To the readers who have chosen this short story,
What you are about to read is a true story - a glimpse into my life from childhood to the ages of 16 through 42,
along with the obstacles I faced along the way. By the end of this (if you don't get bored first), I hope this touches
some of you, inspires you, or even gives you hope. Thank you for taking the time to read this. God bless, and
enjoy.
I was the only girl in a family of three kids. My siblings and I grew up without our dad, but we had an amazing
mother. She worked tirelessly, juggling multiple jobs to provide for us, and she was a great role model. Despite all
the love from my family, I always felt like I wasn't enough. I was searching for my place in this world, trying to find
where I belonged. At sixteen - despite all the talks from my mother - I ended up pregnant. I remember thinking
to myself, I can't be a young mother. I don't know what to do. And, of course, a million other thoughts flooded my
mind. You can probably imagine what those were, haha. That being said, I also knew I was keeping the baby
because I didn't believe in the alternatives. By the time I was almost seventeen, I gave birth to a beautiful baby
girl. That day changed my life forever. A love I had never felt before came rushing in.
Like most women who have children out of wedlock, I prayed my child would have both parents in her life. But I
was fooling myself. The baby's father took off - he wanted nothing to do with raising her. I was devastated. How
was I supposed to raise a child when I was still a child myself? Life was chaotic. I was drowning in stress and
hardship, and I felt like I was at a dead end. I needed to figure something out fast, so I joined the military, leaving
my daughter in the care of my brother and sister-in-law. The thought of leaving her tore me up inside, but
missing her became my drive to succeed in my career.
That didn't last long. I was medically discharged and forced to return home.
Fast forward a few years - I had gotten the hang of being a mom. Life was moving forward. Then everything
changed.
I met a man who became my world, my safe place, my everything. We had a child together, built a life, and fought
battles as a young couple - some we won, some we lost. And then, at thirty-three, the unthinkable happened.
A phone call. The phone call. The one that changed everything.
He was gone. Just like that. The love of my life was ripped from this world, leaving behind two daughters and only
echoes of laughter. But the biggest loss of all was the hollow space in my chest. I was lost. It felt like a bad
dream - one I couldn't wake up from. I was shattered beyond words.
And then, I did something I never thought I'd do.
I ran.
I ran from the pain, from my responsibilities, from myself. Worst of all, I ran from my children. The very pieces of
my soul slipped through my grasp.
Drugs became my escape. My way of numbing the unbearable.
And eventually, my escape led me to prison.
Looking back, maybe that was the best thing that could have happened to me. Because I was spiraling. Fast.
Being incarcerated forced me to clear my head, to sit still and think, and to come up with a plan for when I was
released. I reflected on my life - what it had become, what it should have been.
I had spent so much time as a single mother, struggling to keep everything together. One of my daughters
needed extra care, patience, and understanding. Raising a child with special needs was its own battle - one that
drained me, making me question whether I was enough. Many nights, I cried myself to sleep, praying for my
husband to come home so I could have a break. I wondered if I was even cut out for motherhood or if my
children would be better off without me.
So, when I got that call - the call telling me that the love of my life was gone - on top of already being a
struggling single mother, I snapped. It pushed me toward my darkest decisions. But strangely enough, those dark
decisions led me to the thing that saved me.
Prison gave me time. Time to think. Time to heal. Time to look forward.
But even after pulling myself out of the darkness, the battle isn't over.
I still fight. Every. Single. Day.
Not against my past, but against myself.
The guilt, the sorrow, the self-hatred - it haunts me. Every moment, I live with the knowledge that I hurt my
daughters. That I caused them pain. That they finished growing up knowing their mother was on drugs and then
in prison. They should never have had to experience that.
If I could give my life to erase their pain, I would. If I could undo the damage, mend their broken hearts, and
take back every tear they shed because of me, I would.
Still, I push forward. I got sober. And I've stayed clean.
I went back to school. Started a new career. Got my own house. For the first time, things started looking up. I was
learning how to stand on my own, even while carrying the weight of all that I had lost.
But the past doesn't just disappear.
One of my biggest battles is the fact that my youngest daughter refuses to acknowledge my existence.
To her, I am not her mother.
To her, I should never have become a mother.
To her, I am dead.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
The pain of that truth is sharper than any blade. It is a wound that refuses to close.
I have tried. I have begged. I have asked her to sit down and talk, to hear me out, to allow me to apologize - not
just for my own sake, but so I could hear her side. So I could hear her pain and validate it. But that battle is still
ongoing. And I have not won. But let me be clear:
Even though she has told me I am dead to her, I have not stopped trying.
I continue to show her that I am here, that I am trying, that I love her more than anything. And no matter what, I
will not stop fighting for her. I won't give up. And when the dark voices creep in - when they whisper that I don't
belong, that I am not good enough, that I should just give up - I fight back. I won't let them win. Because I now
know that I am strong. I am enough. And I will push through. Because it won't always be this dark.
Now, at forty-two years old, the battles and struggles remain. But so do I. And for the first time in a very, very
long time, I have a glimmer of hope. I am starting to believe in myself again. One day, I will have that
conversation with my daughter. One day, I will carry less stress. One day, I will overcome these trials and
tribulations. One day, I will win this war. And that day will be one of the greatest days of my life.
Because on that day, my heart will be whole again.
If you are reading this and feel like life is too much, if the
weight is unbearable, if you don't know how to keep
pushing forward - I NEED YOU TO HEAR ME.
YOU CAN.
KEEP GOING.
I know it feels impossible right now, but I promise you - it isn't.
Life will test you. It will make you believe there is no way out. But if you put in the work and keep pushing, you
will make it through.
You have the strength to overcome any obstacle.
You are STRONG ENOUGH.
And you DO BELONG.
