Day 35. No period. No symptoms of pregnancy either. The thoughts which began filling my head around Day 35 still moisten my eyes just a little. I guess the maternal gene kicks in when you think you might be pregnant I was in no position to have a kid, especially because I was twenty, in school, and was living a fairly self-exploratory and self-indulgent lifestyle. If I had a baby, I’d have to give up most of it and I knew that. I also knew I couldn’t have an abortion. I’d always been pro-choice, but the thought that maybe there was a life inside me made me realize I simply couldn’t do it. The next option would be adoption, but I also knew that would be impossible. Probably even harder, knowing my child was out there, being raised by another family. I’d probably be that person, who changes their mind at the last minute and decides to keep the baby.So if I were pregnant, I concluded, I’d be having a kid. No two ways around it. My head started filling with images of my little boy or girl running around, growing up, being full of life. I felt my eyes tear up thinking about it just now. But then -- this was by far the worst feeling of the whole experience -- I imagined a child who looked like him. He was gross. He was ugly, not just on the outside, but on the inside. What if his genetic imprint impacted that baby? I wanted to say that it wouldn’t matter. I knew it wouldn’t be the kid’s fault. I knew that rationally, but emotionally, I imagined being reminded every time I looked at that kid that he or she was the product of him. The product of what he did to me. The product of what I had done to myself. And I felt a surge of shame that I could feel this way about an innocent child, let alone my innocent child.Was it rape? I’m not sure. Is it rape if your boyfriend wears you down? If he berates you and belittles you and threatens you until you just want him to stop? If you give in and agree to have sex because you’re afraid of the consequences? In my heart, I felt as though our whole relationship was one long rape and I hated the thought of it. I hated the flashbacks, the feeling that I just couldn’t clear my head no matter how much music I listened to, how much I journaled, how far I got in my car and just drove. I hated taking showers and still feeling him on me -- the weight of his body, the sweat and more than anything, his presence. I hated still feeling it, even though I had sent him packing.Well, I can only say in retrospect that it was rape. At that time, I thought I just wasn’t ready to be in a relationship and he was basically harmless, albeit a little weird. That he and I wanted different things, he wanted all of me and I wanted only some of him. That he wanted to settle down and I wanted my independence. As such, I was attempting to maintain a friendship with him and nothing else. I understand women who escape their abusive husbands only to go back shortly afterwards. I understand staring at oneself in the mirror, saying over and over again, “Why don’t you just leave?” Never underestimate the power of persuasion, the power of the Stockholm syndrome, the power of well-meaning friends and family who try to tell you that all relationships are hard and you shouldn’t give up so easily. Never underestimate the power of your own mind, which can rationalize practically anything. Never underestimate the power of a man who gaslights you into thinking it’s your fault that we’re unhappy, that no one will ever love you the way that he does.When I told him I might be pregnant, he seemed fine with either aborting the baby or even keeping it.So now I had this staggering fear, in addition to losing my independent lifestyle and watching a kid who looked like him grow up, that he would be tied to me. And I would HAVE to keep him in my life because we’d have a kid together. Honestly, that’s how I’d felt since the moment I met him -- that I would HAVE to stay in a relationship with him, that it was beyond my control and I had no choice.It had taken every ounce of self will, courage, and strength I had to break up with him. It had taken hours upon hours of arguing and convincing to get him on that plane. It was the hardest thing I had ever done. I didn’t want to lose my new freedom. I didn’t want him to come back. And I really, really didn’t want to go back to the person I was when I was with him. If I had his kid, would I be that battered wife forever?When I finally bled, most of the fears vanished. I wouldn’t have to deal with all the troubles of having a kid at twenty. However, he did stay in my life, despite repeated requests to stop contacting me, ignoring his calls, texts, and emails, changing my phone number, blocking him through every means possible, and eventually a restraining order. The restraining order worked for a while, until the emails began pouring in again, from different addresses. I block him, he finds me, I block him, and he finds me. At least there’s no tiny person involved, no child of mine who has to endure the same torture year after year. And at least there’s no tiny part of me that likes the drama of him contacting me – I stopped responding in any sense years ago, and he’s out of my life emotionally and physically, even if he hasn’t quite gotten that memo.I became filled with a whole new fear, however. Perhaps one even more staggering than him following me forever. My new fear now was that I was attracted to people like him, that I subconsciously gravitated towards abusive and intense men, that I would never be free of this neurosis.Several years, lots of therapy, intensive work climbing 12 steps to freedom over and over and over again – I’m in a relationship with a person I truly love, who truly loves me. I don’t stay with people I secretly hate, I don’t try to just “be stronger” and act differently so the abusive person will be different – I simply don’t engage. I no longer need to have negative things happen to feel like I’m having life experiences – I’m travelling the world, studying and working in various countries, running into the center of the life I always wanted without apology, and loving every minute of it. I also don’t dither and self-critique, don’t obsess about how things might have been or how I wish they could be now. I don’t regret what happened, because it propelled me into serious work and progress. The lives I’ve led have allowed me to experience joy in a new light, and have given endless opportunities to help other women, men, and all those in between.But I still remember that maternal feeling. I remember how much love I was suddenly filled with, even for something that either never existed or perhaps existed for only a couple days inside my uterus. I sometimes wonder how different my life would have been. What would that child look like today? What would they be like? And the old, familiar swell of love comes rushing back instantaneously.Someday, I would like to have children with someone I truly love. Someday, I’d like to watch a little boy or girl running around, and feel filled with love.(By Lisa Spears)