IN A RATHER ODD ATTEMPT TO ASSUAGE THE ACHE IN MY OWN HEART for having an abortion, I applied for and was given a job at the very same abortion clinic where I had my procedure. The best I can do to make sense of it is— I think I thought that if I helped women get abortions, it would somehow help give mine purpose, to help women maintain control of their own bodies—which I was deeply passionate, nearly militant, about. Screw Rush Limbaugh and his feminazi nonsense.
On my first day in the procedure room, I was at eye level to an abortion procedure, handing the abortion doctor his instruments and turning on the suction. I remember there being more blood than I had anticipated, and the sound of the suction seemed to grow louder. When I got home, I spent most of the night convinced that there was still blood on my hands and washed them until they were red and raw. For someone so resolute about being pro-choice, it surprised me that it had gotten to me so badly.
As the days wore on, however, the abortions seemed to get easier to accept. It started slow but soon I got into the rhythm of it and the pain of it started to subside. I did notice one trick that helped me—to hurry up and get the next girl into the room as fast as I could. The quicker they got in the procedure room the less time I had to notice what might be going on in my heart.
Before I knew it, I became like my coworkers emotionally. Pushed forward by management to move ever faster to get the girls in and out, like a revolving door, along with all the other administrative duties we had to do, I no longer really gave the patient much thought. That is not to say that I wouldn’t care if they lived or died—of course, I would. But the care that we, the staff, exuded was an act. It was our schtick, a façade, a manipulation of the women there. They believed we cared about their emotional wellbeing, but that was simply not true. Here is the real story— More abortions equal more money for the company, which equals more job security for us. That is it. To care is to waste time. If any of us ever did grow a conscience, management would probably crush it.
I remember the time a young girl, 12 years old, was on the table and the doctor had placed a speculum inside. It was really hurting her. Suddenly, she pushed against the stirrups and flung herself off the table, ran out the door and down the hall screaming, speculum still in place and blood spilling from her. Immediately our director wanted her caught so she wouldn’t scare the other women there. When we did settle her down, we sent her to a nearby hospital. But—we were instructed not to follow up on her; too much attention might come our way. Both reactions seemed logical, but what didn’t seem logical was that a little girl in our care who had a traumatic experience was ignorable; cut-off-able. We really had no compassion for her, just ourselves. We just couldn’t risk disturbing our money-flow.
The end for me began on the day a priest, who was a regular protestor outside our clinic, broke the law by stepping off the sidewalk and advancing toward our building— something he knew was a no-no. Our director called the cops, which led to an arrest and suddenly there were crowds and press and ultimately court cases and more. The problem was that nobody wanted to be the face of the incident and I, the hardened pro-choicer that I was, decided that I would stand up and sign the arrest papers, attend the court proceedings, and talk to the press.
Suddenly there was a shift at the clinic; my coworkers started to pull away and shun me. I’m not sure if they didn’t like that I had a bit of fame over the whole ordeal, or because most abortion clinics shy away from all light, but they seemed to see me as a threat. I became persona non grata. I was not talked to nor invited to get-togethers happening right under my nose.
Finally, I had had enough and resigned.
Some years later, after 9/11, I was scared and despondent. I decided to seek spiritual help by going back to church, a place where I had grown up but had not included in my life in many years. In time, the Word of God spoke to me and I found myself wanting Jesus in my heart with great desperation. Oh, how his death on the cross spoke to me and told my story! I was a lost soul in need of a Savior.
With my new faith in Jesus, I began making great Christian friendships and so began a new life of lengthy conversations about real things, the most real I had ever known, such as having a personal relationship with God Almighty through his Son, Jesus.
That is when I found myself with a deep need to tell my story, to get the past off my chest. I had seen too much and contributed to too many deaths. I needed to be purged of it. It was through a confession to my friend that it was suggested to me that I seek outside help, which ultimately led me to Abby Johnson of And Then There Were None. I’ll never forget— And Then There Were None greeted me with an invitation to a healing retreat. It was a hopeful moment.
Arriving at the retreat was a little like walking into an apartment alone to find that a surprise birthday party awaits you. It just never occurred to me that I could be surrounded by so many loving faces who welcomed me and who were just like me. These were ladies who had been in the abortion industry and had lived my life. Now they wanted to join in with others to find relief from the horrors and I was invited to do the same. Suddenly I was a part of a tribe.
But that was just the beginning. And Then There Were None tended to every need, treating me not so much as a woman in a temporary crisis but a woman who had entered their permanent embrace. They have done everything from helping me find employment to holding me up in prayer and, even today, all these years later, they continue to provide licensed counseling with their therapist, Dr. Amanda Willie, regarding life decisions. All of this, for someone who had contributed to a very bad thing and who could never benefit them in any way.
The grace that I have been shown by And Then There Were None is still something that is hard for me to believe. My hope now is that every abortion worker will take them up on it and find the peace their heart longs for.
For any worker reading this—You have seen and experienced a lot. You weren’t built to experience that kind of trauma. Please reach out for help. In the shedding of my pro-choice stance, something that would have been unthinkable a few years prior, I would have thought it would be horrifying. But all it did was bring about extraordinary peace to my soul, as if I had been holding an inflated ball of lies under the water my entire life. I finally feel free. You can be too.
Where Are They Now? Sarah Eubanks
Sarah sits at a desk littered with papers. She swipes them to the side as she adjusts her camera. Her phone rings constantly. She glances at it, ignores, and then four calls later apologetically takes the call. Clearly, Sarah is a woman who is used to putting out fires in her new role as a property manager of a busy apartment complex. A natural helper and despite her hectic schedule, she makes herself available to support disabled veterans dealing with complex paperwork. She stocks sugar-free snacks for the many elderly diabetics who stop by her office for a visit. At her core, Sarah is welcoming, kind, and exceedingly sassy.
