My Miscarriage Strengthened My Pro-Choice Convictions

home insemination Kit

As we cruised from the Twin Cities to Duluth for a much-needed getaway, I couldn’t help but notice a billboard proclaiming, “Did you know? My heart beat 18 days from conception!” A cute baby flashed a smile, but it didn’t help that the embryo I once carried didn’t have a heartbeat when it supposedly should have. Thanks for the reminder, Pro-Life America!

Another sign proclaimed, “Real men love babies,” which is true for my husband, Mark. He adores our nephews and is truly a “real man.” However, he won’t be stepping into fatherhood this January as we had hoped—I experienced a miscarriage just as I was being reminded that my fetus would have had fingerprints at nine weeks post-conception.

If I hadn’t gone through pregnancy myself, I might have missed the nuances in that timeline. Nine weeks from conception sounds way sooner than 11 weeks, which is how the medical community—and most pregnant women—track their time since the last menstrual period.

These billboards frustrate me deeply. I’ve identified as pro-choice for as long as I can remember. Growing up Catholic, my mom passed down a pro-choice perspective while we sat in church. I was a curious kid and asked her about abortion during one of those sermons. She explained that if the priest had his way, women might resort to dangerous methods to terminate a pregnancy. (She later apologized for being so graphic, but I appreciated the honesty.) At that young age, her words resonated more than the priest’s teachings.

In college, my guitar became a canvas for my beliefs, sporting a sticker that read, “pro-child, pro-family, pro-choice.” The influential book Our Bodies, Ourselves, gifted by my sister, and a friend’s candid confession about her teenage abortion solidified my pro-choice stance.

Up until recently, I hadn’t given much thought to my beliefs. Writing this feels as raw as discussing the empty contents of my uterus with an ER doctor at 4 a.m. I know there are people in my life who fundamentally disagree with me on this subject, but I’m just sharing my story—hoping we can all have our own narratives. If yours is similar, my heart goes out to you.

A month and a half before that ER visit, I was over the moon to learn I was pregnant, with Google flooded with baby product ads. I’m a planner by nature, and this pregnancy seemed to fit perfectly into my life—our vacation would fall in the “safer” second trimester, and my maternity leave would end before the busy season at work.

Despite my excitement, I adhered to the age-old tradition of keeping the news to myself for the first 12 weeks (as the world counts it, not from conception). Then, eight weeks in, my sister, Lily, texted me that she was also eight weeks pregnant. I was thrilled! How many people get to respond to that with “me too!”? She thought I was joking, and I couldn’t have been happier that our children would be cousins so close in age.

But that joy turned to heartbreak as I learned that I was likely miscarrying—then confirmed it. The emotional intensity of wanting a child was overwhelming and unexpected. I had never felt anything like it before, especially as someone who understands the science behind pregnancy loss. Biology (or bad luck?) robbed me of my choice to carry that baby, and it was devastating.

I can only imagine how it feels for women who have their choice to end a pregnancy taken away by law. I suspect the emotions they experience in wanting that choice are akin to what I felt about my desire to be pregnant. While I lay on the couch coping with my miscarriage, I read about the Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt case. It’s unfathomable to me that anyone would deny a woman safe, legal access to abortion. My pro-choice beliefs have only been reinforced. If I can choose to be pregnant, then others should certainly have the right to choose not to be. It’s as simple as that.

I’m furious at the billboards reminding me of my loss. I’m angry that I’m not pregnant. Mostly, I’m outraged that these signs exist because someone believes they know better than a woman about what should happen with her own body.

If you live in a state like mine, where billboards aren’t common, the sheer number of them elsewhere can be overwhelming. As we continued our drive, I turned my anger into humor. I began reading every sign aloud, adding, “begins at conception” to the end of each one, much like adding “in bed” to the end of a fortune cookie.

“Wendy’s French Fries Exit 11 begins at conception.”
“Recreational loans for ATVs and Snowmobiles begin at conception.”

It may sound callous, but those signs felt pretty callous too.

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In summary, my experience with miscarriage has deepened my pro-choice convictions. It has highlighted the importance of women’s rights to choose their paths, particularly regarding pregnancy. Sharing this journey is essential, and I hope it resonates with others who have faced similar struggles.