For The Teen Moms, And Those Who Know and Love Them

I was 16 years old when I was kicked out of my parents’ home due to drug use and reckless teenage behavior. A few months later I learned that I was pregnant, and I gave birth to my son, Darion, when I was 17. 

I’m now 44 and earlier this week I was on an airplane on my way home from what I just realized was my *first* ever vacation-overseas-alone-with-a-partner. (And what a way to start: England, Greece, and France, it was fantastic.) 

I’d been to Paris before, but only in 2020 when everything was closed for COVID. You better believe I had no shame in going across town to go to the Instagram-famous breakfast spot to get these pancakes.

I recognize that any vacation at all means that I have tremendous privilege... Still, this (rather specific) “first”, along with some others in the past few years have felt deeply meaningful.

A Season of Firsts

In 2021 my second child, 5 years younger than Darion, graduated from high school and moved out of our family home.

Though I’d lived independent of my parents since I’d moved out at 16, this represented the first time I had ever lived completely alone (and not responsible for a minor).

I was 40.

In 2022 I was required to move to Denver for work. Since I’d never even visited Colorado, I decided that I’d rent a room for a few months until I decided exactly where I wanted to live. As such, I moved into a well-appointed and beautifully decorated townhome owned by a woman I’d never met in person (who has since become a dear friend) who works in the oil and gas industry.

This was the first time I ever had a (what I imagined to be, college-dorm style) “roommate”.

I was 41. 

Later that year I hunted for an apartment, finally selecting an urban studio with an incredible west facing mountain view on the 12th floor in downtown Denver.

This was the first time I’d ever selected a place to live that was completely my own, with no consideration for kids bedrooms or school zones.

I was 42.

I use to wander around Denver and marvel at how I was finally, finally getting the opportunity that most people I know had after graduating high school or in their 20’s.

Mainly, the opportunity to move freely, to learn, to explore on my own.

I’d moved to a brand new place, I was living downtown in the midst of all the excitement and city-energy, and I was totally free to meet new people, explore, and do all the things.

It felt like a dream come true. 

But the deep satisfaction that I felt knowing I’d finally completed the work I’d set out to do, was infinitely more gratifying.

Getting pregnant had set in motion a massive race. Truly, a marathon of marathons.

I had dropped out of high school before I’d learned I was pregnant, and less formally stopped attending class long before that. (All of which was the culmination of a downward spiral that had kicked off after a devastating sexual encounter when I was 13.)

So with positive pregnancy test in hand, I knew I had a lot of time to make up for.

I got a GED and then launched myself into a challenging course of study, aerospace engineering… and essentially, I’d been running ever since.

The goal?

Have a career… so I could make money… so I could take care of my child. A straightforward yet enormous undertaking, considering the starting place of the race. 

Anyone with adult kids knows that parenting never actually ends, but still, those first years of my empty nest were pivotal for me. I was tired, deeply tired… but satisfied and happy to enjoy the next chapter of my life. 

And I did enjoy that time in Denver. I had a challenging project at work that kept me engaged and excited too. But it didn’t take long for me to start noticing some subtle areas that were lacking in this new life of mine. 

Since before I was old enough to buy cigarettes or vote I’d been cooking for and feeding others. Yet now that I was on my own, I struggled to pull together a simple nutritious meal to feed myself a proper dinner. 

Though I’d been taking care of a home and household since the year I got my drivers license (and I was even taking care of several investment properties remotely, while I was in Denver) I now struggled to keep my small apartment clean and organized. 

I’d spent my most formative years so laser focused on taking care of my new child, that I seemed to have missed the step where I would have learned to take care of myself.

I found other odd gaps in my mindset and abilities too, the results of living an adult life that was inaugurated by becoming an early caregiver and all the trimmings that came with that (limited resources, excessive responsibilities, etc.)

It wasn’t that I didn’t have the skills, it was more that the shift in focus, in motivation, had me feeling a bit lost. 

