Freedom is Waiting

Some stories are funny when you look back on them.

And then there are the stories that changed you.

This is one of those stories.

In my late 20s and early 30s, I made two decisions that affected me far more deeply than I understood at the time.

Two abortions.

And if I am being honest, the decisions themselves were only part of the story.

The aftermath was its own kind of suffering.

The topic of abortion has become incredibly polarizing in our country.

Every election cycle, it becomes political.

A headline.

A debate.

A talking point.

But what often gets lost in all the noise is the woman sitting quietly afterward, trying to survive what she feels.

The grief.

The regret.

The sadness.

The confusion.

The shame.

Especially the shame.

I carried so much of it that I buried it as deeply as I could.

In fact, I did not even tell my husband about my second abortion because I had convinced myself that if he knew the truth about me, he would never look at me the same again. I was terrified he would leave. Terrified he would see me differently. Terrified that if people knew, they would reduce my entire life down to the worst decisions I had ever made.

So I kept moving.

I smiled.

I functioned.

I showed up.

I pretended I was okay.

But secrets do not stay quiet forever.

Eventually, they caught up to me physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. The weight of hiding became exhausting. I tried everything I thought would make me feel forgiven and free.

Nothing worked.

Not pretending.

Not minimizing it.

Not outrunning it.

Not burying it deeper.

Because freedom does not come from hiding.

It comes from surrender.

And for me, healing finally began the moment I stopped trying to protect my secrets and allowed Jesus into the places I had spent years locking away.

Not the polished places.

Not the church version of me.

The broken places.

The grieving places.

The places filled with shame and regret and sadness I did not know how to name.

And slowly, through honesty, through surrender, through finally allowing myself to be known, God began redeeming what I thought would forever disqualify me.

Not erase it.

Redeem it.

There is a difference.

The consequences and grief were real. The pain was real. The loss was real.

But so was the grace.

And when I finally started sharing my story with other women, something unexpected happened.

They started sharing theirs.

Suddenly, I realized how many women were carrying silent pain behind functioning lives and smiling faces. Women sitting in church pews. Women raising children. Women trying to love Jesus while quietly believing they were too damaged for Him to fully love them back.

And that is the lie I want to break.

Because the enemy thrives in secrecy.

He wants women isolated.

Ashamed.

Silent.

Terrified of being exposed.

But Jesus does not operate that way.

Scripture says we overcome by the blood of the Lamb and the word of our testimony.

There is power in telling the truth.

There is healing in bringing darkness into the light.

And there is something unbelievably beautiful about watching God take brokenness and turn it into compassion, wisdom, and ministry for someone else.

I look back now at the girl I was in those seasons, and honestly, my heart hurts for her.

She was hurting.

Lost.

Alone.

Not walking with the Lord.

Listening to every voice except His.

And I wish she had spoken up.

I wish she had gone to people she trusted and asked for prayer. Asked for help.Asked for truth.

But instead, she suffered in silence.

And that is what I would never do again in my 40s.

Not because I suddenly became perfect.

Not because I do not still need grace every single day.

But because I now know what redemption really means.

I know what the cross represents.

It is not just a nice Christian phrase.

It is the tangible reality of a God who leaves the ninety-nine to find the woman sitting alone in shame, convinced she has ruined her life beyond repair.

It is the story of a Savior who does not recoil at our brokenness, but steps into it.

Who restores.

Who heals.

Who forgives.

Who redeems.

A God who can take the single mom carrying secrets and grief and shame…and pull out a chair at the table for her anyway.

Not because she earned it.

But because that is who He is.

So if you are reading this and there are parts of your story you hate…parts you regret…parts you are terrified people will find out about…

Please hear me when I say this:

Your story is not over.

Your worst decision does not get the final word.

Jesus does.

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If you or someone you know is struggling after an abortion or facing an unexpected pregnancy, help is available:

📞 1-800-A-FAMILY (1-800-232-6459)