‘Unthinkable’ Film Exposes the Evil Behind Abortion Clinics’ Doors

"Quitters never win," as the old adage goes. But a new documentary that aims to uncover the ugly underbelly of the abortion industry shows that, sometimes, quitting is the winning move.

Featuring interviews with dozens of former abortion clinic workers, Unthinkable pulls back the curtain on the horrors Big Abortion would rather keep hidden. The film, produced by pro-life activist Abby Johnson, is expected to hit theaters in early 2026.

She noted that many clinic workers take the job thinking they'll be helping desperate women in difficult situations. But now, "these women are coming in saying, 'I can't wait to murder this [expletive] kid.' 

Or they're coming in celebrating the fact that this is their fifth, sixth, 10th abortion, and they're saying, 'Yeah, girl, this is just my birth control.'"

Johnson's own story is well known. In 2019, the film adaptation of her book Unplanned exposed the gruesome realities of abortion that transformed her from a Planned Parenthood clinic director into a prominent pro-life advocate.

Johnson now leads And Then There Were None, a ministry that helps abortion workers exit the industry. She hopes her new film will be the catalyst that drives a wayward nation back toward a culture of life.

"We're not out here simply trying to make abortion unthinkable," Johnson told Restoration News. "We are here trying to show that it is unthinkable—that it is one of the most heinous, barbaric practices that we commit on a daily basis in this country. And we're trying to show that through real-life experiences, real-life stories."

A Cult Mentality

When Noemi Padilla first began working at an abortion clinic in Tampa, Florida, all she could see were the perks. On top of a sizable signing bonus, she received a new phone, free lunch almost every day, and the clinic was within walking distance of her home.

"This is heaven," Padilla, who appears in Unthinkable, recalled thinking. "I can do what I want, say what I want, and I have a great paycheck."

It was an ironic thought, given that God had been banned from her workplace. "Every employee was told, 'You can't wear crosses; you can't wear anything religious. We're not praying in here. We're not doing any of that stuff,'" she recounted.

The banishing of God, Padilla explained, is just one of the abortion industry's many "brainwashing" tactics for isolating workers from any influence that might convince them to quit.

Johnson compared the mindset to that of a cult. "They try to separate you from your family. They don't want you to have friends outside of the people that you work with."

Johnson noted that her own coworkers at Planned Parenthood had tried repeatedly to convince her to divorce her husband and abort her daughter, Grace. "I was the only person in my affiliate during that eight-year time period that had a live birth, and there were 300 women at that affiliate."

She added that the inspiration for Unthinkable came while she was watching actress Leah Remini's documentary series about the cult-like faith of Scientology. "So many of the things that she described [about] leaving Scientology are so similar to what we experience leaving the abortion industry."

(CHARTING A PATH FORWARD: Virginia's Most Conservative City Births Plan to Thwart Abortion Tourism)

A Culture of Callousness

Killing babies and hurting women physically and emotionally every day eventually takes its toll. For Padilla, it took about two years to realize that her abortion clinic was a far cry from heaven.

"That was when I started my exit strategy," she said.

But it wasn't until four years in that she finally made her escape. For her, watching a wanted baby she had spent months monitoring be aborted over an alleged anomaly was the last straw.

Such stories are not uncommon among those who leave the abortion industry, or "quitters," as Johnson and Padilla affectionately call them. Johnson advised that when she first founded And Then There Were None, most of the clinic workers she helped had experienced a traumatic event.

"It was either something terrible had happened to a baby in the clinic, or something terrible had happened to a mother," she explained, noting that the vast majority of the ministry's clients suffer from post-traumatic stress.

But about five years ago, a new category of workers began to call, as well. "We started to see these well-intentioned women who are suddenly seeing the callousness of the women coming in," Johnson said.

She noted that many clinic workers take the job thinking they'll be helping desperate women in difficult situations. But now, "these women are coming in saying, 'I can't wait to murder this [expletive] kid.' Or they're coming in celebrating the fact that this is their fifth, sixth, 10th abortion, and they're saying, 'Yeah, girl, this is just my birth control.'"

The workers who believed they were these patients' last resort are starting to see that, in many cases, they aren't, and it's shaking them to their cores.

Patients aren't the only ones who can be cold, though. Both Johnson and Padilla recalled watching themselves transform from compassionate, caring women into detached and even hostile cogs in the abortion industry's machine.

"If I had gotten into an argument with the owner, I could be like, 'All right, hurry up. Let's suck this baby out. I don't have time for you,'" Padilla said. "That's the kind of verbiage that we used."

Johnson explained that, over time, abortion workers often start to see their patients as the source of all the flak they get for working in the industry. That view, combined with their cult mentality, eventually breeds anger and resentment toward the women they initially sought to help.

Padilla added that, despite the industry's narrative that abortion is essential health care, abortion providers couldn't care less about women's health or safety.

"Everything was about the money," she said. "We would strategize over lunch, like, 'How can we make more money?'"

When Quitting Is Winning

For Padilla, it was hearing the "still, small voice" of God break through the abortion cult's hive mind that ultimately led her out of the industry to a place of healing.

"God, He's so amazing," she said. "I've sat in front of people [whose babies] I have aborted before and been able to apologize to them. It's beautiful."

Padilla, now a client support specialist with And Then There Were None, shares her own testimony to help other clinic workers gather the courage to quit.

"Quitters trust other quitters just a little bit more," she explained. "Like, Abby's a quitter. We trust Abby with our lives."

And Then There Were None builds that trust through various outreach campaigns. For one annual initiative, the ministry enlists the help of nuns around the country to write and send Christmas cards to abortion clinic workers.

"They write very kind notes just telling these workers that they have value and that God loves them infinitely," Johnson said.

Throughout the rest of the year, clinic workers will hear from And Then There Were None staff "probably once every four to five business days in some way, so they know who we are, they know what we do, they know how we can help," she added.

With the release of Unthinkable, there is also the hope that those still entrenched in the abortion industry will see the courage of those who have left and be emboldened to follow suit.

"Nobody's hidden in this movie," Johnson noted. "Nobody has their faces behind some sort of screen, disguising themselves. There's no anonymity here. Everybody's got their face forward and their first and last names listed, the facilities where they worked, the doctors they worked with. No one's hiding."

An official release date for the film has not yet been set. Help bring Unthinkable to theaters by donating at UnthinkableDoc.com.

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