I was in shock and disbelief when I went to the women’s clinic near the college I was attending in Ohio. My period was late, but I never expected to hear the words, “You’re pregnant.” I didn’t know what to do first: yell, cry, or run away. I did know, however, that I couldn’t tell my parents. I was “the good, quiet one” in the family. If I told them I was pregnant, the mask I had created and been wearing for the last nine years would fall off and be destroyed. Lord knows I kept wearing the mask until I was 50, but that’s a story for another time.

It was Thanksgiving, 1980. Like most college students, I went home to visit my family for the holiday. Being home during Thanksgiving was always a very busy time. My brother was one of the stars on the local high school football team, so of course we attended the big game. We all loved watching my brother play.

While a few of us were gathered in the kitchen that Thanksgiving, my mom asked, “Guess who’s pregnant?” I held my breath for a few seconds, heart racing. I had no idea how she could have found out. Then again, I believed my mom had eyes in the back of her head; it was uncanny how much she could find out. Still holding my breath, the conversation continued. Mom answered the question she presented and said, “Your Aunt Kathy.” Aunt Kathy was standing in the kitchen with us during Mom’s announcement, so I kissed her on the cheek and congratulated her. That was a close call, a little too close. I needed to do something about my pregnancy, and I would, when I returned to school.

The night before my planned abortion, I drank and used heavy drugs. By the time my appointment rolled around I was terribly hung over. As I drove myself to the clinic I thought, “This is crazy. What am I thinking? I should have had someone drive me.” Clearly, at that point I was not thinking much of anything.

When I arrived at the clinic, which was very upscale, they asked me if I had eaten anything. “Yes”, I replied. The woman behind the counter said, “You can’t have this procedure today because you ate something.” I was so discouraged. I asked the woman if she was sure. She responded in the same way and added that as per clinic policy, I would not be allowed to have my abortion that day. I couldn’t believe it. It was the beginning of December, well into my second trimester.

On the drive home, the city was desolate. It was 7:30 AM on a Saturday, so no one was on the road. I felt so alone, and now frantic. I had really messed things up this time. I could not have this baby.

Thank you for pain, Lord, because without it I might not have found you.

Jeremiah 29:13 And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.

Pain is a good thing; it makes me aware that there is a problem. I believe God gives us the ability to feel pain to let us know something is wrong and needs our attention.

I never developed a voice when I was younger; instead, I stuffed all my feelings from the time I was a very young child through my late 20’s and early 30’s. It was during that time that my health was failing, and I was experiencing all kinds of pains in my joints and lower back, fatigue, and depression. The doctors thought I had Lyme disease, so they started me on antibiotics.

When I didn’t improve, they doubled my dosage, which caused me to get antibiotic poisoning. Because of this high dosage, my blood pressure dropped and so did my body temperature; I felt horrible. I just needed some relief. I believe God used my health issues to get my attention.

I was having an emotional breakdown as well. All the stuffing I had done throughout my life was starting to come out sideways, and I had no control over my anger and rage. I felt shame and guilt after my outbursts because of the things I would do and say. I would kick out windows and punch walls. I would grind my teeth and growl. It was a scary sight, especially for my children. I was out of control.

I was so broken and was barely able to make it through the day. I was tired of wearing the mask and pretending. I just wanted to be loved and accepted for who I was.

Because of my fear of rejection and abandonment, I was terrified to take the mask off and be open and vulnerable. But, wearing the mask became increasingly more difficult and exhausting to do.

I couldn’t pretend anymore that my life was perfect when in fact it was falling apart.

In my past I used drugs, alcohol, promiscuity, cigarettes, shopping, anything to help me cope with the pain. I needed something or someone to take my pain away because those things stopped working for me.

I was getting tired of waking up on the bathroom floor after a night of drinking and thinking, “I don’t want my kids to think this is ok.” I needed help, desperately.