I was 25 years old and had been married less than a year when I fell pregnant. Stuart and I had been together for 3 years and were married in a small ceremony early in 2002. We had always talked about having a family together and we both came across as ‘kid people’. Stuart had said he wanted a girl and a boy, Molly and Henry. Little did he know, I never wanted kids and hadn’t planned on having them…ever.
I took the pill religiously. My life was like clockwork and contraception was always high on my list of priorities. I’d planned to have a hysterectomy soon after we got married to ensure the nightmare of pregnancy was never realised.
To my regret, I didn’t take action soon enough. A mere 8 months after I became Mrs. Stuart, I found myself praying for menstruation whilst stuck head first down a toilet bowl. The doctor confirmed I was 8 weeks pregnant.
I loved Stuart and never had the intention to hurt or betray him. Although I bestowed a secret that was sure to do both – I could never have a child. Not because I was flawed physically, but because I’ve always had an emotional glitch.
To me, the thought of procreating seemed unnatural. I was always happy to be around children, and was often thought of as someone who would one day make a loving mother. But I never thought of myself as a mother and am perhaps too selfish to ever dedicate my life to the growth of another.
I realised the way I thought about parenthood was typically frowned upon in my circle of friends, family, and most of all by Stuart. I vowed to keep my mouth shut and ensure my real feelings were never discovered.
I’d hoped the honeymoon period would last our entire marriage seeing as children were never to interfere. This delusion was shattered as soon as my doctor announced with glee that in approximately 6 months, I would become a new mother.
I was so determined to never have to consider such a procedure, that I’d never actually thought about abortions. It was strictly against my parents’ religion to even consider such an act, so my first feelings after hearing the dreaded news were complete mayhem.
I went home to Stuart and told him with a fraudulent smile that I was in fact pregnant with his son or daughter. He was over the moon and would not stop kissing my stomach. His actions made me feel even more nauseous than I already was.
It may seem strange looking back on the situation why I would even bother to tell him, he’d be none the wiser. But Stuart was my best friend and lover and because of that I did contemplate keeping the child for no other reason but to please him. This feeling of generosity lasted little longer than my anti-nausea medication.
I tried to convince myself that having a child might bring happiness into my life and that I was devilish to think otherwise. This self-loathing tactic only made me hate the child even more for provoking me to hate myself. It was decided, I could not go through with the pregnancy.
A few days before the procedure I began to fake stomach cramps to ensure Stuart wouldn’t be overly shocked at the event of a miscarriage. I also warned him of the high risk of complications in the first trimester.
All the betrayal and deceit began to eat away at me and a huge ball of guilt made permanent residence in my throat. Regardless of guilt’s acidic ache, I couldn’t face the alternative of bringing a child of my own into the world. I went through with the termination whilst on a prolonged lunch break from work. It was simple and clean and took no longer than an hour.
I went home to my loving husband and allowed the weeks of pent up emotion to overflow in an effort to convince Stuart I was truly devastated as a result of a sudden haemorrhage that occurred on the way home from work. Of course Stuart insisted I go straight to the hospital. I lied and told him I had already gone, where they confirmed I’d lost the baby.
Naturally, he was devastated. His pain only strengthened my guilt which contributed to an uncontrollable outburst of emotions.
Over the next few years we continued to try and conceive, or Stuart thought we had. In actual fact, I’d had a hysterectomy a mere 4 months after my abortion.
My deception had begun to take it’s toll on our relationship and I started resenting Stuart for provoking my lies. I’d wished I’d been honest with my feelings about children, or alternatively married someone who shared my unenthused about procreation mentality.
Stuart and I separated earlier this year. I never confessed the entire truth of my delusive past, but I did admit to never wanting to conceive. This became a hurdle Stuart and I would never overcome and it ultimately broke apart our marriage.
I have since looked into my past and can never quite believe the tumbleweed of lies I spun throughout my marriage. I am now single and vow to ensure honesty is priority in my next relationship.
Lies broke my love and destroyed a life I could have had with an amazingly wonderful and generous man. I do blame myself for everything that went wrong with our marriage, but will never regret not having a child.
Names have been changed. Picture posed by models.
Your say: Have your say about this true confession below…
Related stories
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
