Kellie Sonnier, Rape Survivor Mother Raising Her Child
I made a promise to tell this story. If it helps someone, then it will be worth the potential fall out that may come from posting it. If it offends you, then that’s okay too.
More than a few years ago, after my divorce, I had a one night stand that I don’t even remember really. Some may call it date rape. I prefer to think that I had too much to drink and literally blacked out. I was in the wrong place, trying to find love in the wrong ways, looking to the wrong people to provide it.
When I first found out I was pregnant, I was in shock and denial. When it finally sank in, fear encapsulated me. I was 35 years old. I had kids already. I was divorced, and on my own. My kids meant everything to me, but I could not dream of having one more. It felt like I was in mortal combat with a force greater than myself, despite my reasoning and rationale. The inevitable circles of my mind were on endless replay.
How would I take care of another baby alone? How would I give him/her all that they would need? How would I tell my kids? What would I tell my kids? I cannot do this! I don’t want to do this!!
Fear and pride won, and I pulled the short straw for an abortion. Making the appointment was easy. Driving to the clinic was a numbing experience. Walking in and sitting down to fill out paper work felt cold. Following through was a bitch though and I couldn’t do it. I left the clinic that afternoon still pregnant, tears streaming with a combo punch of feeling humiliated yet relieved. Believe it or not, this same scene happened two more times.
By the third time I entered that clinic, they were prepared for me. Every worker seemed so nice; the atmosphere less cold. A woman actually put her arm around me this time and assured me I was doing the right thing. For the circumstance in which the pregnancy occurred, I could hardly disagree. I did not want to be pregnant. Hell, I didn’t even remember the act of sex that brought this nightmare to reality. I had talked myself into believing that I was indeed making the right choice. I was scared before, but a new determination rose up within me. I covered my emotions, and marched forward to end the misery I was in. Then came the dreaded ultrasound.
I got dressed and left that clinic, taking my emotional baggage with me instead of leaving it there as I had planned. I was still depressed, weighted, and clueless how to proceed. The choice I made that day will play itself out for the rest of my life . . . and hers.
Was she a choice? In today’s world people will say letting her survive was my right…my right to choose. So I guess you can say she was a choice. While I sit here and watch her play though, I don’t know how I could’ve reasonably assumed that I had any choice. She is a force of being that says “I have a right to live” without ever saying the words.
Although I was scared to death, I have never regretted leaving that clinic.
When she was invisible to the world in the form of a tiny person known only to me and a handful of clinicians, she was still a person. She was still her. There are moments that grip my heart with despair knowing that I was one step away from taking her life in order to restore mine to it’s prior stability. Other moments are joy unexplained when I look back, knowing that I was one step away from extinguishing this little girl from existence…but I made the choice for her. Do I still face hardship? Yes and I still do it alone.
The crisis of pregnancy I faced was minuscule compared to this beauty of life named Rachael. She’s a gift no matter how she was conceived; no matter how bad the timing; Her life is priceless.
It’s 2009, and we all talk about abortion, we argue over abortion, we petition, and we debate. The one thing it rarely carries in the heat of battle is a face. On this page you will find two. Rachael and I survived an unwanted pregnancy, and neither of us will ever regret choosing life.