i wasn’t raped; i wasn’t a victim of incest. i was simply young, and careless, and in a very, very bad place in my life.

i didn’t know where i’d be living in a month, or when i’d be able to get a good and filling meal. i couldn’t go home to my parents, but being a young pretty girl, i could get as much alcohol and as many drugs as i wanted for free. this made the uncertainty of where i was living or when i was eating a little less horrible. but i was full of so much pain, and so much anger, that i was incapable of behaving in a way that allowed me to keep a job or a living situation for more than a few months.

my partner was a sweet man struggling with a lot of demons. if we had had a child, that child would have been fatherless by the age of seven. it seemed to me then, as it does now, unconscionable to bring a child into that situation. fortunately in new york in the 80s, there were a lot of options for women in my situation. the clinic had a sliding scale; they didn’t lecture me; i didn’t have to wade through people waving photos of fetuses in my face or calling me a murderess, let alone a madman with a long gun. overall, it was pretty painless.

in the many years since then, i’ve finished my education, getting a phd. i’ve taught at several universities, and consulted for nasa. i currently work at harvard. i’ve reconciled with my mother, and we have a strong and supportive relationship. i’ve grown into the type of woman i never thought i’d be. i’m pretty certain none of this would have been possible if i’d been trying to raise a child while i was trying to pull myself out of the horrible place i was in at the time when i got pregnant.