Women’s everyday experiences must be at the center of abortion stories
by: Lunden Mason
posted on Monday, June 24, 2024
In the two years since the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, journalists have been working tirelessly to show how continued efforts to restrict abortion impact the lives of women and pregnant people. We regularly hear horrifying stories, like that of a Tennessee woman whose state forced her to carry a high-risk pregnancy even though the embryo had implanted itself in scar tissue. Or the story of a South Carolina woman who had to travel out of state for an abortion after her IUD failed. Or the tragedy of a 13-year-old girl from Mississippi who gave birth after being raped and impregnated by a stranger.
These stories are all important, and they desperately need to be told. Further, they signal a needed increase in abortion coverage that features women’s voices: BMSG research found that only 8% of stories about abortion from 2014-2015 included women’s personal experiences. The trouble is, the horrific stories we’re seeing in news coverage are not representative of the most common reasons — beyond medical concerns — that 1 in 4 women will have an abortion in their lifetime: because having a baby would interfere with her education or work goals, because of financial inability to provide for a child, or because another child would inhibit them from caring for children they already have.
No one should have to suffer to deserve access to abortion. If we truly want to remove the stigma from this basic form of reproductive health care, which a majority of Americans continue to support, then a broader spectrum of abortion stories — ones that reflect ordinary life — need to be told, too.
My story is just that — not gruesome, or tragic, or shocking — but ordinary.
At age 19, I found myself alone in a grocery store bathroom, staring at a positive pregnancy test, absolutely stunned.
It was summer 2020, and I was back in my hometown as a result of the pandemic. I had been seeing an old friend again — first for socially distanced walks and picnics in the park, and then romantically. Amidst the heightened anxiety of the times, we took comfort in the familiar — in each other.
When I found out I was pregnant, he was getting ready to leave for college, and I was desperate to get back to the life I had been building for myself in my own college town.
As a First-Generation Lower-Income (FGLI) student at the university of my dreams, my opportunity to attend school meant more to me than anything else. And as the daughter of generations of women who had sacrificed their aspirations for their children and families, I felt I owed it to them to focus wholeheartedly on my education and career.
For me, having an abortion didn’t feel like a choice — it felt like the only path forward to honor myself and the women who came before me.
I went alone to a clinic, too overcome with shame to even tell anyone, let alone ask someone to come with me.
Making that choice — in rural Ohio, no less — was incredibly difficult. But it was mine. And it was right.
When I arrived at the clinic, I sobbed in the waiting room. The kind doctor who provided my care sat next to me, asked if the decision I was making was my own, and if I was certain of it. “I’m sad, but I’m sure,” I told her. “You’re saving my life.” And she was. She was preserving the possibility of the future that I’d always dreamed of.
At BMSG, we regularly advise public health professionals and advocates to include social determinants of health — the contexts in which people live that contribute to their degree of wellness — when making the case for policies that decrease inequities and advance social justice. When it comes to abortion, the storied, full life of the woman seeking one makes up the landscape in which that choice is made.
My abortion — like all abortions — did not happen in a vacuum. It took into account my own health, history, financial status, relationships, career trajectory, dreams, and goals. Too often, narratives about abortion do not acknowledge these truths, treating the woman involved as merely a vehicle — or a victim — rather than a full-fledged person.
Anti-choice advocates have historically used such narratives and images, which center the fetus and omit the woman, to gain traction and chip away at reproductive freedom. BMSG’s 2017 research, for example, found language that personified the fetus present in 35% of news stories sampled. By contrast, the same research found that women disclosed their abortion experiences using their full name in less than 3% of mainstream print and online stories about abortion. Increasing women’s visibility and agency in stories about abortion strengthens pro-choice advocacy.
Further, acknowledging the full spectrum of emotions a woman may (or may not) have about getting an abortion is also important. The anti-choice movement has successfully leveraged women’s pain to garner support.
Our 2017 research found that stigma is perpetuated in the news by stories that frame abortion as emotionally and psychologically harmful. One way to fight this stigma is through personal stories that highlight a range of emotional experiences — including relief, empowerment, and other positive feelings — or acknowledge that the existence of pain, sadness, or even grief does not mean the decision to have an abortion is the wrong one. In fact, creating space to acknowledge pain can add credibility and authenticity to stories, and even feel empowering to women who have been able to acknowledge these multiple truths.
Before, during, and after my abortion, I felt many things: relief, shame, grief, and deep sadness. I had felt the longing to be a mother since I could remember, and I still do. The context of my life and pregnancy at that time was just not one I felt able to bring a child into.
The grief I experienced made me no less sure of my decision — quite the opposite. The idea of motherhood is so sacred to me that I couldn’t fathom beginning that journey before I was ready. My abortion was a necessary step toward becoming the woman — and mother — I’ve always wanted to be.
Because I was able to get an abortion when I needed one, I am the first member of my family to graduate from a four-year college. I am a public health professional and a writer — something I have always felt called to be. I’m living a life that I find joy in — that I am deeply proud of. The circumstances surrounding my abortion make me no less worthy of that.
No matter the context, we are all deserving of autonomy, access to safe and effective abortion care, dignity, and respect. Telling stories that represent our experiences — that display abortion as one chapter of our full and storied lives — is a means of pursuing that reality.
Resources for journalists covering abortion: