I was in sixth grade when I first remember hearing the word “abortion.” Abortions haven’t always been the topic of open conversation they now seem to be, and growing up as an only child outside Atlanta, Georgia, I spent a lot of time around adults. Babies weren’t a part of my life, so topics like pregnancy—or how to end one—never came up at my house. 

Although my family hadn’t been regular churchgoers since my early elementary years, I attended Catholic school, and in sixth grade I became best friends with a girl named Elizabeth. We’d meet up at the mall, host one another for sleepovers, and just enjoyed plyaing together.

Elizabeth was strong and unapologetic in her beliefs; she openly advertised her pro-life convictions. In response, a few other girls in our class asserted that they were pro-choice, but I struggled to find the applicability to my 11-year-old life. Despite Elizabeth’s passion, I never gave the issue great thought or formed my own opinion on the subject. 

It wasn’t until I was a 19-year-old college sophomore studying history and French at a small Christian school in Georgia—an idyllic setting where deer outnumber students 7:1—that I first gave significant thought to abortion. While college is a time for many to explore and cement their own beliefs on controversial issues, my consideration came not from intellectual curiosity but personal circumstance.