be kind. If you disagree with the choice my friend made, that is one thing. It isn’t something everyone agrees with and I understand that. I won’t however tolerate hateful comments. This is the first time she’s telling this story and she needs support. Two, please leave any comments to Kirsten here, instead of her personal blog. Thanks. -Issa
This is quite possibly the scariest post I have ever written. Every time I’ve sat down to write it, my heart beats faster, my hands start to shake a little and I have to walk away. But I need to write it and Issa has been gracious enough to let me post it here. You see, I can’t post it on my own, because I am about to reveal something about myself that I have never even told my husband. I sometimes go weeks without thinking about it, but it always creeps back into my thoughts and I think it always will.
My first job out of college was as a receptionist in a busy office in downtown San Francisco. I loved it. I got to dress up every day and the office was full of dynamic, high energy people that I learned so much from. It was the perfect place to get my foot in the door and learn the ropes.
When I first met him I wondered how he came to work there. He just seemed a little different that the rest of the people in the office. He was more serious. He didn’t join in on the after work drinks or linger in the kitchen while getting coffee to chat. He was pleasant though and I tried to make small talk when he walked into the office in the morning.
Turns out we lived in the same neighborhood so we would often see each other on the train. We developed a friendship, often stopping for coffee together on the way to work. Occasionally we’d have lunch together. He was easy to talk to and was one of the few people in the office who took me seriously. I wasn’t just the fresh-faced, right out of college receptionist who had a lot to learn. We had a genuine friendship. I’d tell him about my latest adventures with my room mates and he’d tell me about his wife and daughter. I knew his relationship with his wife was strained, but he never spoke ill of her. She wanted more kids, he didn’t. But he was crazy about his little girl. I even babysat for them once or twice.
One night he asked me to work late to help him finish a presentation he was working on for the next morning. We worked until about 8pm, and stopped at a bar on the way home. That night was when I knew I had a crush on him. I honestly had no idea if he had any kind of romantic feelings for me. I knew he honest-to-goodness valued our friendship and never tried to hide it from his wife. But did he feel the same? He never showed it. I thought we had chemistry. I thought he could perhaps, possibly, maybe feel the same way. But for all I know I was just a good friend from work who had the same taste in beer and lunch places.
Things continued for a couple of months. Me with a school-girl crush on a married man some 12 years older than me and I could also tell that things were not improving for him at home. He never told me and specifics, but it was obvious things were going downhill.
One night we went out to dinner. Nothing was out of the ordinary. We ate Mexican food, talked about music, traveling and our wacky coworkers. He drove me home and while we were parked in my driveway, he told me his wife had asked him to move out. I was speechless. Then he kissed me. I was so shocked I didn’t even kiss him back. He said, “That is not exactly how I imagined our first kiss.” I was just so taken off guard. Truly, I had no idea he felt the same way about me. I asked him to please kiss me again. And after that I asked him to come up to my apartment.
(I want to make it clear that I was not the reason his marriage failed. I found out much later that his wife was having an affair with one of their neighbors before they were even separated. She subsequently married the neighbor and had another child. There was never, ever anything between us while he was still with his wife.)
We certainly didn’t jump right into a relationship. He was still dealing with the details of dissolving a marriage. But we did continue to see each other outside of work. A few weeks later I became extremely fatigued and just walking into a grocery store was enough to make me want to vomit. I bought a pregnancy test and felt like every ounce of blood was leaving my body as the two lines showed up. I was pregnant.
Never since that moment have I been so terrified or felt so stupid. How could I let this happen?? I was 24 years old, a baby with a newly divorced man was not in my plan. Just a few weeks ago I remarked to a friend of mine that if I got pregnant I would keep the baby. But now… now I was pregnant and oh my God I WAS PREGNANT and single and 24 years old and barely able to pay my rent each month on my receptionist salary.
I remember quite clearly sitting in the coffee shop where I told him. His reaction, after the shock wore off, was “we can’t have a baby together.” He wanted to know what I thought we should do. I honestly had no idea.
I spent the next week or so in a hazy, foggy state. There were two closer than close friends that I told who were amazingly supportive as only lifelong, amazing friends can be. One in particular went to the doctor with me and held my hand through every crying fit.
Eventually I came to the decision that I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t have a baby with this man and I wasn’t brave enough to do it on my own. Don’t get me wrong, he was/is a genuinely good person and I still have a lot of respect for him. But I knew in my heart of hearts that he didn’t want this baby. There was never any, “we’ll get through this together.” No, “whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you, for us.” I knew I had to terminate the pregnancy. And that’s what I did.
There was a part of me that was angry at him. My friends got me through it; drove me home, brought me cupcakes and flowers when it was over. Not him. We were never able to really be friends or anything else for that matter. Almost exactly two months later, I met the man I would eventually marry.
I often think about how different my life would be if I made the other choice. Obviously, Jay and I would never have started dating if I was pregnant with another man’s baby. I look at my three precious kids and it nearly knocks the wind out of me sometimes. They wouldn’t be here, these kids I adore. I would have a thirteen year old. His/her birthday would have been in June. I’m sure I would look at him/her and not even be able to fathom the fact that he/she almost didn’t happen. That’s what haunts me. Would it have been hard to go it alone at 24? Most definitely. My life would have taken a completely different course, but would it have been any less wonderful? Where would I be now, 13 years later.
I like my life. I love my husband and I feel safe and loved in our marriage. This family we are building together is what is supposed to be. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all somewhat of a betrayal to someone else who was supposed to be here. I’ll always hold a place in my heart for that baby.
So there you have it. I had an abortion at the age of 24. I regret it, and also, I don’t regret it. Do you look at me any differently? I look at myself differently. Would my husband look at me any differently if he knew? I really don’t know. I’m still working toward accepting that it is part of my history and that’s probably why I’ve never told him.
And the dishes? They can wait for another day. Really
