Becoming a mom was one of the scariest experiences of my adult life. At just 20 years old, I was filled with uncertainty about whether I was truly ready to take on the full-time responsibility of raising another human being. I worked a full-time clerical job and lived at home with my parents, and the weight of it all was overwhelming. Before I became pregnant, I wasn’t always as responsible as people expected me to be, so stepping into this new chapter felt daunting. My pregnancy from 2020-2021 came at a time when clinical understanding of the many postpartum experiences was limited. We were often told that “motherly instincts” would simply kick in and guide us through. But thank God for my mother and the women in my family, because no instinct magically tells you when your baby is hot or cold, hungry or wet, wants to sit up or lay down. It was all trial and error.
At the time, my child’s father and I were a couple, but we both lived at home with our parents. Being unwed, I was considered a single mother. Even if I had been married, I don’t believe it would have spared me from the mental and emotional strain that comes with motherhood. The fear I felt outweighed my exhaustion. The need to provide for my child constantly battled with my need to be present for him. My physical appearance changed so much that I hardly recognized myself. I convinced myself that I was no longer the person I once was—I had become “Jayden’s mom,” and everything revolved around him. In his first year of life, I neglected myself to the point where I felt like I had no identity of my own.
I became single shortly before my son’s first birthday, and it was the first time since my teens that I felt deeply insecure about my appearance. I believed all the rhetoric about how no one would want me because I had a child. I convinced myself that my wants, needs, and dreams no longer mattered. Trapped in a job I didn’t want, I pushed through each day because I had a child to support. I was miserable and just going through the motions. Back then, you didn’t complain about motherhood—doing so meant you were a “bad” mother. No matter how tired, overwhelmed, or alone you felt, you had to get through it because the sacrifices you made for your children were seen as the highest duty.
I thank God every day for the village that surrounded me and my son. It was the same village that raised me, and they became my rock. Without them, my son would have been okay, but I might not have made it through. Women wear so many hats—daughter, sister, niece, mom, aunt, employee, girlfriend, wife, and more. We need safe spaces to express how we feel, without judgment and with genuine understanding. Find your village, whether it’s the one you were born into or one you build yourself. It makes all the difference.
Never forget that you are a woman first. Learning how to love yourself first teaches you how to love others properly.
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