Step by Step Parenting

A positive pregnancy test two weeks before my 20th birthday. A pile of pregnancy tests with fading pink lines and nothing to show for it but a cancelled OBGYN appointment. An ultrasound of perfectly healthy baby at nine weeks with a late spring due date, hidden at the bottom of my sock drawer.

Accidental pregnancies, miscarriage, and abortion are all very taboo, complex, and heavy topics. I never imagined that I’d be able to relate to any of them, much less all three. This past November marked three years since my lost pregnancies, and I still haven’t ever spoken of them with anyone directly other than my now-ex-husband, my mom, my fiancé, and a handful of friends. This isn’t because it’s particularly triggering or painful for me to remember — I have been at peace with my (albeit rocky) journey through pregnancy and motherhood for years. I am lucky to have an incredible support system and that, all things considered, my experiences went as smoothly as they could have.

But society deals swift judgments for the only types of pregnancies I’ve ever known. I will never forget the customer at my old job who loudly said to her friends as they walked away, “I didn’t know this place hired teen moms!” without even asking me how old I was (I was barely 20, but still). I will never forget taking pregnancy test after pregnancy test, watching the positive symbol grow more and more faint, and after several phone calls with my OBGYN, Googling if it “counted” as a miscarriage if it was less than 10 weeks. I will never forget the people with picket signs outside of Planned Parenthood telling me I was a murderer, and wishing they understood even a sliver of my life.

All of those memories aren’t painful for me because I have any regrets or because I have unhealed wounds, but because I feel so sorry for that younger version of myself, who felt like she had to shoulder all of it alone, out of fear of judgment.

It shouldn’t be that way. I can promise you, regardless of your opinions on moms who accidentally get pregnant young, or moms who have miscarriages that don’t “count,” or moms who decide to terminate, that those moms will never stop existing. Between 10% and 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, though some suggest the number could be as high as 30% (read more here). Approximately 1 in 4 women in the United States will have an abortion by the time they are 45 (read more here). I believe that all of those moms deserve to feel loved and supported, because being any type of mom for any amount of time is a challenging and life-changing experience. Those moms are more than a statistic; they are humans, too.

So for those moms: this is for you. And maybe more importantly, this is for the mom I used to be.

On Being an *Almost* Teen Mom

“You look too young to be pregnant?” “Thanks, I am!”

Silence. Sweet, awkward silence.

Because what else am I supposed to say?? They’re not wrong, but also they shouldn’t say stuff like to a stranger, but also they probably didn’t have bad intentions, but also… don’t ever say this to a stranger!

I will write a whole blog post on being a very young mom one day. I could talk about the things to not say to young moms, how to support young moms, what it’s like being significantly younger than the other parents whose kids are the same age as yours, and what it’s like to be the only parent in any of your circle of friends. Finding out that you’re pregnant is a life-altering moment, especially when you’re still nineteen. I had been married for several months, but given the fact that I had been on birth control the whole time, my initial feeling upon seeing that positive pregnancy test was shock. Then disbelief. Then more shock, followed by nervousness, excitement, joy, and lastly… shame.

I knew that for (almost) all of my pregnancy, I was not a teenager. I knew that I was married, and had been for months. But strangers out in public didn’t, and despite there being absolutely nothing wrong with my situation, I felt ashamed. I was overjoyed, and I loved watching my baby grow over the weeks, but I also found myself increasingly anxious about going to school or work. I had a hard time enjoying baby clothes shopping or taking “bump date” photos, and even struggled to fully enjoy what should have been happy moments like announcing my pregnancy or celebrating at my baby shower. I will even admit, that for awhile in the beginning, I had a hard time bonding with my newborn because I just felt like a babysitter or a fraud, and not an actual mom. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t stood in my own way of enjoying my first pregnancy. So much of the judgment I felt came from my own head.

Unfortunately, there were several people, strangers and family and friends alike, who made comments that were hurtful. Some were not intentional, but some definitely were. Whether it was a comment that I was too young, or people blatantly asking me if I was married or how old I was, I was continuously shocked by the things people would say out loud.

