I’m not too proud to tell you that when I first read Lily Allen’s recent comments about abortion, I stalled a little.
In a conversation with Miquita Oliver on the podcast Miss Me? Lily Allen recently shared that she can’t remember exactly how many she’s had.
‘I think maybe like, I want to say four or five. I just remember before that it was a complete disaster area. Yeah I’d get pregnant all the time’, she admitted to her longtime friend.
Lily Allen’s right to both choose to have abortions, and then, crucially, talk openly about them without apology or a performance of shame are at the core of this conversation.
But I initially had an uncomfortable feeling about this not being quite right, and I say this as a person who has had and benefited hugely from having an abortion myself.
The reason I stumbled on Allen’s words is because, like you, I have been raised in a patriarchal society where both subtle and overt misogyny is normalised.
It takes a lot of conscious effort to unlearn the many falsehoods that patriarchy teaches us, and Allen’s comments – which were delivered amid giggles – seem likely to cause the same kind of dreary controversy that rears its head whenever a woman doesn’t perform ideal feminine victimhood.
Imagine for yourself how much more palatable you might find it if Allen instead talked about how terrible she feels about not knowing her number of abortions; how wrong she believes it to be; how full of remorse she is? This is all to do with conditional acceptance.
Conditional acceptance is when we think something is OK under a set of specific parameters. Some relevant examples here might include; we think it’s OK for a single woman to have sex as long as she’s not too much of a slut, we think it’s OK for women to speak their minds as long as they do it politely and without emotion, and, we think it’s OK for women to have an abortion as long as she doesn’t have too many.
This is control disguised as being ‘reasonable’. It is the same species of control that teaches us it is a woman’s job to protect herself from sexual violence by dressing ‘reasonably’.
In contrast to Allen, my own abortion ticks many of the boxes of the acceptable version of this story: I was 19, I was in a committed relationship with a man, I was using the contraceptive pill. In summary, I was doing everything ‘right’ and therefore getting pregnant was an unfortunate accident that necessitated the unfortunate intercession of an abortion.
But let me state unequivocally that I support Allen and any person’s right to have an abortion at any time for any reason, without exceptions.
That’s what it means to be pro-choice – pro the choice of the pregnant person, not the choice that makes you most comfortable.
Lily Allen being so open about her own experiences is essential for quashing the enduring stigma that exists around women’s sexual freedom and bodily autonomy. I love that she speaks about her abortions with humour, levity, and a light heart.
Allen is setting a powerful example for what this experience can be like – honestly, not that big of a deal. A health procedure.
My own abortion was a grand day out; I didn’t feel sad, I have never regretted having an abortion, I had a lovely day with my best friend, and then got on with my life.
Lily Allen is not encouraging people to get abortions, but she is courageously starting a discussion that we obviously need to have.
Even Miquita, one of her oldest friends, admitted she didn’t know these facts about Allen’s life and admitted in response that she had also had ‘about five’ abortions.
I commend Allen’s candid sharing of her story. I invite anyone reading this to draw power from the example she sets for us to refuse the role of the ideal woman and to instead tell the fullest truth we can about the reality of our lives.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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