The following story is fictional, but based on the many stories of women who have chosen abortion and carried a heavy weight for years to follow. Our hope in writing this story is to give you a broader and deeper understanding of how abortion affects the mama. As we gain more understanding, may we grow in compassion rallies to embrace and support her. We want to save her baby, but also love this woman in a very tangible way.
The Weight of Silence
Hannah shifted uncomfortably in the church pew, her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. It had been a year—twelve months, fifty-two weeks—since the day she never spoke of.
She had thought time would soften the sharp edges, that distance would bring peace. But instead, the silence had settled over her like a heavy fog, suffocating and unshakable.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
At twenty-three, Hannah had been the girl everyone expected to have her life together. Raised in a small, close-knit church, she had always been the one to lead the youth group, to memorize Scripture, to pray over her friends’ struggles. She believed in God’s plan, in purity, in doing the right thing. And yet, when she found herself staring at two pink lines in a cramped bathroom stall, she had never felt further from all of it.
The father? A man she had loved but wasn’t sure would stay. Her family? Proud and traditional, the kind that spoke of grace but expected perfection.
Fear took hold of her throat like a vice.
And so, she made the appointment in secret.
No one knew—not her parents, not her best friend, not even God, or so she told herself as she walked into the clinic with shaking hands. She convinced herself that one day, she would be relieved. That life would return to normal. That no one had to know.
But the silence became unbearable.
A year later, she had learned that you can bury a decision, but you can’t bury the weight of it.
The Physical Toll
At first, she thought the worst was over once she left the clinic. The cramps were excruciating, worse than she had expected, but she told herself that in a few days, it would all pass. The bleeding was heavier than she had imagined, lasting weeks. Each time she saw red, it was another reminder of what had happened, of what she had lost.
The exhaustion settled in next. Not just the kind that could be cured by sleep, but a bone-deep fatigue that made even the simplest tasks feel overwhelming. Her hormones were out of control—mood swings, night sweats, nausea that lingered long after she thought it should have ended. She thought her body would simply return to normal, but it didn’t. Her cycle was irregular now, unpredictable. She began to wonder if she had done permanent damage.
Then, there was the pain. A dull ache in her lower abdomen that flared up at random moments—while lifting groceries, while jogging, while simply sitting still. At her last checkup, the doctor had mentioned scarring, a possible risk of future complications. The words barely registered at the time, but now they haunted her.
Would she ever be able to have children? Had she ruined her body, her future?
And yet, as much as the physical pain lingered, it was nothing compared to what came next.
The Mental and Emotional Toll
Hannah was exhausted. The memory looped through her mind at random moments—a child’s laughter at the grocery store, a baby dedication at church, the lullabies her mother used to hum. She had read about “post-abortion stress,” but she hadn’t believed it until she found herself awake at night, staring at the ceiling, feeling like she was losing pieces of herself she could never get back.
She started avoiding friends, avoiding deep conversations. The fear of being found out gnawed at her constantly. What if they knew? What if they looked at her differently?
The shame followed her everywhere.
She had always been the one people came to for advice, for encouragement, for prayer. But now, she couldn’t bring herself to pray. She still went to church, still sang the worship songs, still opened her Bible. But prayer felt hollow. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw judgment, not grace.
She had thought she would move on. Instead, she found herself frozen in time.
The Relational Toll
Her relationship with her parents had changed. They didn’t know what had happened, but they sensed something was wrong. She caught her mother watching her with concerned eyes, her father asking more often if she was okay. The weight of their love crushed her. She wanted to tell them, but she was terrified of their disappointment.
Her best friend had noticed, too. “You’re not yourself anymore,” she had said one night over coffee, her voice gentle but firm. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I miss you.”
Hannah had wanted to tell her, but she had heard her friend’s opinion on abortion before. She had sat through conversations where people at church had spoken about it with disgust, about how they could never understand how someone could do that. Hannah had once thought the same. Until she became the girl in the story.
And then there was God.
She knew He forgave, knew He loved her. But she couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t believe it. Every sermon about grace felt meant for someone else. Every Bible verse about mercy sounded hollow.
She had convinced herself that this secret would protect her. That by keeping it hidden, she could move on.
But the secret was eating her alive.
A Flicker of Hope
And yet, there was one moment, one flicker of light in the darkness—an older woman from church, one who had always seemed wise and kind, had pulled her aside after service one evening.
“Hannah,” she had said gently, “I don’t know what you’re carrying, but you don’t have to carry it alone.”
For the first time in a year, Hannah felt something stir inside her—hope, maybe. Or the possibility of it.
Because maybe grace wasn’t just for the ones who got it right. Maybe it was for the broken, the ashamed, the ones who thought they had ruined everything.
Maybe it was even for her.
For more information on how abortion affects someone psychologically, read this.
Please visit our “get involved” page to find out how you can help us to see her, reach her and love her. Help us reach more Hannahs before she chooses abortion.
