The first time I learned about abortion was in spring of seventh grade. All I remember is my heart plunging down into my stomach as an animation of a pea-sized fetus flashed on my phone screen. My eyes followed the menacing doctor’s vacuum-like equipment as it reached into a silhouette of a woman’s uterus and suctioned out an underdeveloped baby. As a sympathetic middle school student, who’d only recently begun exploring the ideas surrounding feminism, women’s rights, and sexism, all I could think about was how traumatic and depressing an abortion must be. My heart ached for the baby, who’s painful screams I imagined disappearing into the suction of a vacuum hose. 

Although I was just starting to think critically for myself, questioning life, religion, and the childhood beliefs I’d easily accepted growing up, I was still that impressionable young girl seeking validation and approval from the older people in my life, whether it be my parents or my loveable Earth Science teacher, Ms.Choudhery. At the time, I didn’t understand, but when I look back, it’s quite obvious that Ms.Choudhery strongly persuaded the entire class’s opinion on abortion, whether that was her intention or not. When it came time to actually do a socratic seminar on the topic, not even one person was in support of abortion. We were all just awkwardly agreeing with each other that abortion was immoral, speaking up not in response to another person, but just to get those participation points. I remember passionately arguing that even if a fetus doesn’t feel pain, it’s still a potential life, who’s basic human right to live has been taken away. 

It was only until I reached high school, that my position on abortion drastically changed. I was very active on instagram and youtube, where social justice posts/videos about racism, sexism, islamophobia, and homophobia would circulate on my feeds. At one point, during Donald Trump’s chaotic campaign and presidency, abortion was a hot topic, and I kept finding recommended articles and informative posters on the issue, mostly from female activists. Some of these women had considered or gone through abortion themselves, and some were simply big believers in the rights to their own body. As I read through their first hand experiences, I felt my heart ache once again, this time, for the teenage girls who’d fallen pregnant by accident, the sexual assault victims who’s bodies were violated, and the torn mothers who had to choose between their baby’s life or their own. I felt my heart ache for the poor girls who couldn’t deal with their grief in peace due to pro-lifers who harassed them as they left Planned Parenthood abortion clinics. And I felt empowered by the women who simply decided they did not want or need children, and thus, didn’t have to, despite society’s pressure to do so. As a Muslim woman, I decided that although I probably wouldn’t have an abortion, I’d never pressure another woman to do the same. Now, I’m unapologetically and confidently pro-choice.

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