The Unlikely Gift of an Unwanted Pregnancy

3 months after my 29th birthday, I lay alone in a hospital bed, my marriage irrevocably behind me.

My then-husband and I had separated - a decision that tore me apart, but I knew deep down was right for me.

We had a perfect life in Singapore. He was climbing the corporate ladder; I was growing my coaching business. We bought color-coordinated kitchen appliances for our sunlit apartment. We attended black-tie charity dinners and discussed mortgage options with real estate agents who gifted us fine wine.

To the outside world, we had it all. But inside, I couldn't shake off a growing emptiness.

Over time, the nagging feeling that this perfect life wasn’t mine grew into a persistent ache—a longing for a different life throbbing through my veins.

Believe me, I didn’t want to want to leave.

I grew up in a traditional Vietnamese family. The women from where I came don't leave their husbands.

But every drop of blood in my body told me to walk away.

I doubted anything tastes more bitter than getting dumped right after a divorce.

And yet I tasted it.

A few days later, just when I started to get back on my feet, I found out that I was pregnant.

So, one quiet afternoon, I put my clothes, laptop, journal, yoga mat, and Tibetan singing bowl in a suitcase.

I sobbed as I walked past my kitchen counter, past the De’Longhi expresso machine and pastel designer kettle, through the wooden front door, and closed it behind me.

My 7-year relationship had ended.

And in that disorientation, I disappeared into a doomed, torrid love affair with a charming, narcissistic man whose giant red flags were obvious to everyone else but me.

One time, when I was sick, he left me alone at our rented villa for the whole day. I dragged myself out of bed and rode a motorbike to a restaurant for pumpkin soup. When I arrived back, I found him laughing on our front porch with two girls he had apparently brought back to our place.

Our relationship - or whatever existed between us - coughed its last breath when, after spending weeks pretending I didn’t exist, he showed up at the door of my Airbnb, kissed me on the mouth without warning, and told me he’d like us to be friends.

I doubted anything tastes more bitter than getting dumped right after a divorce.

And yet I tasted it.

A few days later, just when I started to get back on my feet, I found out that I was pregnant.

When my period was late, I shrugged it off at first. My cycle was unpredictable, and despite past recklessness, I had never gotten pregnant before.

So when I saw two stripes on the pregnancy test, I felt like the bathroom tiles cracked open beneath my shaking knees.

I’m pregnant.

I knew instantly I didn’t want to keep this pregnancy. That meant abortion.

Abortion.

That word sent waves of shame and self-disgust up my throat.

I thought I was smart. How could I be so stupid?

I couldn't reach out to my parents. They didn't even know about my divorce. And would be shattered to learn their accomplished, picture-perfect daughter was knocked up by a man they'd never met.

I also couldn't bear adding their emotional storm to my own.

So I called a close girlfriend who wouldn't judge me. After hearing my story, she said:

“I’m so sorry, Milena. It’s not your fault.”

Her voice was tender as she continued to advise me on different medical options for abortion.

But all I could hear was blood-curdling screeches in my own head:

“OF COURSE IT’S YOUR FAULT, YOU STUPID GIRL! WHOSE ELSE IS IT BUT YOURS???”

I asked another girlfriend to let me stay at her place in Ho Chi Minh City for a few days and take me to the hospital. I was feeling so desperately lonely.

She readily jumped to my aid but couldn’t be with me during the procedure.

So there I was, ending my twenties with a “bang.”

Divorced, with no place to call home, abandoned by a lover right after getting knocked up, alone in a hospital, and getting an abortion.

The encounter with Divine Love forever changed me.

Tattooed in my soul is a sacred knowing:

I am Love. We are Love. No matter what.

It didn’t help that the doctor and nurses kept telling me to keep the pregnancy.

“Are you sure? This is a living being.”

They had told me on my first appointment, casting pitying, judgmental eyes.

“I had made my decision. If you can’t support me, I’ll find another hospital who can.”

I had said coldly, blinking back tears.

I’d never felt more sure about anything in my life. I refused to use my body to grow the seed of a man who didn’t give a damn about me. And I was under no romantic illusion about being a single mom.

∾∾∾

The nurse entered the room. Two white pills to end the pregnancy, and more pills for pain.

“Nausea and cramps are normal. Press the button if you need help.”

I searched for a trace of warmth in her voice but found none.

