Father’s Day After Abortion: Grief, Silence, and Finding My Way Through

Father’s Day after abortion. For a lot of men, it’s a day to push through, hold it together, move on. This story reflects what it’s like to carry abortion grief in silence — and what’s possible when a guy finds his way through to healing.

I almost didn’t write this.

Not because I don’t have anything to say — but because putting it out there—how abortion affected me—isn’t easy.

But I know there are other guys carrying something they’ve never said out loud. Not to their wives, not to their friends, not to anyone. And if this helps even one man feel less like he’s the only one — it’s worth saying.

So here goes.

WE MADE THE ABORTION DECISION TOGETHER, BUT CARRIED IT ALONE

My wife and I made the decision together. I won’t get into the specifics, because I think when people hear details—yours, mine, anyone’s—it feels like they’re judging whether the reasons were good enough. And that’s not what this is about.

What I’ll say is that it wasn’t easy. We were dealing with circumstances that felt impossible, and we did what felt like the only path forward at the time. After the abortion, we never really talked about it. Life kept moving. We already had a young child, later we had another. We built something good together.

And underneath all of it, the abortion was a silent, unspoken thing—and whatever I thought or felt about it was silent too, and stuck.

THE GRIEF I DIDN’T KNOW I HAD AFTER ABORTION

For a long time I didn’t think of myself as someone who was struggling. I was functioning. Good job, good marriage, kids I loved showing up for. There wasn’t anything I would have pointed to and called a problem.

But there was an edge in me I couldn’t quite explain. Not anger exactly — more like a low-grade discomfort that showed up in certain moments and then disappeared. I didn’t connect it to the abortion. I don’t think I wanted to.

I had a friend who’d been through something similar with his girlfriend years before. We never talked about it directly. But every once in a while, when we were shooting hoops or he was helping me work on my truck, he’d say something — just a few words — and I’d nod. That was it. That was the whole conversation. But it meant something. Still does.

WHAT FATHER’S DAY AFTER ABORTION FELT LIKE

Father’s Day was uncomfortable for years before I thought about or understood why.

The store displays, the cards, the moments at a cookout when someone raises a beer to the dads — there was always just this quiet something underneath it all. A weight I couldn’t name. I’d push through it, have a good day, and not think about it again—until the next June.

I remember one year, standing in the card aisle picking out a Mother’s Day card for my mom. I glanced over at my wife—something in her face was hard to read. I almost asked. Instead, I found a card and we checked out and drove home. I told myself I was protecting her by not poking at it.

It took a while — longer than I’d like to admit — before I finally connected what I was carrying around Father’s Day to the abortion years before. That low discomfort, that edge. It had a source. I just hadn’t looked at it directly.

HOW MY WIFE’S HEALING AFTER ABORTION HELPED ME

My wife is stronger than she probably thinks. For years she showed up for our kids, for our family, for me — and she was carrying something the whole time that I didn’t fully understand.

I knew she felt things around Mother’s Day. I could see it. I’d bring her flowers, try to make the day good, watch her face to see if she was okay without actually asking. She’d smile and the day would go fine.

But there was something she wasn’t saying, and something I wasn’t asking, and we both just kept moving.

At some point she started opening up — not all at once, but a bit here and there. She told me what Mother’s Day had actually become for her over the years. What it felt like to celebrate our kids we were raising while quietly grieving another one. I listened. I didn’t try to fix it — I’d learned by then that fixing wasn’t what she needed from me.

She told me she’d gone through a book and video program called Keys to Hope and Healing from Support After Abortion. That it had helped her. That they had a version for men too.

I didn’t say anything about that last part. But I heard it.

MY OWN HEALING AFTER ABORTION

A few weeks later, one night after everyone was in bed, I went to the Support After Abortion website. I found Keys to Hope and Healing for men. I started reading. I watched the first video.

I didn’t tell her. Other guys will understand why — if I said I was going to do something and then didn’t follow through, or started and stopped, I didn’t want that hanging there. I didn’t want her to have expectations or feel disappointed. And honestly, I didn’t want her to ask about it if I wasn’t ready to talk. I wanted to see if it was actually going to matter before I said anything.

It mattered.

It talked about stuff I’d been carrying for years without even realizing it. Guilt. Anger—at myself, at the situation that felt so impossible. Sadness. Feeling like I was “less than,” less than I wanted to be, less than she needed me to be—just … not enough. I hadn’t ever thought of it as “grief,” but I guess that’s what it all was, really.

I kept going. A few weeks in, my wife and I were talking one evening and I just said it: “Hey — I’ve been going through the men’s Keys to Hope and Healing.”

She looked at me and got quiet for a second. She asked how it was going. I said it was good. We didn’t go much further than that, not that night. But something was different, like a door had cracked open that we’d both been walking past for years.

HONORING OUR CHILD AFTER ABORTION: WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Keys to Hope and Healing has a section on memorialization — ways to acknowledge your loss, honor the child you’re grieving, even privately. I thought about that idea for a while. I considered some ways, like maybe adding a gem or something to my keychain or adding a tattoo as a reminder of our baby.

