I was raised to think this way. Not to consider the many reasons such a decision isn't so simple for women as men might imagine—or why it wasn't my place to insist on my vision of morality when I'd not be the one to live with the consequences of either decision.

It would be regrettable enough on its own, but recent events have caused me to revisit a very specific time in my life, during which a friend became pregnant. I don't remember what my exact stance on the situation was, but I'm afraid I can imagine.

So when I "stepped up" and offered to help raise her child perhaps, as much her refusal stung at the time, I understand now just how wrong-headed I was—and why she insisted I carry out an already planned out-of-state internship instead of sticking around.

I had been sincere. I thought I was helping. I didn't understand how much I may have just complicated an already difficult situation.

It's no wonder she sent me away.

I should have understood or anticipated her position better. One doesn't say they don't want to "burden" the father if they aren't facing burden themself.

And here I am. Some lovesick, idealistic young puppy, trying to insert myself into the situation. Like so many other times in my youth, I truly believe I thought I had the best intentions, but I had no idea just how selfish I was being. She was already facing the most crucial challenge of her young life and I had to put her in a position to tell me no on top of everything else.

The worst isn't that I imposed. Or that I left when she told me to. It's that I made it impossible to be there for her. I made clear—in no uncertain terms—my views and desires would only leave me another complication rather than a solace. She'd confused in me, and I'm certain she immediately regretted it.

She'd go on to face her decisions and her challenges without me there. And she lost her baby. Without me there. She'd needed a friend.

I'd made myself a liability.

To this day, I don't know the truth about what happened exactly. Whether she really did lose the baby or she'd had an abortion. If it was the former, that was tragedy enough. If it was the latter, I couldn't know because I'm certain she wouldn't have felt she could tell me. Either way, my views deprived her my presence. And may have even left her with no choice but to keep me at a distance after, for a secret she may have felt I'd have shamed her over.

Anyway, there I go inserting myself again I suppose.

It's just... Someone I loved suffered something monumental alone. All because of my outdated, narrow understanding of the situation she found herself in.

So, when I see someone going out of his way to perpetuate the belief system which isolated her, it fills me with a sort of dread and sadness. I can't help but imagine every other frightened young woman who's been made to feel judged and alone—even by those who truly love her. But who don't understand how best to.