‘It is comforting to be haunted’: how attitudes to abortion have changed through the ages
The abortion debate – the language of life, choice and rights – severs women, and their pain, from history. I don’t want to forget my
The abortion debate – the language of life, choice and rights – severs women, and their pain, from history. I don’t want to forget my abortion and I don’t want to forget theirs The physical fact of my abortion caught me off guard. I had been so accustomed to defending abortion as an abstract right – as a right to privacy, to healthcare, to autonomy – that when it came to having one, I was surprised by the brutality of it. Fasting for hours before.
Clammy and light-headed, my hands freezing and damp, in the clinic waiting room. Waves of contracting pain afterwards, the blood and the vomit from the anaesthesia, the days of cramping and bleeding. Soaking through pads. Cold sweat. I thought having an abortion would feel like the exercise of the hard-won autonomy of generations of feminists before me. But mostly it just hurt. What do you do with the brute fact of pain? Of what Annie Ernaux describes, writing about her own abortion before legalisation in France, as an experience that sweeps through the body?
I could not translate it easily into a feminist politics, into a slogan, into something I could shout or wanted to shout. It did not feel like the exercise of bodily autonomy; it did not feel like a choice, though of course, in some formal and factual way, I did choose to have an abortion. It’s just that the choice seemed to be the least important and least interesting part of the whole experience, totally unmemorable when it came up against the violence and urgency of the body, reeling and revolting against the sudden transformation from pregnancy to unpregnancy.
Nor did the sensations of aborting feel like the making of an abortion story, like the raw material for an anecdote that could be compressed and publicised on social media, piled up with the others to make some kind of aggrieved claim. There was no real plot – but feeling. Continue reading...
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