One day I mentioned it to my wife and asked if she’d want to do something together. I saw emotion in her face, she even got a little teary. Then she held my hand and led me out to the backyard. She showed me a bush she’d planted years ago. She told me why she’d planted it — that it was her way of acknowledging our child and what we’d been through. I remember the day she brought the bush home and planted it. I had asked if she wanted me to help or do it for her, but she said she wanted to do it herself. Each spring, I’d see her sitting there looking at it, figuring she just really liked the flowers. I’d had no idea it held a special meaning for her.

We decided to name our baby together. We chose Wren.

Then I saw a shepherd’s hook at the hardware store — wrought iron, with a small bird cast into the top. It felt right. It’s probably not exactly what a wren looks like, but we know what it means to us. We put it near the bush and hung a feeder from it.

That’s when something shifted between us that had been stuck. We’d been carrying this for years — each of us alone, in our own silences. There in the backyard, it finally became ours together.

Sometimes now we sit together looking at the flowers or watching the birds. Even in the winter, I sometimes drink my coffee leaning on the counter, looking out the kitchen window. Sometimes she’ll come hug me and we’ll stand together. We don’t talk about it every time—or even much. We don’t have to. We just know. And neither of us is alone in our grief anymore.

WHAT FATHER’S DAY AFTER ABORTION LOOKS LIKE NOW

Father’s Day is different now. I still feel something on that day. Some years it’s heavier than others. But I know what it is now, and that changes things. For me it seems like acknowledging the grief took away its power—or the urge to hide it.

This year I’m planning to take a little time for myself in the morning — get up before the kids or my wife and go for a walk. Or maybe if I oversleep or the day starts hectic, I’ll just sit and watch the birds while the kids play outside. Just a few minutes to think about Wren. It’ll help me be fully present for the rest of it — the chaos, the kids, the family barbeque where there’ll be some pregnant moms and little babies.

That’s what it looks like now. Grief gets its moment. Then life goes on. Both things are true. And I’m in a better place with it all.

WHAT I’D TELL OTHER MEN FACING FATHER’S DAY AFTER ABORTION

Father’s Day will come whether you’re ready for it or not. If it’s sitting heavy and you’re not sure why — or you know exactly why and you’ve just been pushing through it — I’d say this: that weight is real, and it doesn’t go away just because you don’t look at it. I pushed it down for years, and it still showed up every June.

This year, I’m going to fill the feeder and take my walk and then go be a dad. That’s enough. You’ll find your own version of enough.

You don’t have to have a big conversation, or any conversation. Just start looking at it—that’s a solid start.

Give yourself a few minutes. A walk, a run, a project … some quiet before the day starts. Let yourself think about it instead of past it. It may not seem like much, but it can change the day.

And if you want to go deeper, try Keys to Hope and Healing for Men, where I started. It’s not a big commitment — short readings, reflection questions, videos. You can do it at your own pace. You don’t have to tell anyone unless you want to. That’s up to you. There’s also an option called Finding Solid Ground, for men who want to include faith in their healing.

You don’t have to have it figured out before you take a step. I didn’t. I just started watching the videos and reading one night, and that got things moving for me.

I don’t have a neat ending for this. Wren is still Wren. The bush still blooms every spring. Father’s Day still comes every June. What’s different is that I’m not pretending anymore — not to myself, not to my wife. That’s the thing that actually changed everything.

Support After Abortion offers free, anonymous support for men impacted by abortion — including around Father’s Day and beyond.

Want to talk to someone?

The After Abortion Line is anonymous, compassionate, and non-judgmental. You can call or text 844-289-HOPE (4673), email, or use webchat at supportafterabortion.com. Say as much or as little as you want.

Want some backup for this Father’s Day?

Join a free virtual drop-in for men. Led by Nyles Pinckney, Men’s Healing Coordinator. Low-key, no pressure. Hear other guys. Share if you want. Pick up some strategies for navigating the day. 7-8 pm, Tuesday, June 16. Click here for the zoom link.

Want to explore on your own?

Keys to Hope and Healing for Men — is a secular resource with short readings, reflection questions, and optional videos you can work through at your own pace, privately or with a mentor.
Finding Solid Ground: A Man’s Guide to Healing After Abortion is a faith-based resource written in a conversational, guy-to-guy tone—with real stories, straight talk, and tools for walking through abortion grief and emotions. The video series guides you through the book adding insights, reflections, and an integrated playlist of music for each chapter. All with a focus on God’s love and mercy.
Hear other men’s stories of how abortion impacted them and the hope and healing they found.
Want to share your story? Sometimes putting it into words can help you process what you’ve been carrying.

However Father’s Day finds you this year — you don’t have to carry it alone.

This story reflects real experiences shared with Support After Abortion. Details have been combined and adapted to protect privacy.

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Father’s Day After Abortion: Grief, Silence, and Finding My Way Through