To the girl making the hardest decision of her life,
I’m not going to say I understand what you’re going through because, let’s be honest: I have no clue. Are you scared? Alone? Embarrassed? Worried about what everyone at school/church/social media/the grocery store will think? What about your education? Where’s the father? Are y’all on good terms or is he the monster who haunts your night terrors causing you to wake up screaming?
Like I said, I have never been in your shoes but, me and your unborn child (yes, child—not fetus or cluster of cells) share more than you could ever understand. Twenty years ago, my own mother was in your shoes: pregnant, young and afraid. I was the result of a one night with some guy at a party who still, to this day, I can’t even find on Facebook (who doesn’t have Facebook? I mean come on!). She was bright, beautiful, and had opportunities throwing themselves at her, but three minutes later, two pink lines meant one thing and because of her decisions you’re reading this today. I’m not sure if abortion ever crossed her mind, but since she was valedictorian of her high school, I’m guessing she took the time to consider all possible options. Ultimately, her decision was what you get if you change a few letters in abortion: adoption. As a result, I have: Life.
Because my biological mother endured the nine months of slight embarrassment and discomfort, I have two amazing parents who would give up the world for me. They’ve remodeled my bedroom fifteen times in the last nineteen years whenever I’ve decided I’m “too grown up” for Lizzie McGuire, Winnie the Pooh, or Hello Kitty, or that I no longer want to be a princess, cowgirl, or gymnast. They have selflessly loved me through all of my awkward phases and hormone-filled temper tantrums with patience and grace. As a family, we have danced around the living room to cheesy pop songs a few too many times—experiences they couldn’t have had without me since they were a barren couple.
Because my biological mother experienced the ahem “joy” of morning sickness, I was able to experience my first steps, my first bike ride, my first crush, my first cheer tryout, my first trip out of the country, my first kiss, my first semester of college, and my first fried twinkie. I’ve also been blessed to have my first fall, my first rejection, my first heartbreak, my first broken bone, my first week of grounding, my first (and only) “B”, my first death of a close friend. The good, the bad, the ugly—none of which you can experience once you’ve been ripped apart. Limb. By. Limb.
Because my biological mother experienced the sideways glances of strangers captivated by the size 00 girl with a belly the size of a beach ball, I’ve fallen head over heels in love with life. I adore the wind playing with my hair when my windows are down, I’m driving way too fast, and the music is a little too loud. I’m obsessed with the feeling of little hands wrapping around my pinkie as if I am all they will ever need. I cannot begin to express my affection for getting lost in a good book to hide from the world—and that ten page paper I’m supposed to be writing. (The tendency to procrastinate is a trait I get from my biological mother, I’m told.) You can’t fall in love with anything when your fate is (vacuum) sealed.
Because my biological mother dropped out of high school—oh wait, she didn’t. Actually, she finished with high honors, enrolled in the Air Force after four years of ROTC, and even taught art in a Korean school while stationed overseas! Because my biological mother chose adoption, I now share bright blue eyes, long eyelashes that sometimes get tangled, a love for learning, a minor heart defect, and the inability to grow past five foot one with the most selfless human being I’ve ever met. I can never thank her enough for all she has done for me. From the day she gave me up to the day we met on my sixteenth birthday and every day since, her decision has changed my life.
So I am begging you while you make this decision—don’t allow the inconvenience pregnancy might cause you for nine months determine whether or not a child lives.
The Non-Aborted Conservative
This article originally appeared on Future First Lady.