Susan's story: The cost of 'normality'

In 2001, I was fifteen years old and completely infatuated with a local boy. As we spent more time alone together, physical boundaries gradually fell away. Despite using contraception, it had failed and I was faced with the terrifying prospect of realising that I was pregnant.

I phoned my aunt and told her the news. Soon, she was on her way to our house with my uncle. I hid in my bedroom, leaving the door open just enough to hear what was happening downstairs. I heard them say, ​“We’re not just here for a catch-up; we have something we would like to discuss.” 

Before they could say anything more, my mum interrupted: ​“Is Susan pregnant?” My aunt fell silent and my mum immediately responded, ​“I knew it.” My dad, completely bewildered by what was happening, exclaimed, ​“What?!” in horror. 

The conversation quickly turned to practicalities. ​“Well, she’s only 15. It’s her GCSE year at school. We’ll need to get this dealt with. We need to book a termination.” 

I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. My parents were going to make this problem go away quickly, and they had the financial means to make it happen. I wanted my life to return to normal as quickly as possible and to put what I saw as an unfortunate problem behind me. 

I heard my mum say, ​“I’ll go up to her.” My palms were sweaty, my heart was pounding out of my chest, and I was utterly petrified. My mum opened the door and approached with her arms open, ready to hug me. We sat on the bed together, and she reassured me that everything was okay, that I was loved, and that my parents would help me resolve the situation. 

Mum explained that, had I been a little older, there might have been a discussion about what I wanted to do. But at fifteen, during such a crucial year of secondary school, my parents had decided that the decision was out of my hands. ​“It will be sorted,” she assured me. To me, it felt like a nightmare I simply wanted to wake up from. 

It was decided that my younger sisters would not be told about the pregnancy. I eventually went downstairs. Dad stood up and hugged me, but he remained silent.

Abortions were not available locally in Northern Ireland in 2001; we would need to travel to England for a few days. My aunt immediately offered to come with us. 

I explained to my parents that my boyfriend’s parents were on a two-week holiday. I suggested that we should wait until they returned so that we could discuss everything with them. Dad was adamant that this would not happen. He had made his decision. I was going to England, and that was that. Neither my boyfriend nor his parents would be getting a say in the matter. 

I was really conflicted about this because, despite his initial shock, my boyfriend had told me he was willing to give up a potential place at Queen’s University to become a young dad. 

Dad phoned Marie Stopes in England and explained my situation. They were able to offer an appointment exactly two weeks later. I approached Dad and said, ​“I’ve been thinking about this. Church teaches that this is sinful, and I worry that God won’t be pleased with me. Ultimately, it’s the murder of a baby.” 

He responded in a soft, gentle tone: ​“This isn’t on your head, love, to worry about. On Judgement Day, I’ll tell God that this was my decision. I’ll explain my reasoning for doing it, and I’ll face any consequences. But it’s happening.”

When I arrived at the entrance to an abortion clinic in southern England, a group of Christians stood outside holding placards displaying graphic images of aborted foetuses, alongside Bible verses and warnings: ​“You will be a murderer if you go in there! It is a grievous sin, child!” My mum and aunt, both silent, quickly ushered me into the building. 

I had a scan to assess how far along I was. When the sonographer went to perform the scan, my mum said, ​“turn the screen away, she won’t be looking.” The sonographer confirmed that I was 9 weeks pregnant and that I would soon meet the consultant who would perform the operation the following day. 

In addition, the clinic would have one counselling session with me to ensure I understood what was involved, that I hadn’t been forced to do this and to discuss potential emotions and aftercare offered. Looking back, I can see how naïve and immature I was going through such a life-changing decision. 

The next day, I faced another walk through the Christian protesters. People shouted at me that I needed to know the Bible. I felt like screaming back, ​“I know the Bible! I have loads of them in my house! Have you nothing better to do than shout at teenage girls and vulnerable women in the street?” 

My aunt hugged me and reassured me, ​“Darling at this stage it is only a wee fertilised egg. A wee tiny cell. It will all be over soon and life will return to normal.” 

Shortly after I was taken to theatre. I remember looking at a clock on the wall, slowly lying back and silently praying, ​“God, I am sorry. If I do this, please let me have another baby in the future in a loving marriage when it is right and I am ready.” 