Since leaving the abortion industry in 1993, Sarah has walked a winding and often rocky path that eventually led her back into the arms of God in 2003. After her father’s death when she was 16 years old, Sarah told God that she no longer needed him and went her own way.
“A friend invited me to church to study the book, The 7 Deadly Sins,” she said. “I told her that I would come to make sure I was doing them all right.”
Did we mention that Sarah is sassy?
She still considers herself to be a bit of a feminist, but now she realizes that women do not need abortion to have it all. Initially, Sarah struggled to find her voice in the pro-life movement.
“’Pro-choice’ has always been popular. The cool kids were pro-choice,” she said. “But I realized that there is value to all life, and God wants me to speak the truth.”
Today, Sarah is an active and vital member of the pro-life movement. She speaks publicly about her experiences as a former abortion clinic worker all over the country and in her community. She takes part in marches, sits on panels with fellow former abortion clinic workers, and was featured in the documentary She Was Stronger, which tells the stories of three “Quitters” who have found healing, peace, and forgiveness through the ministry of And Then There Were None. Filmed at the height of the pandemic, She Was Stronger follows the lives of Sarah, Nallely, and Adrienne, Quitters from Alabama, California, and Pennsylvania, respectively.
Anyone who has questioned how and why a person would work in the abortion industry gain empathy and understanding for them by watching She Was Stronger. By getting a glimpse of the humanity behind the dehumanization process of abortion, one can identify with the souls on the other side—people made in the image of God and in desperate need of saving.
Sarah is an integral part of this unique tribe of former abortion workers. She enjoys deep and meaningful friendships with the Quitters she has known for years and is intentional about welcoming new Quitters into the fold and helping them feel connected and loved.
“Being pro-life may not be the most popular stance,” she said with a laugh, “but it is absolutely where the cool kids are.”
For Sarah, being featured in the She Was Stronger documentary was both a cathartic and profoundly difficult experience. Part of the filming took place inside of the actual abortion clinic where Sarah had an abortion and was later employed.
“It was wild, scary, and intimidating, but also healing and empowering to have filmed inside the abortion clinic where I not only worked, but also had my own abortion,” Sarah said. “I had a meltdown after shooting a scene. I just broke inside the room where I assisted with that first abortion on my first day of work. I knelt on the table between the stirrups and cried till I had nothing left in me.”
As difficult as it was, Sarah is grateful for the opportunity to take part in the She Was Stronger project. “I’ve received much healing, and God protected and guided us all with everything,” she said. “Watching for the first time was so hard. We had to pause it a few times. To hear my story in my own voice was sobering. Plus, I am extremely critical of my appearance,” Sarah said. “I am learning to accept what I see as worldly imperfections and focus on the beauty that God created. I am created in His image.”
Sarah hopes that the She Was Stronger film will ignite a fire in others to reach out to abortion clinic workers as well as spur current workers to reach out to And Then There Were None for help.
“I want someone to step outside of their comfort zone and help the lost who still work inside the clinic, to pray daily for abortion clinic workers who have left and are dealing with trauma. I hope that someone will smile a little more because they know they are a child of God and reach out to help the next person heal,” Sarah said.
In the eight years that Sarah has been a part of the tribe of Quitters, life has not always been easy. Through her mother’s declining health and admittance to a nursing home, family drama, the loss of a relationship, and later, the death of her mother, she sank into a deep depression. There were moments when she wondered if the world would be a better place if she was not in it. Thankfully, deep down, Sarah knew each life was precious and valuable, and that included her own.
Sarah reached out for help and continues to work with ATTWN therapist Dr. Amanda Willie. In the past, she did not understand the need for counseling and did not spend much time focusing on mental health. ‘Get over it and get on with it’ was more of her mantra. However, she was desperate enough to try anything, and now Sarah treasures her time in therapy and prioritizes her healing.
“I want to understand myself better, feel better, and do better,” she said. “Life isn’t easy, but it’s a process. At ATTWN, we have each other, and we have access to great therapists. I wish all former clinic workers would use this service.”
Today, Sarah continues to actively work on her healing and says that she is in a much better place emotionally. Spiritually, she is eager to grow and is working to put God first in all things. Physically, she is growing stronger every day and setting goals for herself.
“I am working to lose over 100 lbs.,” she said. “Not to look good in a bathing suit or to fit any mold. I want to be healthy and fit to do the work that He has for me in the Kingdom.”
Sarah completed the fiftieth March for Life in Washington, DC in 2023 in full gear with her “Quitter” flag held high. She Was Stronger was screened four times in the afternoon and evening preceding the March, and she remained for a question-and-answer panel after each screening along with other Quitters. Some questions are a reminder that there is still work to be done in helping others understand
forgiveness and grace, but most are an overwhelming outpouring of unconditional love. Apologies flowed as viewers saw the humanity of abortion workers for the first time, and the need for continued prayers for those still mired in the industry.
After the last screening of the day, Sarah was approached by a woman who thanked her for her vulnerability in sharing her story. Sarah jokingly said that it was selfishly motivated because it helps her heal a little more each time she shares. The woman responded with a confession that she had had two abortions. Sarah reached out and took both her hands in her own. “As a former abortion worker, please let me tell you how sorry I am,” she told her. “Please forgive me.”
“You’re going to make me cry,” the woman responded.
Tears flowed as the women exchanged hugs and forgiveness. And both healed just a little bit more.
“He himself bore our sins in his body upon the cross, so that, free from sin, we might live for righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. For you had gone astray like sheep, but you have now returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls.” – 1 Peter 2:24-25