‘Women need to be equipped for how gruelling an abortion can be. It does mess with your mind. I was trying to put myself back together again’

This image, Sweet Saboteur, was inspired by a painting I did last November, during a particularly difficult time in my life. The year before, I had fallen pregnant and, unable to keep the baby, I had had an abortion. I was of course very sad at the time but I couldn’t really talk about it. It was only when the anniversary of the termination came round that I started dealing with the psychological fallout. Making this body of work was part of that process.

The two figures speak to my two warring selves. I was in an unstable, indecisive state, hence the hopeless figure on the left, crying and in pain. At the same time, the real me lingered and longed to be better, which the figure on the right, the hopeful one, represents. She is stronger, wiping away the other’s tears.

I had worked with self-portraiture previously, in images inspired by the Xhosa culture. My earlier series, Free da Gum (2016), was much sweeter, sincere, young and bright. But then going through life and experiencing things and having relationships and falling out of them, and going through the termination itself, and dealing with the fallout – that all resulted in this darker, grungier, bolder work.

Here, I wanted to give the viewer a sense of the physical experience I went through. I experimented with gels to achieve that palette of reds, which I juxtaposed with the black and white to create this jarring imagery. I worked with two designers in Cape Town, Mzonke Maloney and Lubabalo Nkobo, to make the costumes as a homage to my father, who also passed away last year. He was a charismatic, dandy businessman who enjoyed wearing suits – he was so very stylish. The garments here are deconstructed and reassembled, a metaphor for how I was trying to put myself back together again.

The fur sleeve, the cat-ear hats (created by milliner Crystal Birch), the claws, the maneki-neko lucky cat figurine: these elements refer to the kitten I got, on an impulse, shortly after undergoing the termination procedure. We named him Diesel. In the image, the figure on the left holds up five fingers, in a reference to both the kitten’s age when he arrived – about five weeks old – and the fact that the abortion was conducted at the five-week mark. I liked the echo between the cat’s paw and the figure’s raised palm. The figure on the right is giving the maneki-neko – specifically white, to beckon peace and purity – to the left one, thus passing on good fortune to the misfortunate one.

I got a kitten, on impulse, shortly after undergoing the procedure. By the time the anniversary came round, he had left

My partner knew about the pregnancy and was very supportive, but other than to him, I didn’t want to talk about what I was going through. I was constantly sharing pictures of my black cat with people though, which was kind of like letting them in on my secret. By the time the anniversary came round, Diesel had gone. He had been disappearing every now and then, I think someone was feeding him, and then one day he was no longer there. And I was left with the realisation of why he had been in my life in the first place. He had become a replacement, a substitute for the child I could have had. Mostly, though, once I’d realised what he stood for, it was something to let go of. He had his season and he served it very well. If he hadn’t left, I probably would not have faced the truth of what I was going through. His departure helped me as much as his arrival had.

My mama was the one of the first people to find out. She knew something was not OK, and then she found the paperwork from the clinic on my bed. She called me into the room and asked me if there was something I wanted to tell her. In my mind I thought no, there’s nothing I want to tell you. But I did, and she was not judgmental in the slightest. In fact, she was most concerned about my health and wellbeing; she made sure I sought out counselling.

I’m in a much better place now. I’m stronger. I’ve spoken with my loved ones, it’s not that it’s easier to talk, but I have a greater sense of closure now. Shame was the disabling part of holding on to my secret, being afraid of what people would think, of family and beliefs and my Xhosa culture. It’s been a common thread in all the conversations I have had with other girls and women – that the act of having a termination, or talking about it, is detrimental. But that is so far from the truth. What is detrimental is going through it alone.

This image is a reminder of how important it is to talk and to share. I think girls and women need to be equipped for how gruelling an abortion can be. It is a withstandable pain, depending on your pain threshold, but it does mess with your mind. The memory comes back now and then, when you least expect it. But in talking about it, you become stronger through it.

Tony Gum’s CV

Born: 1995, Cape Town.

Training: Diploma in film and video technology at Cape Peninsula University of Technology.

Influences: Elizabeth Catlett, Frida Kahlo, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, Nina Simone, Maya Angelou and Mothiba Gum.

High point: “Showcasing Ode to She at Christopher Moller Gallery in 2017, with the support of family, friends and peers.”

Low point: “My dad passing away in 2018.”

Top tip: “Take care of yourself and celebrate the understated hero: rest.”

•Tony Gum’s work was at PhotoLondon 2019