Parenting
Why is it that discussions surrounding control over bodies always center on women?
At 24, I faced the life-altering decision of having an abortion. I was deeply infatuated with my best friend, but he was lost in his addiction to drugs. I convinced myself I could navigate our casual relationship, knowing he wasn’t interested in anything more serious. It wasn’t my ideal situation, but I had a knack for falling for the wrong person.
When I found out I was pregnant (despite being on the pill), his reaction was predictably selfish. He didn’t want a child, but due to his staunch Catholic upbringing, he opposed the idea of me having an abortion as well. I knew bringing a child into the world was not an option for me, especially tethering myself to him for life. He abruptly stopped responding to my calls, leaving me to handle everything on my own. I scraped together the $200 for the procedure, and my sister took me to the clinic. After that, he vanished from my life for years without a word about it.
He didn’t have to find a clinic, undergo a consultation, or sit in silence as the clinic worker confirmed my pregnancy. He didn’t have to endure the return visits, the anxiety of taking sedatives before the procedure, or the surreal experience of lying on a table, staring at a Monet poster while the world became a blur. He never felt the tears that streamed down my face, nor did he have the burden of knowing what it was like to sit in a recovery room filled with other women, some of whom were far too young to be there. He wasn’t there for the ride back home, through streets bustling with Halloween festivities, struggling against a newfound hatred for the holiday. He didn’t have to bleed or question whether he’d ever be able to conceive again. His only role was to contribute to my pregnancy and then disappear without a trace.
Being a woman is a heavy burden. The weight of societal expectations and responsibilities can be overwhelming. When women become pregnant, they are bombarded with judgments about their choices. They should have used better birth control, ensured a condom was worn, or simply avoided sexual encounters altogether. But once pregnancy occurs, the entire responsibility shifts, leaving women voiceless in decisions about their own bodies.
Is it our responsibility to manage every aspect of our sexual experiences, or do we suddenly lose the right to make choices about our bodies when a pregnancy occurs?
In heterosexual encounters, a woman cannot become pregnant without a man’s participation. It’s a shared responsibility, yet the burden of contraception predominantly falls on women, largely due to the pill. The lack of a male equivalent underscores how society prioritizes men’s comfort over women’s autonomy. Women endure side effects like blood clots, weight gain, and mood swings, while research into male contraceptives falters when faced with potential libido reductions. Dr. Tomer Singer, a reproductive endocrinologist, noted that the side effects linked to male contraceptives are deemed too challenging to accept. We shield men from such burdens but expect women to bear the weight of responsibility both before and after a pregnancy.
A viral tweet highlights this discrepancy: “If a woman has sex with 100 random men in a year, she can still only produce one full-term pregnancy. If a guy has sex with 100 random women, he can create 100 full-term pregnancies. So why are we only regulating women?” This sentiment resonates deeply, reflecting a truth we all recognize but seldom voice.
In response to Georgia’s legislative ban on abortions after a fetal heartbeat is detected, a Democratic lawmaker proposed the “Testicular Bill of Rights.” This satirical legislation aimed to ban vasectomies and require DNA testing after six weeks of pregnancy to determine the father, who would then be liable for child support. Critics quickly pointed out that such restrictions on men’s reproductive choices would be deemed unacceptable. One commenter argued, “I might just be rational or something but the prevention of pregnancy is a touch different than the prevention of childbirth don’t’cha think,” to which a woman countered, “I’d like to point out that the prevention of pregnancy does in fact prevent childbirth.”
We have become so accustomed to the regulation of women’s bodies that it barely raises an eyebrow. Currently, several states are pushing back against reproductive rights, harkening back to a time before Roe v. Wade, when unsafe termination options led to women’s deaths. But suggest regulations on men’s choices, and it’s quickly labeled as satire—something that could never be legislated. Why is that?
After undergoing two C-sections, one being an emergency, I developed a hernia that still causes discomfort years later. My body has changed irrevocably, and I wanted these children. Imagine forcing a woman to endure such changes without her consent. We would never expect that of a man.
It took me two decades to share my abortion story, living in a society steeped in moral judgment that transcends religion. Even as I grappled with infertility, a whisper of guilt lingered, suggesting I had forfeited my chance. Such micro-aggressions are pervasive, embedding themselves in our psyches, but they do not reflect any real moral failing.
You cannot convince me abortion is a moral issue when the energy of those opposed could be better spent addressing the plight of children in foster care, advocating for migrant children in detention, or supporting homeless youth struggling for basic necessities.
Men share equal responsibility for pregnancies, and if women’s bodies are to be regulated, then men’s should be too. If abortion isn’t your stance, then simply overlook it, just as many do with the thousands of children in foster care.
It’s as simple as that.
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Summary:
In a world where women’s bodies are often scrutinized and controlled, this article emphasizes the shared responsibility of men in matters of pregnancy. It delves into personal experiences of abortion and societal expectations, highlighting the disparities in how reproductive responsibilities are assigned. The narrative urges for equal consideration of men’s roles in reproductive health and challenges the moral judgments surrounding women’s choices.
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