Later that evening, I finally had the opportunity to phone my boyfriend at home. However, the call was answered by his best friend, with loud dance music blaring in the background. His friend explained that they were at his flat and that my boyfriend had brought a large bottle of vodka with him and announced, ​“Lads, drink with me. My head is absolutely melted here. She is currently in England killing our child!” Furious, I ended the call. 

The next morning, we flew back to Belfast. Somehow, I thought I could leave the memory in England and normal life could now resume. 

When I finally spoke to my hungover and emotional boyfriend, he proceeded to tell me how heartbroken he was that the abortion had taken place and that his Mum would not be pleased an abortion had happened without them being informed first. A few days later my dad went to my boyfriend’s family home. My boyfriend was told to never contact me again. 

Back at school, I found myself in an RE class debate on abortion. I got defensive and said ​“for some women it is the only option. It is your body, your choice!” A boy challenged me, saying, ​“The priest taught us it is murder! What is the point of having choice on earth if you will burn in hell forever in eternity?” Another boy said, ​“If you don’t want the baby at least consider adoption! And what about the father?” 

Three years later, I started university and enjoyed the attention of men. I had a season of getting lost in the partying scene. When I was twenty-five, on a girls holiday in Ibiza, I came under loving conviction from God about the direction of my life and came home with a desire of wanting to go back to church. 

One day, my youngest sister (aged 19 at the time), phoned me crying, saying that she was pregnant and was terrified of telling our parents. She wanted me present but said she would talk. 

Upon hearing the news, both my parents hugged her and told her about my abortion. Shocked, my sister responded, ​“I know I am young. I know this will be hard, but I am not having an abortion! This is our baby and I want to do this!” My Mum lovingly responded with, ​“We will support you.” 

Conflicting feelings started to battle within me. On one hand, I was relieved for my sister because I knew how nervous she’d been to tell our parents this news, but I couldn’t help also feeling somewhat jealous at what was playing out here in front of me. Her decision to keep her baby was met with hugs, encouragement and reassurance. I suddenly felt guilty for feeling this way and quickly got up to hug my sister, telling her that I was proud of her being brave and that we would all help her. 

I then spent several years at Bible College and away on global mission. Every year on my due date, I would imagine how my child may have looked by now or what hobbies or interests they may have had. I would remind myself that such thoughts are foolish. I chose to go through this. I had no right to ponder such things. I took the life of my baby, and no amount of thinking would ever change that. 

At a discipleship school in Australia, there was a week of teaching on the importance of having a clear conscience before God, based on Acts 24:16 and Hebrews 13:18. We were taught to bring everything to the foot of the cross, no matter how hidden, and about the freedom that forgiveness could truly bring. 

I realised then that despite being a Christian and now in my mid-20s I had never actually processed my termination with anyone in a faith-based setting. It was here that a Pastor took me on a loving journey of repentance. 

I then started working in full-time ministry, pastorally supporting women, and heard of a Christian organisation called Open UK (a ministry of CARE), that offered inner healing weekends to women who have been affected by abortion. 

At the healing weekend, I finally forgave myself. For the first time in years, I was unlocking feelings deep in my heart and the Lord showed me a little girl was with Him in heaven. I named her something precious to me and got to have a beautiful moment to say goodbye to her.

Now, I’m forty and still single. As I have journeyed through singleness, I have grieved the reality that I may not have children. 

Recently, I have seen a lot of social media content talking about abortion law. I learned that young girls could potentially get abortion pills to take without their parents ever knowing. Having processed my abortion later in life, I cannot imagine anything more unwise. 

Had these pills been available to me in 2001, I would easily have taken these pills alone without anyone knowing and navigated any repercussions in a toilet at home with my parents completely unaware downstairs. 

As I reflect on my own experience, I am left asking: where were the adoption routes to me in 2001? What financial, practical and emotional support could have enabled me to have my baby and complete my education? Instead, it was a swift move back to ​‘normality’ for me. The sad reality is that nothing was completely ​‘normal’ inside me ever again.

*Susan’s name has been changed to protect her identity.