To men grieving their abortions this Christmas

Christmas is known as the season of happiness and family. But last month, the American Psychology Association reported that almost half of Americans will struggle with emotional and mental health challenges, including grief.

I’ve been there and have been battling with these emotions since my abortion experience in 2019. I was playing college football, and I had a young son, so I was learning to be a good dad while also being a student athlete. 

I didn’t speak up when my girlfriend asked if we should go through with having an abortion because I didn’t think I had a right to. Soon after, while I could take hit after hit on the field, I started noticing I was unpredictably angry and sad. I hid my emotions even from myself by hitting the gym or watching extra game film. 

My teammates thought I’d hit another gear in my preparation, but I was masking my pain.

One in five men in the U.S. has been involved in an abortion, but contrary to the story we often tell ourselves, it does impact us. One study commissioned by Support After Abortion, where I lead men’s healing, found that 71% of men reported negative emotional changes afterward. These sometimes long-lasting psychological impacts were independently analyzed in a Psychology Today column on how women and men grieve after abortion experiences.  

Abortion also impacts faith. I was raised in a Christian household, where abortion wasn’t the center of the conversation — but it was not what a “good Christian” was supposed to do. Like many women and men who contact Support After Abortion seeking help, I worried that God would judge me harshly and wondered if praying about what happened was even okay. 

Feeling isolated from myself, God, and my girlfriend created a spiral. My relationship with my girlfriend quietly fell apart. Like many men, I coped in unhealthy ways. I isolated myself from my teammates, coaches, friends, and others. In social situations, I drank for “liquid courage” to seem normal. To run from my feelings, I stayed late at our facility looking for anything to occupy my mind — lifting, film, treatment — so no one could see how much I was hurting. Football became my mask and distraction. 

Off the field, I escaped the season’s sadness by keeping busy while others celebrated. Coaches questioned why I stayed late after our Christmas practice. They didn’t know I was just trying to stay ahead of the pain.

I remember feeling so alone that I broke down during practice, cried, and, in front of all my teammates and coaches, said that I quit. I was about to give up my dream of playing college football because I couldn’t handle the weight of my abortion experience.

As I poured out my bottled-up feelings, my coach didn’t tell me to man up or push through. He showed compassion. And he brought in a counselor for the players, so we had someone to talk to about our struggles, and encouraged us to lean on our brothers and teammates.

That’s when I realized I needed to break the cycle of silence and the facade of “I’m overly strong, I’m Superman.” At the end of the day, we’re regular people with emotions, and we should be able to express them.

My journey of change started when I first learned I wasn’t alone. Healing taught me to slow down and pay attention instead of powering through. I learned to journal to work through my thoughts of the day, especially when I felt like isolating. I also learned that God isn’t nearly as harsh towards me as I am to myself.

When the urge to disappear hits, I try something different. Instead of numbing the pain, I just step outside and take a breath.

Sometimes I call my mom and just listen. Other times, I reach out to my dad or tell my current girlfriend, “Give me a second,” and step away before the anxiety swallows me. I’ve learned to let the emotions rise and fall instead of fighting them. I leaned into God and accepted His Grace along my journey.

For years, I skipped Halloween because seeing small children having fun with their families or shopping for costumes sent me into a spiral, reminding me of the memories I’d missed. But this year, I was able to help with my son’s Halloween costume and events. When anxiety crept in, instead of shutting down, I stepped outside, took a breath, regrouped, and returned with a clearer head. 

The holidays are still a work in progress. Seeing families picking out a tree, shopping for gifts, or even walking past the children’s section at a store can trigger those feelings. Only now, I have the tools, language, and support to deal with them. I no longer carry this alone.

I’m still healing, and a big part of that is because it’s become my job to speak to men just like me — athletes, fathers, professionals. Men who supported the abortion, men who opposed it, and men who didn’t know until later. Men from every belief system. 

What many share is silence because no one ever told them it’s okay to grieve. Nobody told them that God is always there for them.

Support After Abortion is trying to change that. We have new resources, like Finding Solid Ground, a compassion-based healing book that combines down-to-earth conversations with faith. It will be the heart of virtual men’s meetings in January. Most importantly, though, we have understanding and compassion, because while the holidays still aren’t easy for me, I’m not carrying my burdens alone. And this holiday season, I don’t want other men to, either. 

