New Mom at Eighteen

I became a mother before I ever became a woman.

I was seventeen when I got pregnant.
Eighteen when I gave birth.
And I remember thinking — how did this happen?

Not biologically. I knew how.
But emotionally, spiritually, soulfully — I wasn’t ready.

At first, I didn’t want to be a mom. Not yet.
I told Emily’s father not to tell anyone.
But he told his mother that same night.
And that meant I had to tell my parents.

I waited until my dad was asleep.
I told my mom in a quiet voice, heart pounding.
And in that moment, something shifted.

I had wanted an abortion. I wasn’t ready.
But the moment my mom knew — that choice felt off the table.
It wasn’t even discussed.
Not with our religious background. Not in our home.
Suddenly, the only options were motherhood… or adoption.

Adoption was considered — briefly.
After all, I was adopted myself.
Maybe my parents thought it could come full circle.

So they sent me to North Carolina for the summer,
to live with my aunt and "think things through."

But all I could think about was him.
The boy I thought I loved. The boy I believed I needed.

Our connection felt fated — instant, intense, karmic.
As if we were brought together to work through something deep.

And maybe we were.
Because that pregnancy shaped everything that followed.

Emily was born on August 7, 1997.
I had just graduated high school.
He was entering his senior year — as a brand-new dad.

We didn’t live together.
My parents didn’t believe in that before marriage —
which felt ironic, considering we already had a child.

So we lived with our families.
I cared for Emily full-time.
I was the one getting up in the middle of the night,
changing diapers, soothing cries, learning how to mother
while still trying to understand myself.

He got to sleep.
He got to be a teenager.
And I got to grow up — fast.

In 1998, I started a two-year associate’s degree.
He did too.
We were building a life, even if the weight of it fell more heavily on me.

My parents were disappointed in me — but they showed up.
They helped with childcare.
They encouraged my education.
They reminded me — in their own way — that I still had a future.

My siblings helped too.
I wasn’t alone.
But I often felt like I was.

We didn’t move in together until 2000 —
just a few weeks before our wedding.
My parents weren’t thrilled.
But it was time.

By then, I was twenty-one.
A wife. A full-time mom. Still so young.

The truth is — I don’t remember everything about those early years.
But I remember the pressure.
The isolation.
The way my world changed overnight…
while his kept spinning.

I loved my daughter with my whole heart.
But I hadn’t yet learned how to love myself.

And that made everything harder.

If you’ve ever become a mother before you were ready —
If you’ve ever felt like life made the decision for you —
If you’ve ever been told to “figure it out” before you even knew who you were…

You’re not alone.

Motherhood is beautiful.
But it’s also brutal —
especially when you’re still becoming yourself.

With heart,
Rebecca