Luckily, this led to me developing pretty thick skin at a fairly young age! I have long gotten over the imposter syndrome and shame that once dominated my experience in motherhood. I learned to develop confidence in my ability to be a mother, and I am a better mom because of it. Now, I am proud of how much I went through and how difficult it was. I will proudly tell people that I got pregnant young, while still in college, and then kept on going. Learning how to ignore other people’s opinions about my personal life, balance taking care of someone else while maintaining my own identity, and effectively managing my time are all skills that have proven to be huge advantages years down the line.

On Miscarriage

Out of all three of my pregnancies, this might be the one that hurts the most. The fact that even now I struggle to accept that this “counts” as a pregnancy or “counts” as a miscarriage, or the fact that I barely remember most of the details, just goes to show how much it affected me.

I don’t remember whether it was just after or before Eloisa’s first birthday party; I just remember that there were still balloons around the house.

I don’t remember exactly how far along I was; just that it was between 6 and 8 weeks, and my OBGYN didn’t want to see me until I was 10 weeks along, but by then, the tests weren’t positive anymore. I remember the on-call nurse telling me that, “at least I got to pass the pregnancy at home,” as if that made it any better.

I don’t even remember who exactly I told; I just remember feeling like I was grieving alone.

In full transparency, my then-husband was somewhat relieved. I always hesitate to say this, because he is a great dad in his own right. At the time, I was a stay-at-home mom while he worked sixty hours a week, and we had just bought a house, so money was tight. This tragic turn of events kept us from having to make some tough decisions, but I struggled with that lack of choice. I felt betrayed by my body, and felt alone in my grief.

Having nothing to show for a pregnancy but a handful of tests is a horrible, empty feeling. I wanted so desperately to have an ultrasound, even if I couldn’t tell what I was looking at, just so I had proof that I was pregnant. Eventually, I convinced myself that without an ultrasound and since it was before 10 weeks, that it didn’t “count.” That I didn’t get to claim that I had a miscarriage. That I should just pretend it never happened. I threw away the pregnancy tests and deleted any pictures of them, and tried to move on.

In the long run, this delayed my healing process. I have since learned that even before ten weeks, it is absolutely a miscarriage/early pregnancy loss. The fact that there was no ultrasound or that I didn’t know the gender doesn’t mean that I had no reason to be sad.

Because I was sad. I grieved. I struggled with the lack of control I had over the situation. Any reasoning I tried to do with myself, that maybe it was for the best or that it would’ve been hard to be pregnant with a one year old, none of that helped. I quickly pivoted and took up running for the first time in years as a distraction, but the hurt lingered for a long time. I have since made peace with it, but I wish I had allowed myself to heal sooner.

To any moms who can relate, I am sorry. Whether you were six weeks along or almost out of the first trimester, whether you knew the gender or not, whether you were trying for a baby or not, it doesn’t matter. A miscarriage is a challenging thing to go through, and I hope you’ve given yourself grace and taken the proper steps to try and heal.

On Abortion

My most recent pregnancy is the one I never talk about. How could I? Growing up Mormon and being raised in the South, I know there’s nothing I could say to stop so many people from judging me for this. I’ve spent years on the sidelines of our country’s political war, watching as people who are “pro-choice” and “pro-life” hurl insults back and forth, my feelings nothing more than collateral damage of their agendas. I’ve always wondered at what point I should chime in and speak up for myself, but I’ve never mustered the courage.

I am someone who is not ashamed of anything they’ve done in their life, including this. But some topics are both so polarized and so personal that they feel impossible to talk about without criticism, assumptions, or judgement.

I am not here to justify my choice. I owe nobody an explanation. But in the United States, approximately 1 out of 4 women will have an abortion by the time they are 45 (click here for more). So the next time you keyboard warriors are typing away, please remember this: the odds that any lawmakers or politicians — those with the actual power to make change — are reading your words are very, very small. But the chances that someone in your life, someone you care about, will be hurt by your words are very, very high.

It is for them, the silent women on the sidelines, that I tell my story.

