When Choice Isn’t an Option: The Real-Life Impact of Restricting Women’s Bodily Autonomy
By Kimberly Taylor, Taylor Collective Solutions
Policies that limit women’s access to reproductive healthcare, including contraception, abortion, and comprehensive family planning, don’t just impact individual lives. They reverberate across our workforce, our economy, and our communities.
Too often, we talk about this issue in statistics. And while the data is important, the real story—the human story—is what brings those numbers into sharp focus. It’s in those stories that we see the full weight of what’s at stake.
And for me, this isn’t just policy or theory. It’s personal.
This Isn’t New: My Mother’s Story
In 1972, my mother was a newly divorced, college-educated woman with three children under the age of four. She had done everything “right”—gone to college, married young, and was doing her best to raise her children under impossible circumstances.
My mother married young and had two children before she was even out of her teens. Determined to build a better life, she finished high school and enrolled in college, all while raising us. After I was born, she asked for her tubes to be tied—knowing she couldn’t physically or financially handle another pregnancy. But in 1972 Texas, that request was denied. Despite tubal ligation being a legal and available option, her doctor refused, telling her to "just use condoms" instead. He wouldn’t prescribe birth control, and she didn’t meet the outdated requirements: over 25, already with three children, and with her husband's consent.
Within a couple of months, she was pregnant again. At just 21 years old, she gave birth to her third child—my youngest brother—and nearly died in the process. The pregnancies had been brutal on her small frame, and the last one caused life-threatening hemorrhaging. Doctors had no choice but to perform an emergency hysterectomy to save her life.
Not long after, my mother and father separated. Desperate to support her three young children, she dressed in her best clothes and walked into an interview at El Paso Electric Company, full of hope that someone would give her a chance. She brought her high school diploma, college coursework, and everything she had to offer. But when the interviewer found out she had children, he looked her in the eye and said, “I’m not going to hire you. You should be home taking care of your kids.”
Just like that, the door to economic opportunity was slammed shut.
She had no job, no support system, and $180 a month in child support to raise three kids alone. She never planned on having three children in just over three years. But in early-70s Texas, the right to control her own body—and her future—was never truly hers to claim.
It wasn’t just bad policy—it was a systemic denial of her autonomy, her livelihood, her safety, and her financial future.
Why Her Story Still Matters Today
More than 50 years later, women across the U.S.—especially in the South—are still fighting for the very same rights.
In 1970, about 43% of mothers with children under age 6 were in the labor force. By 2023, that number had risen to 70%. Access to reproductive healthcare—particularly contraception—was a key driver of this progress. According to the Center for American Progress, expanded access to birth control alone accounted for one-third of the increase in women’s wages in the latter half of the 20th century.
But that progress is now at risk.
In 2022, the U.S. Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, dismantling 50 years of federal protection for abortion rights. And Texas didn’t wait. Even before the ruling, Texas passed Senate Bill 8—a law that effectively banned abortion after six weeks, empowered private citizens to sue providers, and intentionally sidestepped judicial review. Since then, the state has only doubled down.
Today, Texas laws ban nearly all abortions, offer no exceptions for rape or incest, and make it a felony for doctors to provide this care—even in medically complex or dangerous situations. The legislature has also targeted access to birth control, emergency contraception, and even sex education.
This isn’t just about abortion. It’s about power, autonomy, and control over one’s future.
When women are denied the right to control their reproductive lives, their participation in the workforce suffers. Their educational attainment drops. Their ability to climb out of poverty narrows. Their mental and physical health deteriorates. And their children pay the price, too.
The Bottom Line
Women’s autonomy isn’t a luxury—it’s the foundation for a fair, thriving society. We cannot talk about economic development, workforce equity, or family wellbeing without also talking about the freedom to make decisions about our own reproductive lives.
My mother’s story is not a relic of the past. It’s a warning—and a call to action.