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BY Lorraine V. Murray
When I tell
people I’m an ex-feminist, I get a strange array of responses. Some people look
shocked and offended, as if I had declared myself among those who doubt that
the world is round. Others get a look of joy upon their faces as if they are
thinking, “Oh, how wonderful that someone else feels the same way I do!”
I am certainly not opposed to women
going to college, nor do I think women should be prohibited from pursuing their
dreams, whether that means motherhood, medicine or meteorology. However, as
someone who lived the feminist agenda for many years, I can attest that giving
women more access to education and careers is the mere tip of the feminist
iceberg. If you dig a bit deeper, you find a soul-numbing array of lies.
The first lie is one that it took me
years to see through. Although I’d been raised in a staid Catholic household,
during my junior year in college, I abandoned my Catholic faith as well as my
moral principles. By the time I was in graduate school in the 1970s, the
women’s liberation movement was under way, and one of the rallying cries of the
day centered on “free love.” This euphemism, in fact, had nothing to do with
the reality of the behavior, which involved engaging in sex with strangers as
if it were just another ordinary activity.
As a budding feminist, I bought into
the mistaken notion that casual sex caused no harm to men, and thus, it should
be perfectly fine for women, as well. After all, feminists were intent on
leveling the male-female playing field, and that meant dismantling traditions
like marriage and commitment, and, in the process, encouraging women to imitate
It was painful becoming intimate
with men whom I hardly knew and trying to pretend I expected no commitment from
them, but I told myself that over time my emotions would change.
Despite the fact that my female
friends and I kept getting our hearts broken, we didn’t arrive at the obvious
conclusion: Feminism had it all wrong. Women are created by God to connect sex
with commitment and love, since we know in the deepest recesses of our hearts
that a baby is the obvious purpose of sexual intimacy. Since I was too naive to
see through the lie, I concluded that I had to give the new experiment more
time, and I would eventually achieve true “liberation.”
I was also caught in the web of the
second big lie of feminism, which proceeds directly from the first. Feminists
are well aware that casual sex can lead to pregnancy, even when a woman is
using contraception. There simply is no device or chemical that can completely
guarantee that a pregnancy will not result from sex. Feminists, however, do not
see this obvious fact as a good reason to avoid premarital sex. Instead, in
their continued attempt to break the God-ordained tie between sex and babies,
they propose another “solution,” one that has led to the deaths of millions of
innocents since abortion was legalized.
Tragically, I was one of the women
who bought into this deception.
I truly thought that a woman’s
freedom to pursue education or a career trumped an innocent baby’s right to be
born. Thus, when I found myself pregnant but unmarried, I chose what I thought
would be a simple solution. In all the feminist articles that I pored over —
and there were quite a few — no mention was made of the emotional repercussions
that so often result when a woman ends a pregnancy.
I made the appointment at the
feminist clinic, walked in, and signed the paperwork. In my mind, what was
about to happen was as matter-of-fact as getting a tooth extracted. What I
didn’t realize was that I was about to experience the first chink in my
feminist armor, because the “procedure,” as I referred to it, was horrifyingly
painful, both physically and emotionally. In truth, as I left the clinic that
day, I felt a rush of relief because the immediate “problem,” the unwanted
pregnancy, was over.
What I did not realize was that I
would be facing many years of much more serious problems, as my womanly
emotions reacted with horror and regret over what had really happened that day.
I began experiencing flashbacks and
nightmares. I would see a baby in a mall and feel tears stinging my eyes. Worst
of all, I felt so terribly alone because even my feminist friends, who surely
had undergone the same “procedure,” studiously avoided any mention of their own
As the years passed, I was filled
with a bitter, unending regret. No matter what the feminist pundits claimed in
the scholarly articles they churned out, the truth of the matter became
blatantly clear: I had taken a life, and I would never quite get over it.
It wasn’t until I came back to the
Catholic Church that I could finally see through the lies of feminism. I saw
that it is impossible to claim to be pro-woman while also being anti-child. I
finally realized that in the feminist game plan, children are the big losers.
It was only by coming back to Catholicism that I discovered what it means to be
pro-woman in a sane and beautiful way.
Looking at a figure of Mary gazing
with love at the Christ Child in her arms reveals the truth that can triumph,
once and for all, over the lies of feminism: Taking babies away from their
mothers leads to devastating results for mother and child.
I found forgiveness for my sin
through the sacrament of confession and was finally able to find emotional
healing through Path, a post-abortion treatment and healing ministry run by a
merciful Catholic woman. But the scars that are left from the feminist lies
will never be completely gone. If I could turn back the hands of time, I would
let that little baby thrive. Like millions of other women who regret their
abortions, I would give anything if I could gaze on the little face of my
precious baby, who never saw the light of day.
V. Murray is the author of Confessions of an Ex-Feminist (Ignatius
Press). She lives in Decatur, Georgia.
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