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I felt God with me in the room when I had my abortion. My Christian faith had given me strength to seek the care I needed and free myself from a violent relationship three years ago. My faith also empowered me to free myself from the shackles of our white supremacist society, which is hellbent on denying Black women like me agency and power. I am who I am today because of the decision I made to choose faith and choose to have an abortion.

Many people who share my faith also share my experience seeking abortion care — the majority of people who have abortions identify as religious. They also sometimes need financial and emotional support to get the care they need, and that’s where abortion funds like the Lilith Fund in Texas come in.

As a Texan and a person of faith, I was thrilled to see the Lilith Fund’s billboards that read ”Abortion is a blessing” in East Texas, not too far from my home in Dallas. But when two were recently vandalized, the attack — like the anti-abortion extremism and lies that Texas abortion funds have faced in local Texas towns that have tried to pass in the last 18 months — was deeply personal to me, as someone whose life has been transformed for the better by seeking abortion care.

Reproductive oppression — through policies that deny people of all faiths the care we need and perpetuate a culture of stigma and shame — is violent. It’s dehumanizing to suggest that we, as children of God, lack the complexity and agency to choose faith and choose abortion, to choose God and choose freedom.

Growing up, faith had always been an integral part of my life, as I attended a Christian school and church regularly. When I was a teenager seeking love and support as I navigated the uncertainty of an unwanted pregnancy with my abuser, there were no faith leaders at my church I could turn to.

After I first had my abortion, I felt isolated and otherized for my decision, until I found community among other people like me who have had abortions and have become leaders and organizers for reproductive justice in our communities. We all come from different backgrounds with have different experiences that led us to seek abortion care. And while I often share my struggles surviving domestic violence committed by my partner at the time, there is no reason more valid than any other. To want or need an abortion is enough, period. I owe no explanations or apologies to anti-abortion folks who have tried to co-opt and weaponize my own faith to hurt me.

Without my abortion, I couldn’t have freed myself from a abusive relationship, and I couldn’t have developed a deeper relationship with my God. As a person of faith, I can tell you the attacks on Texas abortion funds and their work to support abortion access are deeply misguided. The attacks they face are made by people who would rather control the bodies of disproportionately Black and Brown folks like me, than listen to us about what we need to care for and protect our families and ourselves from state violence and white supremacy.

My journey to have an abortion and care for myself strengthened my relationship with God and showed me how personal and intimate religion truly is. From my faith and my abortion, I know firsthand that abortion is a blessing. It is a blessing for parents, families and all people. And I know the life I love so much today — a life where I am more deeply connected to my family, my community and my God than ever — would have been impossible without it.

CoWanda Rusk

Writing since February 2022 · 1 story contributed