…it is not easy to talk about but I share my story because there might be someone out there who feels as lost as I did. If that person ever finds Project486 or a space like it, I hope they know that it is okay to feel scared, it is okay to cry, and it is okay to choose what is best for themselves.

 

I always thought I was infertile. Growing up, that belief was almost part of my identity because infertility ran through my family. It was not something I only heard about in passing. It was a pattern that existed in the bloodline, whispered about during family gatherings or mentioned by relatives who struggled for years to conceive. Because of that, I had already accepted the idea that it would probably happen to me too.

When my partner and I became more serious, that belief shaped how we acted. We were more reckless than we should have been. In my mind, I thought there was nothing to worry about. I told myself that getting pregnant would never be possible for me, so there was no harm in letting our guard down.

Everything started to change slowly. In my family, eating together is a big thing. We love to eat, and food always brought us closer. That was why I noticed it right away when my appetite changed. Food suddenly stopped tasting good. No matter what I ate, everything tasted off or just strange. At first, I blamed stress, but the feeling stayed for weeks. Then came the nausea. It got to a point where even the smell of food made my stomach turn. That was when something in me whispered that something was wrong, and I had to take a pregnancy test.

The first test turned positive almost instantly. I stared at it for a long time, not believing what I was seeing. As someone who thought she was infertile, my brain simply refused to accept it. I convinced myself it was a false positive. I bought another test, then another one after that. Three different brands, three separate tries, all with the same result. Positive. There was no escaping it anymore.

I remember sitting in silence, completely frozen. My heart was pounding, but my thoughts were blank. It felt like the world around me had gone quiet. I didn’t know what to feel or who to talk to. I felt scared, ashamed, confused, and at the same time strangely detached, as if it was happening to someone else. For a while, I tried to pretend everything was normal. I went through my days like nothing had changed, but deep down, I knew everything had.

It was around this time that some of my friends told me about Project486. They said it was a safe and confidential space for women who needed help and support in situations like mine. I remember hesitating at first. I was scared of being judged, scared of what it meant to ask for help. But when I finally reached out and read the stories of others, I felt less alone. For the first time in weeks, I felt like someone understood what I was going through. Project486 became my small ray of hope.

The days leading up to the abortion were some of the hardest I have ever experienced. Every night, my thoughts spiraled. I questioned myself over and over again. I wondered what kind of person that made me. There were moments when I tried to convince myself that I could handle raising a child, and other moments when reality reminded me that I wasn’t ready in any way. I felt like I was carrying not only the weight of a decision but also the expectations of everyone around me.

During the procedure, everything felt surreal. I remember shaking the entire time. My body felt heavy, my chest tight, and my mind scattered. There were moments of pain, but the emotional weight was much stronger than the physical one. I tried to stay strong and calm, but tears kept falling even when I didn’t notice. I wasn’t crying out of regret. It was more of a release, a surrender to everything I had been holding in.

After it was done, there was silence again, but this time it felt different. My body felt weak, and there was a strange emptiness inside me, as if my emotions had been drained out completely. The following days were a blur of rest and quiet. I didn’t know how to talk about it or what to say. Some days, I felt relieved, and other days, I felt guilty for feeling that relief. Healing wasn’t linear. There were moments of peace and moments of breaking down.

In the weeks after, I started to understand that this experience had changed me in ways I could not fully explain. I learned that believing I was infertile had made me careless, but it also showed me how easily I had detached from my own body and its signals. For so long, I treated my body like it was broken, and when it proved me wrong, I punished it instead of listening to it.

It took time, but I began to forgive myself. I forgave myself for the choices I made, for the fear I felt, and for the silence I kept. Finding Project486 reminded me that I wasn’t alone and that my story mattered. It reminded me that what happened didn’t define my worth or my future. It was part of my journey, one that taught me compassion, strength, and the importance of support systems that do not judge.

Even now, it is not easy to talk about,  but I share my story because there might be someone out there who feels as lost as I did. If that person ever finds Project486 or a space like it, I hope they know that it is okay to feel scared, it is okay to cry, and it is okay to choose what is best for themselves. I learned that healing starts not from forgetting what happened, but from allowing yourself to face it, understand it, and move forward with love for the person you were then and the person you are becoming.