I Gave Birth Alone
and it changed me as person and a parent.
It was the middle of July and I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom in my apartment. My back stuck to the cheap wood paneling on the wall because my tiny apartment had one working window on the opposite side in the living room and a broken air conditioner. It was unbearably hot and sweat streamed down my neck as tears fell from my eyes.
The pregnancy test in my hand was showing me that I was pregnant, but I didn’t need the test to tell me. The queasiness, swollen ankles, and tender breasts had already made me aware.
My mind was riddled with anxiety and began to swirl with thoughts of what I was supposed to do next. The first thing I did was try to track down exactly when I got pregnant.
In the time when I was ovulating, I had been sexually assaulted. Without taking any time to process what had happened to me, I jumped into a relationship. The two were so close that there was no way to tell who the father was. The possibility that I could be carrying the child of a man who had sex with me without my consent made my stomach churn.
Starring at that pregnancy test, I instantly felt hopeless and alone and had no idea what I was going to do.