Fresh off of my miscarriage in August, I was desperate for a distraction. So desperate, in fact, that I took up running! It was too late for me to sign up for classes during that fall semester, but I enrolled in a few that would start in January. I tried my best to focus on being a good mom to my one year old daughter, take better care of my health and fitness, and heal. I learned to cook more well-balanced meals, and I even signed up for a 5k in December. Although not a huge deal to many people, the 5k would mark my first race in several years, and so long as I trained for it, my first consistent return to the sport of running since my sophomore year of high school.

My then-husband and I never talked about the miscarriage. Finances were tight and I was a stay-at-home mom, and he had made it clear that part of him was relieved that we would not have to figure out how to care for two kids instead of one. This hurt, but I reasoned that it was a moot point since we never ended up having to cross that bridge.

But then, in late October, I became sick. It was the same as when I was pregnant with my daughter. I was practically bedridden, could barely eat, and was so tired I felt like I could barely take care of myself, much less my toddler.

The pregnancy test showed an even stronger positive line than it had just two months prior, so I took that as a good sign. I didn’t know why my birth control had failed once again (I ended up switching later), but I was hopeful that this pregnancy would stick. I figured everything happened for a reason, and I was trying not to freak out too much, but rather focus on the positives. I was sure I would be able to change my then-husband’s perspective, and this time, he would be more excited.

He wasn’t. In fact, he was more upset and stressed than before. I didn’t know what to do. I had no job, no degree, no money of my own, and was only twenty-one years old. The way I saw it, my hands were tied. It didn’t feel right to force his hand and keep the pregnancy anyways when he felt so strongly against having another child. Although it was not said directly that I would be a single mom of two if I chose to keep the pregnancy, it was strongly implied.

It was my OBGYN that suggested a specific Planned Parenthood clinic to visit, because she knew several of the doctors that worked there. She had seen firsthand how much I struggled during my pregnancy with my daughter, and how consumed I became with postpartum depression and anxiety for over a year afterwards. I think she could tell as I sat in her office that day that I would have a tough decision to make, and she made sure I had the resources to make an informed decision, including pamphlets on pregnancy support centers as well.

There are no adequate words to describe how kind and supportive all of the workers at Planned Parenthood were, from the receptionist to the volunteers to the doctors. Given how hush-hush the topic is, I truly had no idea what to expect, and nothing could have prepared me for how safe and validated I felt from the moment I walked through the door. By coincidence or the stars aligning or an act of God, whichever you believe, the volunteer who helped me was a classmate from middle school, which we realized about halfway through. It was so nice to see a somewhat familiar face during a time like that.

They did an ultrasound just to confirm, I had a meeting with the doctor, I was given the medicine, and I was sent home to be as comfortable as possible. By the next day, my body was almost back to normal, and in a week, I was fully recovered.

My husband and I separated less than a year afterwards.

The Bottom Line

While all three of those experiences were difficult and trying, I cannot imagine my life any other way. Being a young mom has come with so many challenges, but I have grown so much as a person. Becoming a mother made me have so much more respect for my mom, and all other moms out there– this sh*t is hard! Becoming a mother taught me who was in my corner and who I could count on, and also who I couldn’t, and both of those realizations are blessings. And of course, becoming a mom brought me my sweet, bubbly, energetic four-year old daughter. Watching her grow up and having the privilege to raise her is truly an honor.

In regards to the other two pregnancies, it’s hard to say. I don’t know what my life would look like now, three years later, if either of those babies had been born. Getting divorced was absolutely for the better, both for me, my ex, and my daughter who now gets to grow up with two happy and fulfilled parents. I don’t know if I would have had the courage to leave if I had both an eighteen month old and a six month old.

I do know that everything happens for a reason, and I have never looked back. After the miscarriage and the abortion, I went on to get divorced, graduate college, begin law school, and truly become the most healed and whole version of myself that I’ve ever been. It has taken years of self-reflection, therapy, and soul searching, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I hope my two most recent pregnancies are not my last, but I have no idea what life has in store, and I’m at peace with that.

To anyone who actually read this all, thank you. Please remember that while I might be the only mom you know of who is speaking out on miscarriage and abortion, I am just one of many who have experienced it. I am grateful to the other mothers in my life who made me feel less alone through it all, and I hope to pay it forward and help others feel less alone, as well.