Here I was in what I’d always anticipated would be the simpler, easier phase of my life, and I felt oddly out of my element. 

The good news? I have the time, space, and resources to go figure all of that out. (Plus, my partner takes me out to eat (probably, too) frequently… and he cooks… so my casserole cookin’ days may get to stay in the past, after all.)

I’m ok. My kids are good. I’m good. ^💗

So, this isn’t about me anymore.

To the Young Parents - I See You

This is about other women like me, other teenage mothers. But the younger ones - those who are still in the thick of it all. 

• The 17 year old at home rocking a colicky baby while watching her friends plan graduation parties.

• The 18 year old trying to figure out how to navigate the system to get food stamps to help feed her baby while she gets her feet under her.

• The 19 year old who is trying to figure out if she can take her toddler to a college class or if she will be able to find a babysitter.

• The 23 year old whose child is in kindergarten, who feels lonely at all the school events and class birthday parties because all the other moms are so much older and in a completely different life stage than she is in.

• The 30 year old who is so tired of people telling her that she “doesn’t look old enough to have a teenager” - but who is too tired from raising the actual teenager to bother with trying to figure out how to respond.

To all the young mamas out there… Cheers, Beautiful. You got this. 🫶🏼🌹

You ARE the real MVP’s. What you are doing is unbelievably hard and badass. Don’t give up.

To Everyone Else, Let’s Do Better

Sadly, the idea of teen pregnancy seems to inspire a rare boldness… it was my experience that onlookers tend to openly express their judgementalism about teen pregnancy in extreme ways compared to nearly any other context.

I didn’t exactly help. I was young, and raised in the same time as those people were, and it was a real challenge not to judge myself in those early days. But I’ll never forget the initial response of the very first friend I told when I learned I was pregnant… “Wow, you’ve become one of those teen mom statistics!” I didn’t realize at the time how much and how often my identity would be viewed through this singular lens, by the larger world.

The only thing more difficult than being a teen parent is being a teen parent in a world that has such a propensity to brazenly judge or shame them. And indeed, this is often what our world did and does to teen moms.

There has been a tremendous focus on women’s right to autonomy over their own bodies in recent years. This is huge and important. Understandably, much of that focus has been on a woman’s right to abortion, along with their right to do so without being shamed for it.

I understand us teen moms are in the minority, but if I could be so bold… please remember that young mothers who had children young out of “wedlock” have been shamed and blamed by society for centuries…

And do women, along with having abortions without shame, not also have the right to choose to carry their babies without shame?

I like to believe that this is simply something that has never occurred to most people. Still, I want to hope that the young mamas of today can and will be treated better.

These young women deserve respect, because they are doing something that is impossibly difficult.

Families Grow In Many Beautiful Ways

Growing up, I wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed about being a mother. Nor was I very good at being the warm, fuzzy, sappy-sweet kind of mom (just ask my daughter, Scarlett). But becoming a mother shaped every single part of me as a person, in a way that I am extraordinarily grateful for.

The only title I’m more proud of than mother - is Mimi (because… grand-babies 💖).

My son Darion is officially in his late 20’s now, creeping up on 30. Yesterday, he and his wife closed on a home for their little family of four. They laughed at how “old” they felt, spending an exciting Best Buy gift card on a boring microwave for their new place.

I’ve lived a lot of life since Darion was born. But there is a reason that this journey is what my memoir is focused on - the experience of young motherhood is central to who I am.

Today, I’m grateful to sit back and marvel at how it all continues to unfold.

But enough glassy-eyed reminiscing… Paris pancake time is complete, and now it is time for me to get back to work and continue with the next phase of this memoir.

Young mamas - keep your eyes on the prize. You’re doing a good job, and your kids are going to turn out just fine. Don’t be afraid to ask for help - and most of all, know that you are loved. ^💙

Best,

~ Amanda Rose

Pick your own amount to contribute a one time gift if you feel so inclined. Your generous support is deeply appreciated.