It Was Not A Shameful Act
Written & Narrated by Marie Newman
Marie Newman is a former congresswoman, nonprofit CEO, marketing executive, author of When Your Child Is Being Bullied: Real Solutions, antibullying activist, former Moms Demand Action spokesperson and national LGBTQ+ advocate. In addition to those roles, she is a mom of two adult children, consultant and podcaster. Marie Newman is known for building movements and solving the toughest problems. Marie’s next book, her memoir, will be released April of 2025, A Life Made From Scratch. Her motto has always been, when you do not see the solution you desperately need, make it from scratch!
Marie has been frequently interviewed on MSNBC, CNN, Fox, NBC, ABC, CBS, PBS over the last decade for her congressional work and prior to that, her activism. She has also been interviewed by The New York Times, Elle magazine, Teen Vogue, Ms. Magazine, The New Yorker, Washington Post, USA Today, Chicago Tribune, The Chicago Sun Times and other publications.
Marie’s newest book, a prescriptive memoir, A Life Made From Scratch from which this episode is taken from, is available now with her first book, When Your Child is Being Bullied, Real Solutions. Both are available here.
Hosted and produced by Peter Griffith; contributing producers Marie Newman & Rob Wallace.
A surprise pregnancy is not something any young woman just out of high school is ready for, and Marie Newman at that age was not the exception. If you think this episode, a true story, is about navigating the crossroads of what to do next, it is. In part. But it’s also about one woman’s courageous journey, starting in shame and ending in self-esteem.
Published March 4, 2025
Transcript: It Was Not A Shameful Act
[ Intro music ]
HOST:
Today on campus, we’re at the University of Wisconsin during the 1980s, where there’s no trouble finding opposing viewpoints. Students turn on their massive 19” TVs and on one channel, the conservative televangelism of Jerry Falwell’s and Jim Bakker’s Moral Majority are blaring. A few clicks over on MTV, music videos from artists like Madonna are trampling over provocative boundaries, drawing record ratings and changing the culture. Flip the channel again and fragrance commercials featuring The Charlie Girl are pushing women to be fiercely independent. Oprah herself stating it defined the woman she dreamt of becoming.
It was difficult in the 80s to know what was right and what was wrong. Just when you thought you had it all figured out, the conception of something new would burst out of nowhere and force you to rethink everything. This was certainly so for a young, Midwestern woman in particular. You’ll want to hear her story.
[ Marching band music ]
This is Once, In College. I’m Pete Griffith. Before Marie Newman was a former U.S. Congresswoman, author and advocate, she was a nineteen-year-old student at the University of Wisconsin. A surprise pregnancy is not something any young woman just out of high school is ready for, and Marie at that age was not the exception.
If you think this episode is about navigating the crossroads of what to do next, it is. In part. But it’s also about one woman’s courageous journey, starting in shame and ending in self-esteem.
[ Bells from campus tower ]
Today you will hear a chapter from Marie Newman’s book, “A Life Made From Scratch.” It is her true story, written and narrated by her, of the monumental decision she was compelled to make, once, in college.
[ Inviting music ]
MARIE NEWMAN:
Life comes at you fast, and certain events have more impact than others. My personal abortion story shaped my worldview at a very young age. It was likely my very first high-octane life fire. A surprise pregnancy at nineteen is not something any young woman just out of high school is ready for. But I came from a devout Catholic, middle-class, Midwestern family that typically reacted with shame in these types of situations. It wasn’t that my family shamed me; I just felt it would be discerned that way.
It was my perception.
Two weeks before my decision to abort, I reflected deeply on my family and childhood memories, which helped me understand with clarity what was best. Revisiting pivotal moments helped make my decision clear. I thought about everything: My father’s job loss at an early age and how it affected me. Remembering and admitting (to nobody except myself) that I did not like babysitting at all and candidly (although, in an Irish Catholic community, you are verboten to say it), I did not really enjoy kids. Those admissions were simply not shared in my ruby-red conservative suburb growing up.
During that time, I contemplated my mother’s eighties-sitcom- like concept of being a homemaker (bridge, golf, gourmet club, and cooking every meal) and developed a distinct curiosity of my mother’s complete lack of interest in a career. It was a skewed perception because I did not understand her and truthfully never asked her about it. It was not a lack of ambition; she simply liked homemaking. Having a baby was in direct conflict with my huge plans to be an executive responsible for ending homelessness and my FOMO (fear of missing out). These were all factors in my decision to have an abortion, but it also revealed the tensions with my family that were precursors and signs of struggles to come. I was taught to believe that abortion was a shameful act. It was murder. I did not agree but still felt ashamed.
This was a situation where I found the fire, and the fire found me. I had sex and did not expect it to change my life, but it did.
The tussle with myself was painful. The possibility of losing the hard-won achievements at college was a factor. But, also, if I’m being one-hundred-percent honest, another factor was a clear and compelling desire to party, have adventures, and have a good time. Yup, I said it. Brutal honesty with myself made it convincingly clear: I still wanted to have fun, have a career, and “not just be a mom.”
