We’d gone over it in my abortion companion training: what to do when a pro-lifer sought our services. I remember being at a loss when the instructor brought up the scenario. My first reaction, a righteous bitterness, seemed incorrect and unshareable with a group that was learning to navigate this nuanced service with grace. And while it dawned on me then that it could happen, I didn’t really think it would. Despite the fact that I’d been urgently inspired to enroll in this training by the repeal of Roe v. Wade in 2022, I lived in a solidly blue area where access was likely to remain unrestricted. Selfishly, I assumed this meant I wouldn’t run into any pro-lifers.

I was wrong, of course. By that time, I’d been an abortion companion for a year and was settling nicely into the practice. Most of my clients were exceedingly kind and I felt honored to accompany them as they moved through their abortion experiences. This client was kind at first, too, and our exchanges - the supportive logistics that make up this work - were unremarkable.

It wasn’t until the day of her abortion, in the midst of the pill’s effects, that something slipped. The experience of medication abortion is similar for most people, but like any medicine, it can be harder on some than others. My client had a difficult time and I’m sure this contributed to what happened next.

I’d sensed some trepidation, a few misgivings about the medication - all extremely normal. But when she turned to me and said, “It must be nice to work with someone normal for a change,” I was just confused. I asked her to clarify, and she responded that she knew most people I worked with were just irresponsible and “promiscuous,” and that she wasn’t like them. She shared with me that she was pro-life and that this was “just a blip.”

I realized then that the scenario we’d discussed in training had finally found me. I was lucky, though, because I had the wisdom of my trainers and my fellow trainees to rely on. You see, many of my peers in the program had stayed cooler under pressure than I had. They’d come up with some responses to these assumptions, and although it’d been over a year since my training, I was able to fall back on their expertise.

In these moments, the first thing I’d been trained to remember was that I was there to support my client. Any response I made - regardless of my own feelings - had to flow from that. For me, this meant a reminder that I wasn’t judging her, that I’d be there for her - or any of my other clients - when they needed me, full stop.

Gently, I reminded her that I wasn’t going to speak badly about any of my clients, either. Their choices and reasoning were their own and I’d never pass judgment. I asked her to offer the same consideration to my clients and wondered aloud, even if she was like them, was that really such a bad thing? What if, rather than this experience setting her apart, it instead brought her together with a group of people who held it in common?

Of course, I’m more eloquent now, years later and in writing. I’m sure that, in the moment, I stumbled over my words and spent a long time getting to what I wanted to say. But the conclusion was the same: this experience didn’t have to change anything fundamentally about her. It could be a point of connection, not pain, if she wanted.

I’m sharing this story now with her permission. We’ve kept in touch over the years and I still sometimes offer support for the way her abortion experience affects her today. I’m not sure whether her politics have changed on this issue, but she’s never spoken badly about my other clients - or her own choice - with me again.

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