A New Friend

Since I had my daughter at 16, I have wanted to help other teen moms. I wanted to talk to teens trying to have babies. And I wanted to educate them, as well as other teens, about what being a teen mom was really like. Yes, I had a sweet, innocent baby who loved me unconditionally. Yes, I got to snuggle with a sweet, little love bug. And I got to to experience that first smile, the first gurgles, the first baby kisses, the first steps, and the first words. But it was not easy.

I did get to experience all those wonderful things, but I also got to deal with smelly diapers, the constant spitting up ( and my daughter did this MUCH more than the average child does, because of her birth defect), the sleepless nights, the incessant crying when nothing appeared to be wrong, the isolation from friends (or losing them altogether), the pressure of trying to finish high school, the pressure of trying to succeed in college, trying to fit work into the mix of child rearing and school, and struggling with whether or not I was making the best decisions for my baby.

Fortunately, I had a very supportive family. In fact, I came home from school the day after my grandparents were told I was expecting, to find that my grandpa had purchased a bassinet and some newborn diapers for his first great grandchild. My parents juggled work schedules to provide 3 days a week of child care for my daughter, and my grandmother cared for her the other two days each week so I could finish my junior year of high school. During my senior year, my grandmother watched her 3 days a week and she went to day care the other two days. My siblings were also extremely helpful, babysitting and playing with her. They say it takes a village to raise a baby…and I was so fortunate to have my “village” rally around me!

Friends also helped out a lot. They often planned activities that would include me and my daughter. And they helped if I needed a babysitter in a pinch. My true friends never made me feel bad about my situation, they just encouraged me and loved me and my baby girl..and my baby boy, when he came.  The youth group at my church, which I wanted to quit when I got pregnant (yep, I was pretty embarrassed), threw a surprise baby shower for me. All of the other members of the group had gotten gifts for me and my unborn child. Seriously, a bunch of teenage boys bought gifts for my baby. So did the girls, who I wasn’t really that close to. Instead of judging me, they embraced me and showed me love. Blankets, clothes, bath stuff, and even a rocking chair were given to me that afternoon. One of the youth leaders made a puzzle for my baby, which all five of my children have now played with, and I will cherish forever. So, St Joe’s youth group members…I want you ALL to know just how much you have touched my life. The kindness and love you all showed me on that day will be with me forever.

And that brings me back to where I began. I wanted to show that same love to other young moms. And to help prevent teens from becoming young mothers. It can be done, but it is no easy task to be a teenage mother. Once these young girls find themselves in a tough situation, I wanted to be an encouragement to them. To assure them that a teen pregnancy or teen motherhood does not define them. It will be a small piece of who they are. I wanted to encourage them not to give up, but to keep putting one foot in front of the other and life will get easier. I waned to encourage them to stay in school and look to the future, making the best choices they can for themselves and their children. But mostly, I just wanted them to feel loved and accepted, and to have someone to talk to who had been there and come out successfully on the other side.

When I began this blog a few months ago, I was looking to see if a forum existed for pregnant teens to get the support they need, and I stumbled upon the blog of a 17 year old girl who had recently found out she was pregnant. She was in the process of deciding what the next steps were going to be for her and her unborn child. I reached out to her and Ashley and I have been communicating since. I have been able to answer some questions she has had as well as just be an additional support person for her if she needs anything. That is certainly something  I would’ve liked to have had when I was going through my pregnancy at 16. Ashley keeps her blog updated regularly. You should check it out…she is an incredible young woman with a great head on her shoulders, making extremely tough decisions that will affect both her and her unborn daughter forever. Sort of like what I was doing at that age. I never did find that forum I was looking for, but instead found a bright young woman whom I am proud to call a friend.

Forgiveness

My husband and I had an important discussion this weekend that really got me thinking. We were discussing the importance of  loving and forgiving others. And, not unlike anyone else, I had a lot of people in my past that I needed to forgive. I sometimes have a hard time letting things go, and tend to hold grudges. Even when I think I have let them go. It is not uncommon for me to realize that I have just pushed something under the rug and tried to move forward rather than dealing with the issue. Recognizing this is the first step to changing it, though, and I have been working on not pushing things off, but really dealing with any hurt, pain or anger I am feeling. Because holding onto it will only cause bitterness.