Finally, my decision to pursue my life the way I wanted became clear as day. An abortion is not a shameful act.
Yet I kept it an iron-clad secret. It would take another twenty years for me to tell my closest friends or sisters. That decision was transformative and a clear sign of other tough decisions ahead. I learned that I am capable of very tough decisions and that my opinion matters. I am also capable of walking through fire and building my own solutions.
On the morning of my abortion, I vividly recall that the room was freezing. Alone and mortified, with heavy notes of terror and guilt, I sat wearing one of those awkward patient gowns that ties in the back. In a sterile room, I shivered while looking at all the aluminum tables with shiny equipment. It all felt industrial, not medical. I felt tears running down my face, but my mind was racing so fast, I did not know I was crying. As I laid on the clinic bed, I kept replaying my decision, every angle, every discussion, and kept coming to the same place—this is so hard, but inescapably the right thing to do. In the year prior, I had been happily dating a very nice young man in college who was kind, loving, very smart, and adorable. I was joyful and having late night/drinking/being silly/working hard college fun, the fun I should be having. It was the beginning of my sophomore year, and my dorm was filled with funny, smart folks from all over, and I loved getting to know all of them.
My kind and sweet boyfriend had just transferred to another university, and I felt like I had the world by the tail. Even though he was only an hour away, I enjoyed that little separation of time and space from him. I had great friends, loved my studies, and was still close to my friends from home.
That all came to a screeching halt when I realized I was late. My period was like a clock on a computer. Every twenty-nine days, boom, five days long. No variation. Until that day in October. The first few days of being late, I really did not give it a thought.
After a week, I became nervous.
At twelve days, I told a close friend. On day fourteen, I knocked on Barb’s door three doors down and started crying. We sat down on her bed and devised a plan. The plan was perfected during a walk to the drugstore. “Let’s go to the drugstore on Water Street. It’s farther away but safer,” Barb said. “I will stand in front of you as you pick out the pregnancy test from the shelf and shield you at the counter so nobody will see what you are buying.” I felt immense appreciation, hugging her tightly as I walked out the door of the store.
Later, when we got back to the dorm, we went to the least crowded bathroom, and she stood guard by the door, telling people I was sick and to go to another floor.
“Goddamn it!” I shrieked, looking at the test in disbelief. I dissolved into tears.
Barb came running in. “Let me guess, it’s positive.” She fell to the floor with me. Barb understood unexpected health challenges intimately. When she was younger, she had a childhood disease that was life-changing, and she was beyond empathetic. An absolute saint.
We stared at it for a while, and then Barb grabbed some tissues and offered, “Let’s go get some bad coffee in the cafeteria and figure this out.”
By the time we sat in the dimly lit corner of the cafeteria, at an old, 1960s-style, nondescript, tile-surfaced lunch table, my head was exploding with contradictory thoughts. Being very Catholic at the time, I was disgusted and disappointed with myself. My parents will hate me and never forgive me. What will Adam, my incredibly kind boyfriend, say?
What will my friends say? Then it struck me. I’m obsessing over what everyone else thinks.
As if reading my mind, Barb said, “It does not matter what anyone else thinks; it is only important what you and Adam want. Block out that other crap.”
My problem was that I did not know what to think. I honestly had never thought about having babies before. Do I want kids? Do I not want kids? Do I want a career and kids? Do I just want a career? Jesus. I had no idea. “I’m going to call Adam as soon as I can stop crying.”
Two hours later, I called him in my room while my roommate was out. “Oh, hons,” he said in his super-adorable Wisconsin way. “That is tough news. What are you thinking?” I stayed quiet. “Whatever you want,” he encouraged.
I finally blurted out, “I don’t think I’m ready for a baby. I have no idea how to be a mom. I am so damn scared; I cannot see straight.” He was loving and said, “Do you want me to hop on a bus and come tonight? I can blow off class tomorrow and stay until Tuesday morning.” He took it the way I thought he would. Adam was kind, supportive, lovely. But I knew he was feeling the same way. He was scared, not interested in being a parent, but did not say either way.
The fact that he did not say, “Please, let’s keep the pregnancy and make a go of it” said it all. I was glad, and it was all I needed to know. Ultimately, over the following two weeks, we decided to have the abortion. I cried and cried, hoping it was somehow untrue. Test after test said otherwise. I was pregnant and having an abortion. Adam made the arrangements at a clinic on campus. He went with me and held my hand.
The middle-aged nurse with blond curls and wise eyes touched my shoulder and said, “It’s time, honey.” The doctor was in his early fifties. He had knowing eyes. Respectfully and in a clear voice, he said, “You understand what we are doing here, Marie, yes?”
“I do,” I managed.
“We’ll get started then. You will feel a pinch and some pressure throughout.” And that was when I literally checked out of my body, and honestly, I do not recall much at all until I was in the recovery room. That room was warmer, softer, with a blanket. Adam came in and touched my forehead, saying, “You did great, hons.” All I remember after that was sitting in the dorm room, making soup in the hot pot, and watching TV.