Christmas is known as the season of happiness and family. But last month, the American Psychology Association reported that almost half of Americans will struggle with emotional and mental health challenges, including grief.

I’ve been there and have been battling with these emotions since my abortion experience in 2019. I was playing college football, and I had a young son, so I was learning to be a good dad while also being a student athlete. 

I didn’t speak up when my girlfriend asked if we should go through with having an abortion because I didn’t think I had a right to. Soon after, while I could take hit after hit on the field, I started noticing I was unpredictably angry and sad. I hid my emotions even from myself by hitting the gym or watching extra game film. 

My teammates thought I’d hit another gear in my preparation, but I was masking my pain.

One in five men in the U.S. has been involved in an abortion, but contrary to the story we often tell ourselves, it does impact us. One study commissioned by Support After Abortion, where I lead men’s healing, found that 71% of men reported negative emotional changes afterward. These sometimes long-lasting psychological impacts were independently analyzed in a Psychology Today column on how women and men grieve after abortion experiences.  

Abortion also impacts faith. I was raised in a Christian household, where abortion wasn’t the center of the conversation — but it was not what a “good Christian” was supposed to do. Like many women and men who contact Support After Abortion seeking help, I worried that God would judge me harshly and wondered if praying about what happened was even okay. 

Feeling isolated from myself, God, and my girlfriend created a spiral. My relationship with my girlfriend quietly fell apart. Like many men, I coped in unhealthy ways. I isolated myself from my teammates, coaches, friends, and others. In social situations, I drank for “liquid courage” to seem normal. To run from my feelings, I stayed late at our facility looking for anything to occupy my mind — lifting, film, treatment — so no one could see how much I was hurting. Football became my mask and distraction. 

Off the field, I escaped the season’s sadness by keeping busy while others celebrated. Coaches questioned why I stayed late after our Christmas practice. They didn’t know I was just trying to stay ahead of the pain.

I remember feeling so alone that I broke down during practice, cried, and, in front of all my teammates and coaches, said that I quit. I was about to give up my dream of playing college football because I couldn’t handle the weight of my abortion experience.

As I poured out my bottled-up feelings, my coach didn’t tell me to man up or push through. He showed compassion. And he brought in a counselor for the players, so we had someone to talk to about our struggles, and encouraged us to lean on our brothers and teammates.

That’s when I realized I needed to break the cycle of silence and the facade of “I’m overly strong, I’m Superman.” At the end of the day, we’re regular people with emotions, and we should be able to express them.

My journey of change started when I first learned I wasn’t alone. Healing taught me to slow down and pay attention instead of powering through. I learned to journal to work through my thoughts of the day, especially when I felt like isolating. I also learned that God isn’t nearly as harsh towards me as I am to myself.

When the urge to disappear hits, I try something different. Instead of numbing the pain, I just step outside and take a breath.

Sometimes I call my mom and just listen. Other times, I reach out to my dad or tell my current girlfriend, “Give me a second,” and step away before the anxiety swallows me. I’ve learned to let the emotions rise and fall instead of fighting them. I leaned into God and accepted His Grace along my journey.

For years, I skipped Halloween because seeing small children having fun with their families or shopping for costumes sent me into a spiral, reminding me of the memories I’d missed. But this year, I was able to help with my son’s Halloween costume and events. When anxiety crept in, instead of shutting down, I stepped outside, took a breath, regrouped, and returned with a clearer head. 

The holidays are still a work in progress. Seeing families picking out a tree, shopping for gifts, or even walking past the children’s section at a store can trigger those feelings. Only now, I have the tools, language, and support to deal with them. I no longer carry this alone.

I’m still healing, and a big part of that is because it’s become my job to speak to men just like me — athletes, fathers, professionals. Men who supported the abortion, men who opposed it, and men who didn’t know until later. Men from every belief system. 

What many share is silence because no one ever told them it’s okay to grieve. Nobody told them that God is always there for them.

Support After Abortion is trying to change that. We have new resources, like Finding Solid Ground, a compassion-based healing book that combines down-to-earth conversations with faith. It will be the heart of virtual men’s meetings in January. Most importantly, though, we have understanding and compassion, because while the holidays still aren’t easy for me, I’m not carrying my burdens alone. And this holiday season, I don’t want other men to, either.