Comment from Synclaire Warren

This comment is in support of the petition. One in four women will have an abortion in their lifetime. I never grew up thinking that I would be the one. Four is such a small number compared to the vast silence that creates the illusion that it almost never happens. Four is not even enough for a basketball team. Four means that women we know may have had an abortion. That the demonic monster that has been painted is no more than a fabrication. In reality, she has a face and you may have seen it before. You may have told her you love her. When you have an abortion, when you are the one, you often feel like you are all alone. On my 20th birthday, someone made a joke about beating teen pregnancy. I thought it was now impossible for me to be the nightmare, to be that teen mom I saw on MTV. The months slipped past me during the pandemic. All I was scared of was accidentally bumping into someone at the grocery store and contracting this new “plague,” so much so that the fear of an unwanted pregnancy lay dormant in the back of my mind. But in the weeks before my 21st birthday, with all the thoughts of freedom and budding adulthood, of finally having no reason for a fake ID, I noticed my stomach starting to hurt. A few weeks later, during a hospital visit, I heard the doctor saying pregnant, but I could not hear the first part. I am sure she said the words ‘you are’, but I refused them because that could never happen to me, not like this. There could not be a ‘me’ in pregnancy right now. I was going to be 21 soon. I was supposed to buy a beer, realize I hated it, and find a drink that would feel good at midnight but make my head and stomach hurt in the morning. That was supposed to be the only reason my stomach hurt, because there was still so much of my life left to live. I was still in college, preparing for my last semester because I was graduating early, while finishing an internship at UNICEF USA. It could not have been more important to me. But how could I do that if my body was changing against my will? When I went to my OBGYN, I was given a choice. Continuing the pregnancy was not an option for me, so I decided between the abortion pill or a surgical abortion. I chose mifepristone. I took it in the office, and I nearly instantly could feel a bit of myself coming back. In the debate on reproductive health and rights, women are so ironically left out of the conversation. It becomes about the pregnancy, the body, the fetus. The woman is left somewhere in the distance, even though it is happening to her so intimately. It happened to me. But unlike millions of other women and birthing people, I was allowed a choice that I did not have to pay for. I had insurance. I called an Uber to and from the appointment and had a home to go back to. A part of the concept of pregnancy that is so difficult for people to let go of is the idea of potential. Potential is light and infinite.My pregnancy did not give me potential. It almost ended mine. By ending my pregnancy, I was able to finish college early, graduate summa cum laude with my Master’s degree, work with prestigious organizations and campaigns, and now I am getting married next year to the love of my life. Mifepristone freed me from becoming just a vessel for something else, a space that for me personally, would’ve allowed the blossoming of another while I wilted. Mifepristone is safe. I am alive today because I was allowed to have it, because I was allowed to make that decision for myself. I never imagined that I would need to, and I also never imagined that I would have to share this story so publicly. But I know I must, because I cannot stand idly by and watch as false information is spread about a pill that saved my life. Mifepristone was with me when my mom could not be. Mifepristone was with me as the world shut down, and I sat in a bathroom, scared, but knew that with this pill there was a flicker of hope for my own future.