When Amanda Reyes thinks back on how she was radicalized, it probably started with the IUD. In 2008, at 20 years old, Reyes was studying humanities at the University of Alabama and working part time at the campus Starbucks. Reyes, who was in a long-term relationship, needed a reliable form of birth control. After researching online, she decided on the Mirena, an IUD that can prevent pregnancy for up to seven years. It was pricey, though, so for three months she ate only peanut butter sandwiches and ramen noodles to save up.

When it came time for her appointment at the university medical center, things did not go to plan. The male doctor, Reyes recalled, was reluctant to do the procedure. What if her boyfriend wanted her to get pregnant sooner? he asked. He left her in the examination room for hours, claiming problems with her insurance, Reyes said, and then he took off for the day without letting her know.

Reyes did not get her IUD. The university medical center did not immediately respond to HuffPosts request for comment.

The experience was a wake-up call, she told me over a Zoom call last month.

This guy who had no idea what my life was like outside that room was making decisions for me based on what he thought was best, Reyes said. It was ridiculous.

These days, Reyes works to ensure that other people are guaranteed the agency that she was denied as a college student. She runs the Yellowhammer Fund , an Alabama-based reproductive justice organization that envisions a society in which individuals and communities have autonomy in making healthy choices regarding their bodies and their futures. The fund, which helps people obtain abortions, burst onto the national stage in 2019 after Alabama enacted the most extreme abortion ban in the country.

Although a judge blocked the law before it could go into effect, people who were outraged by the ban and looking for a concrete way to get involved flooded the relatively unknown nonprofit with donations. Within two weeks, the funds bank account swelled from a few thousand dollars to $2 million.

All of a sudden, the scrappy nonprofit had the money to dream big. And it did.

On May 15, exactly one year after the abortion ban was signed into law, the Yellowhammer fund purchased the West Alabama Womens Center, an abortion clinic that provides about half of the abortions in the state. As long as abortion remained legal, people would have a guaranteed place to get one, Reyes said. On Aug. 1, she took on the role of clinic director. At 32, she is among the youngest administrators of an abortion clinic in the country.

Reyes is part of a new generation of activists fighting to enshrine reproductive rights in their communities. Their work comes at a time of heightened attacks from anti-abortion extremists who believe the time is ripe to overturn Roe v. Wade, the landmark Supreme Court ruling that legalized abortion nationwide. Still, crusaders like Reyes think it is a mistake to focus their efforts solely on abortion. True reproductive freedom, they say, requires an intersectional approach.