In the blurry weeks that followed, I worked hard to forget it. That did not work. I thought about it incessantly. The enormity of it would catch me by surprise in the oddest places. In the line at the library, talking to a friend from class, I would drift off and start crying. I told no one for years, except one priest the following spring in my junior year.
The thought of going to confession at a large contemporary church on campus was something that hounded me for months. Every time I passed by the building, I felt a palpable tug to go inside. At that time, I was still pretty faithful to Catholicism, went to church every week, and was perpetually feeling guilty about the abortion.
On a bright, sunny Saturday morning, I walked up the steps and stood in the cavernous but tranquil reception area of the sleek and modern church. A kind woman in a cardigan approached and simply said, “Hello.” I could tell she saw my wet eyes. “What is it, dear?”
Sheepishly, I asked, “Is Father offering confessions at this time?”
“Let me see,” she offered in a comforting and knowing way.
I settled into a pew in the front of the church where the confession signs were placed. This was much better than when I was a little girl. Dear Lord, those awful Gothic confessional boxes were dark wood, musty, and looked like where you would get tortured or worse. This Catholic church was modern, with comfy pews and no confessionals. The priest emerged from the altar door and saw me. He was youngish, maybe thirty-five, with glasses and a slight smile.
“Hi, I’m Father Pete.”
“Hi, I’m Marie,” I said through tears. It still makes me cry when I think about this exchange, but not for the reasons you think. “I can tell you are carrying a very heavy load. Can I help you with that?” Father Pete chirped. The waterfall of tears began, filled with gasps, ugly crying, and hands on my mouth as if to silence myself. He put his finger up to signal “just one minute,” picked up tissues from the altar, and offered them.
After I finished, he took a deep breath and nodded. “It sounds like you are looking for absolution.” I looked up slightly, but not all the way up, sort of like a child who realized they may not be in big trouble but will get a brief lecture. Turns out, it was not even a lecture, more like life advice. “God loves you and wants you to have a full life. Return his love by making sure you take care of yourself and others and think about your future,” he imparted like a burning bush. He put his hand on my forehead and gave me a formal absolution. I remember hugging him, and he was slightly uncomfortable. I promised I would take his sage words to heart.
Walking out, I felt lighter.
My boyfriend and I had amicably broken up months before. Leaving the church, I felt the need to reach out to him, but instead, I ran back to my apartment to seek the safety of my roommates. While I did not tell anyone at that time, I was buoyed by simply being around my roommates. They sensed something, but we just had a good time watching movies. No judgment, no prying, just smiles, easy quiet, and simply being present. I was grateful.
From that point on, I learned a great lesson: my future is both in the years to come and right now. You build your future from scratch every day, so remember that you need to blend in your life now and in the future. This episode in my life allowed me to recognize that I will always be making hard decisions, and I need to think about reality, the things I can change, the things I cannot change, such as history, and how I built from there.
What I really learned about myself was that I wanted a career, I wanted to have impact, and I could do so if I put my nose to the grindstone. From there, I concentrated on building a career—and I did.
My lesson? Listening to yourself and trusting yourself, particularly when you are young, is very hard. Often, we think we know everything, but we simultaneously know we do not. We all make choices, good and bad. I have made lots of bad choices, but I definitely learned from each and every one of them. I was always aware when I was making a bad choice: skipping class, calling in sick when I was not, staying with bad boys, spending too much money, drinking too much.
Those were all clearly not good choices. I had no frame of reference on big choices; I really had to rely on playing out scenarios of the future in my head. I learned this skill when I went to college and still today run the scenarios through before making a decision.
[ Reflective music ]
HOST:
Today’s true story was not only written and read by Marie Newman, she helped produce it as well.
As we mentioned up front, Marie has a long list of talents. She served as the U.S. representative for Illinois’ 3rd Congressional District and has blazed other notable trails throughout her career as a marketing consultant, podcaster, and entrepreneur. Besides her prescriptive memoir, A Life Made From Scratch, from which this was read, Marie has also published When Your Child Is Being Bullied: Real Solutions.
We’d like to give a special shout out to Rob Wallace who also helped produce this.
If what you heard today reminds you of a heavy decision you had to face in college, we’d love to talk with you about it. Leave us a comment or two, or visit us at onceincollege.com and connect with us there. We’re looking for unique or unusual college experiences, including the ones that didn’t necessarily happen in any of your classes. Which reminds us…
We want to thank Marie Newman again for sharing the thinking behind her decision to pursue her life the way she wanted to and her perspective that an abortion, while traumatic, is not a shameful act.
If you liked what we do here, give us a like. Or share it with someone who you went through some tough times together. And if you want to hear our upcoming stories the moment they come out, please subscribe to our podcast. It really helps us more than you’d ever think. More than our GPAs ever did.
Until then, I’m Pete Griffith, back next week with more stories like this, all from a time Once, In College.
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