I’ve never shared this story publicly, but it’s been weighing on me for years. When I was 18 years old, I found myself in a situation I never imagined. I was raped by my then-boyfriend after I tried to break up with him when I discovered he was cheating on me.
It’s hard to even say that word, raped, because I’ve spent so many years trying to bury that part of my life. But it’s there, lurking beneath the surface.
My life changed when my mum found a positive pregnancy test. She was devastated, and I understand why now. She had me as a teenager and always wanted me to do better, to avoid the mistakes she made. I was so scared of telling her, and when she found out, I think she lost all hope for me.
I could feel the disappointment in her eyes, but what really hurt was how she treated me afterward. She pressured me into having an abortion. Part of me thought about it, too, but I needed time to think, to understand what I wanted. But my mum made the decision for me. She didn’t give me any space, no room to process.
I remember the drive home after the procedure. I was still groggy from the anesthesia, but I could clearly hear her calling me a murderer, despite being the one who pushed me to make that choice.
At school, one of my friends got suspicious when I started showing signs of pregnancy, but she never said anything. I’m grateful to her for keeping my secret. Not everyone would have done that. That was one part of this whole experience that went OK.
But my life at home was never the same after that. Before the pregnancy, things were already pretty bad at home, and after everything, it just became worse. My mum became colder, and I couldn’t stand being around her. I tried to keep my distance, but I never truly escaped the feelings of guilt and shame she placed on me.
Now, I’m happily married to an incredible man, and we’re planning to start a family next year. But every day, I carry the fear that I’ve ruined my chances of becoming a mother. The thoughts never leave me. I think about it every day. I was convinced that my child would have been a boy, and I can’t help but wonder what he would have been like. He would have been 13 this year, and sometimes, I imagine what his life could have been.
The hardest part of it all is my relationship with my mum. She’s a born-again Christian, and while she’s put on a happy face, I know what she’s truly like beneath all of that. I’ve never let her get too close since then, and I don’t know if I ever will. The scars are still there, and they might never heal completely.
I don’t regret my decision, but I’ll never forget the pain of that time, the way I was treated, and the way my life changed in an instant. It’s something that stays with me, no matter where I go.
Adapted from a story originally shared on Reddit.
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