No one grows up wanting
to work at an abortion clinic.

Did I help women? Sure. I remember many of the women that I helped…the woman who hadn’t had an exam in ten years, the woman who needed testing because her husband had been unfaithful, the woman who had never been checked for diabetes but was then diagnosed because we finally ran the test. I remember all of these women. I remember all of their stories. I helped them. I helped them receive the healthcare they needed, the healthcare they deserved. You know what else I remember? I remember the day I watched a 13-week old fetus fight for its life during an abortion procedure. I remember looking at the bodies of aborted babies while I accounted for their arms, legs, and head. I remember being able to determine if the baby was a boy or girl. How did I justify my work for so long? How are you doing it? I think I tried to really believe that I was doing the right thing…the right thing for those women.

But what about those babies? What about those lives that I was a part of terminating? Didn’t they matter? Was it really ALL about the woman and her rights?