I swallowed the pills, feeling them moving down the back of my throat, through my sternum to the pit of my stomach. I felt their weight, heavy as lead. I was afraid of the pain but I knew the only way out was through.

Fifty minutes later, the nausea and cramps came on. Hard.

I tossed and turned, moaned and groaned. I was drenched in sweat.

This was more pain than I had expected. But I didn’t want to press the button for help. I was alone. Utterly alone in the world.

I dragged myself to the ensuite bathroom, held the toilet bowl, and retched so hard I feared I might turn myself inside out. I felt both disgusted and disgusting.

STUPID. STUPID. STUPID.

The voice kept screaming in my head.

Life had brought me to my knees now - on the cold bathroom floor of a hospital.

With no one and nowhere to turn to, I did the thing I least expected: I prayed.

God, I can’t do this. Please help me. Let this happen with as little pain and as much ease as possible.

Next, I felt like time had slowed, and then I stood still.

A gentle wave of energy brought me up from the toilet bowl and back to bed. I was moving my body but my limbs felt lifted from within. That same presence moved me to squat on the end of the hospital bed with my hands holding the railing and my body rocked back and forth.

Next comes quietness.

No more regrets. No more self-punishing voices. No more thoughts of what ifs and what would be.

Just quiet.

Like standing alone at the center of a still lake. Barefoot on the water. No ripple.

I felt it then. Oneness. Divine Love.

Unlike welcoming a superior being from high above. More like falling backward.

You soften your body on the water to find yourself floating, carried by the ocean that has always been there.

The moment I finally surrendered, I fell back into the lap of God.

Love. So much love and tenderness.

A simple, honest, relentless LOVE that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

A Love I don’t need to earn. A Love that doesn’t care if I think I deserve it. A Love that is given without question.

At that moment, I knew not only that I was loved but I was Love.

I am Love.

∾∾∾

I don’t know how long I was in that state of oneness. Maybe it was ten minutes. Maybe it was forty.

But I know my body went through the rest of the abortion process without pain.

I was discharged from the hospital the following morning.

In the afternoon of the same day, I got a manicure and pedicure: a mix-and-match set of pastel blue, pink, and golden glitters.

It was raining when I was inside the nail salon, but it stopped once I finished.

Smelling the rain, I walked around Ho Chi Minh City streets and found a quiet cafe. The waitress smiled and guided me to a table before a Victorian-style window overlooking a big yellow flame tree.

I sat down and watched sunlight dancing on the naked leaves. Droplets from the rain still lingered on the branches, sparkling emeralds.

I knew I had more healing ahead, but the encounter with Divine Love forever changed me.

Tattooed in my soul is a sacred knowing:

I am Love. We are Love. No matter what.

A friend captured me in this moment 1 month after that day in the hospital. I felt so much connection with Oneness then. I still feel that way now.

It took me 2 years to digest and integrate my encounter with Divine Love that day in the hospital. 3 more to find not only the language to capture that experience but also the courage to share it with you.

The emotional wounds I felt in this story are no longer bleeding, but some scar tissues still feel raw to the touch.

Putting this story out there is soul-baring. May it reach those who need it—especially women who have gone through abortion or painful experiences where they suffer in shame, blame, and aloneness.

I hope you feel seen. I hope you know you’re not alone. And I hope you’ll come to learn what I learned that day: You are Love, no matter what.

You’re the Ocean; why settle for a drop?

And you are Love... Why beg for scraps from those who make you feel small? Why sacrifice your body to prove you deserve? Why deny your sacred longing for a big, juicy life?

How would knowing ‘You are Love’ change how you raise your child, talk to your friends, say Yes or No to an invitation, build a life, and grow a business?

Set yourself free. Let Love carry you onward.

With so much love,

Milena

PS: Feel called to tell your story or want to share what comes up after reading this piece? Reply to this article below, I'm right there with you.

SHARING IS CARING

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I help YOU get paid to change the world.

Hey, fellow purpose-driven human!

I’m Milena. When I was 24, I said no to corporate job offers to “do my own thing.”

9 years, some major fumbles, 3 TEDx Talks, 1 published book, 50,000 followers, and hundreds of clients (from 15+ countries) later…

I make a multi-six-figure living as a coach while spending most of my time walking barefoot in my apartment. #introvertgoal

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