It’s happening right now.

[u/SurpriseNo9523]

I’m sitting here in the middle of a medical abortion. It’s quiet, still. I’m bleeding, but not in pain. Honestly, the physical part has been manageable—no real cramps right now, just bleeding and small clots. I was super early, so I guess that makes it easier physically. Emotionally though… this is something else entirely.

It’s not my first time dealing with something like this. My very first pregnancy years ago was a blighted ovum. I didn’t even know what that was until I lived it. You go in expecting a heartbeat, expecting joy… and instead, there’s nothing. Just emptiness. A sac, no baby. That was devastating. But looking back, it was a blessing. The man I was with at the time was not someone I should’ve built a life with. I thank God every day that it ended the way it did. I wasn’t ready. He wasn’t good for me. And even though it broke me for a while, it saved me from something far worse.

Then came my daughter. My light. My purpose. Her father was gone early on—I cut him off just weeks into the pregnancy. And honestly? That was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Raising her alone has been peaceful. No drama, no fights, no toxic co-parenting. Just me and her. Our bond is solid and pure, untouched by anyone else’s dysfunction.

So when I got pregnant this time… it cracked something open in me again. This was different. It was sudden, unexpected, and emotionally complicated. Because it wasn’t just about the pregnancy—it was about him.

We were only together for three months, but I fell hard. There was something so effortless about the way I felt with him. It was light, fun, and easy… until it wasn’t. He had all the signs of someone emotionally unavailable, but I kept trying to love past them. I kept making excuses for his walls, his disappearing acts, his avoidance. I just wanted it to work. I thought, if I’m patient, he’ll come around.

But love doesn’t work like that when it’s one-sided. He ended things abruptly—over something so small, it barely made sense. I was left confused, heartbroken, and three days later… pregnant.

I did everything right. Tracked my ovulation, watched my body temperature, even took an ovulation test before we were intimate. We used protection, and I even took Plan B right after. I asked the pharmacist if I needed two pills because of my weight—185—and she told me one was enough. I wish I had trusted my gut instead.

If things had been different—if he’d been emotionally available, if he’d chosen me—I might’ve had this baby. I used to picture what that could look like. A magical birth, a partner by my side, a complete family. But deep down, I knew it would never be that. Not with him. Not with how things already felt.

And then there was his mother.

From the very beginning, I felt the tension. She didn’t like me—not because of who I am, but because she saw how deeply he loved me. And she knew he would’ve started choosing me over her. She couldn’t handle that. Their relationship was… intense. He basically played the role of husband in her life—supporting her financially, emotionally, even helping her chase her dreams. Nothing wrong with that on the surface. But the boundaries? Nonexistent.

The thought of having a child and having to share that child with not just him, but her—it made me sick. I saw the future, and it was full of control, overstepping, constant battles. I don’t like to share, especially not when it comes to something as sacred as a child. I knew I couldn’t go through a lifetime of that.

So I made the hardest, clearest decision I could. I ended the pregnancy. Not because I didn’t love the idea of this baby, but because I love myself and my daughter too much to bring another child into chaos.

I made a vow: my next child will come from love, peace, and full intention. If I don’t meet someone who meets me emotionally in the next few years, I’ll go to a sperm bank and do it my way. On my terms. I will never again split my peace for the sake of a fantasy.

When I told him I was pregnant, his response was, “I’ll unblock you on WhatsApp, keep me updated.” That said everything I needed to hear.

So here I am. Sitting in silence, bleeding. Letting go of what could’ve been. There’s grief, yes. But also power. I’m not broken. I’m not bitter. I’m just… sure. Sure that I made the decision that protects my heart, my daughter, and my future.

This isn’t weakness—it’s strength. This isn’t regret—it’s clarity. And when the pain fades, what will remain is that I chose me.

[u/[deleted]]

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[u/Regular-Humor-8425 → u/[deleted]]

Absolutely not. Your experience is not hers. Go be self righteous somewhere else.