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Abortion Forever

Kacie W. 3/17/2026

The reason I put my name in the hat for Treasurer of the Omaha chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America was to force me to make space for my activism again. That and my dozen or so years working in finance, participation on a non-profit board, and personal experience as a small business owner prepared me to support the chapter in the dollars and cents way. Most of all, I wanted to build community with folks who cared about the things that I do. One of those things happens to be abortion, because I’ve had one myself.

It all started when I was a kid and my older brother beat the piss out of me on the regular. My parents were largely in denial and didn’t feel like they could do anything more to stop him, so they just blamed it on us equally for being disruptive and let it continue. My dad had a temper and scared me in a different sort of way. Mostly, it was the fragile existence of living in a home where I could be pounced on at any minute and not protected when it mattered. When I raised concerns, I would be scolded. It feels cliché to say, but when a predator moved in with my best friend—her brother, fourteen years older than us—his listening ear became the comfort I so deeply sought. He was there to tell me how wrong my parents were, carefully praising me in little and big ways.

One day something had me scared to tears, so I biked the mile to their house. My best friend wasn’t home, but Luke was. So he held my hand and took me on errands. I felt safe with him. The grooming was deliberate and slow. I became twitterpatted and believed I was in love with my soulmate. Just before I turned 16, he raped me for the first time. It hurt, but he insisted that it would feel better with practice. I lied inside out and backwards to spend time with him, which was relatively easy as I was a straight A student athlete who really didn’t ever get in any trouble outside of ‘fighting’ with my brother. So I lied, he raped me, my parents ignored me, and I found ways to spend time with him between bagging groceries at HyVee and track practice.

By 16, I was pregnant. I bought a test at Target and knew immediately what I was going to do. Luke was out of town by now, but he sent cash via Western Union for my procedure. As a minor, in order to get an abortion without notifying my parents, I used the judicial bypass system. Essentially, you get emancipated for the purpose of making one medical decision, to end a pregnancy based on your own judgment alone. I met with a pro bono lawyer, recited how the procedure would work and what risks I was facing, and prepared to explain how I was a straight A student who just made a mistake.

It’s really the luck of the draw on the judge I guess, but I got lucky. I got the paperwork and made the appointment at the clinic in Bellevue. I sat in my room and listened to a state mandated recording, a requirement in many states, full of lies about false abortion risks (now it includes information about the idea of abortion reversals, a prime example of the kind of wild pseudoscience that gets through the Nebraska legislature. The actual appointment was literally 4 weeks to the day after we had intercourse, which, in pregnancy math, is six weeks pregnant (the current cutoff in Nebraska). This is a shockingly fast timeline for a young person to notice they are pregnant, obtain legal counsel, a judicial bypass, schedule an appointment, and end a pregnancy. Many pregnant people have no idea they are pregnant at this stage.

I told my parents I was camping with a friend. We instead spent the night at her boyfriend’s house and the three of us went to the clinic together early on a Saturday. The protesters yelled at me and my friend’s boyfriend (who they assumed to be the father) to save the baby. I remember someone jumping out with a graphic sign right by the door. Ya know, the classic shock and awe one with pieces of an embryo.

The doctor recommended a surgical abortion, the suck the pregnancy out kind, rather than the medically induce a miscarriage kind via pills, so most of the effect would happen while I was still at the clinic. Both options are valid, and some people prefer to pass the tissue in the privacy of their own home or chosen space. I wanted to get it wrapped up as quickly as possible, and in that case, the doctor slightly dilates your cervix and removes the tissue. It was painful, sure, but no worse than, say, getting your cavities filled. I was sore but relieved and enjoyed a well-earned underage beer around a campfire later that night.

I don’t know exactly when I realized I was destined to be an advocate, but as I slowly realized my teenaged romance was a story of childhood sexual abuse, I realized how fundamental my abortion story was to my life.

Shortly after the birth of my first child, I attended a screening of “Jackson,” a documentary chronicling Mississippi’s only abortion clinic as it fought to survive amid political pressure and terroristic threats.That night, I told my abortion story publicly to the room, fronted by Dr. Willie Parker (of the featured abortion clinic) and Amelia Bonow, co-founder of the righteous Shout Your Abortion. I joined the New Leaders Council, class of 2018, an organization that supported progressive leadership in politics and in the community. We were all assigned a capstone project and I decided to host an abortion storytelling event.

I reached out to Amelia who happened to be planning a book tour; the stars aligned and she was able to come to Omaha using her book tour to provide a budget for the event. Shout Your Abortion is a strong-willed, in your face, no nonsense org that pulls stunts like swallowing abortion pills on the steps of the Supreme Court. Amelia happily deferred to my ideas about how things should go. The event was at The Brothers, a now since shuttered Punk Rock bar in Blackstone, the perfect place to be blunt and honest. I told my story and led the panel, surrounded by friends and strangers alike who wanted to be there for the fight. We had five abortion storytellers, a panel with a representative from Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and Dr. Jawed-Wessel is the Co-Director of SoLi Lab for Sexuality and Gender Science. Far before Roe fell, the panel knew bad things were coming. Someone made the dark point that if things got really fucked, a leftist veterinarian would be able to give you an abortion.

That night was incredible for me. It was an achievement, sure, but in very purple Omaha it was great to see so many people being up front about abortion with me. It helped me build relationships and transformed me into an ‘abortion person’. One of my fellow storytellers that evening now volunteers as a clinic escort in Bellevue every single weekend and petitioned for the ballot initiative for legalized abortion in Nebraska.

Since then, I’ve testified in Lincoln, volunteered at the clinic where I had my procedure, spoke at rallies, and find ways to keep the momentum going. I have a slew of abortion shirts and try to bring up the fact that I’ve had an abortion in casual conversation, even with strangers. I think I told a dentist that having my abortion easier than what he was doing in my mouth. I’m not sure how he took it. #sorrynotsorry

I fight for abortion because it’s true that many people use abortion as a way to fight back against abuse, sure, but I’ve come to learn that abortion access is a fundamental human right. Parent or childless, cis or trans, rich or poor, we all should decide if we want to grow a literal human inside our own bodies.

I, like most people who have had pregnancies, have scars and lingering side effects from growing a human inside me. Carrying a pregnancy to term should not be a punishment if you ‘get knocked up,’ it should be a decision made with confidence. Bodily autonomy is a cornerstone human right; when it is disrespected, it leads only to deeper and more severe dehumanization.

I’ve never regretted my abortion. I’ve made something of myself after it, but that “something” that may be the most important is that I am happy to speak plainly about abortion. I’ve called strangers on the phone the night before their procedure, ordered pills online, and helped connect people to out-of-state care. We can always do more, so I hope to continue these efforts in new ways.

Abortion is a part of my story. And it should be a part of anyone’s story who needs one for any reason. Fuck the courts. We’re doing it anyway. Abortion forever.