After much introspection, I sat down to write this post…and after my first paragraph, I ended up writing a letter to one of the pastors at my church. It can’t be said any better than in my email, so I am posting it here also, to share all I am learning on the journey to Becoming Kelly.

Hi Kevin-

I was out of town the week you spoke on forgiveness, with the story of Abigail, so I wasn’t sitting in the auditorium that morning, but I listened to the mp3 from the Hope website tonight and I felt compelled to write. I am sitting in my living room, crying right now, because I feel like you were speaking directly to me. I feel like you were sitting right here on my couch, telling me just what I needed to hear tonight.
My husband and I were discussing this exact topic just yesterday afternoon. I thought I had forgiven everyone in my past that I had needed to forgive. But after our conversation, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he and I had talked about. See, when I met my husband a little over 10 years ago, I was a 20yr old single mom…to not one, but two children. From two different fathers. I was 16 when Arianne was born. She was born with a birth defect and required some extra care as a baby, including several surgeries to correct her mouth. Her father and I split up when she was 3 months old, and she has hardly seen him since. A month after turning 19, I had my son, Alex. Pretty much another bad situation with the father. I haven’t seen him since a month before Alex was born, and haven’t spoken to him since Alex was a few months old. I fortunately had the support of my family. And I met my husband when the kids were 1 and 3. We were married 7 months later. We’ve had some struggles along the way, but will very happily be celebrating 10 yrs of marriage this fall.
Yesterday, while he and I were talking about forgiveness of others, especially forgiveness of our enemies, the fathers of my oldest two came into the conversation. And not only them, but the girls they had cheated on me with. And I very quickly assured my husband that I had indeed forgiven all of them, but had no desire to reach out to them in love. Was that what Jesus would want me to do?, my husband asked. I said probably not, but I had forgiven them, and that was good enough for me. He kept pushing me though, making me think, making me reach deep inside. Had I really forgiven them for the hurt I had felt, for the betrayal? For the rest of the day yesterday, and all of today, it has been on my mind. I could feel God pressing it on my heart that I really needed to search myself on this issue. And so I searched. And I began a conversation with Domingo tonight prior to his small group meeting about what I had discovered, but he had to leave before we could finish. It was still on my heart, so I began to write about it on my blog, which lead me to search the Hope site for the Digging Deeper notes from a previous week when Mike was speaking on forgiveness. My eyes immediately saw the title of the podcast for your sermon “When The Past Hurts Your Present”, and the description was exactly what I was thinking, feeling and writing about. I had been holding in all this hurt and anger and bitterness, thinking I had forgiven all these people all these years ago! I clicked to listen to the mp3 and sat at my computer furiously taking notes while sobbing my eyes out.
You said in the message that real forgiveness deals with the offense and the feelings. And I had only been forgiving the offense..not dealing with the feelings. In every situation I was still hurting from, I had felt the feelings you mentioned: rejected, fearful, and insignificant. I knew I had to do something. So I prayed. And I cried. And I prayed some more.  And the weird thing is, the tears aren’t tears of hurt or anger or sadness or bitterness. They are more like tears of relief. Like tears of joy. I have been struggling lately with letting my past go and not letting it define me anymore. Not only did I forgive all those people and hurts I had stuffed away under the rug, but I forgave myself tonight. For not obeying God. For not loving myself. For failing over and over in huge, colossal ways. For not being perfect. For not following what I believe in, but going with the crowd. For not believing in myself. For letting myself down. For letting others down, especially my family.
So, I guess, in all my ramblings, I just wanted to say thank you! Thank you, Kevin, for this message. Even though I wasn’t in the church that Sunday morning, God had a plan for me to hear your message. He knew I wasn’t ready just a few short weeks ago. But He has been preparing me for this evening. And now He has spoken to me very clearly through your words.

Thanks again-
Kelly

Becoming Mom

Fall 1996

Although my pregnancy at 16 wasn’t planned, once I got over the initial shock I was really excited. Yes, I was aware of the many obstacles I would have to overcome as a teenage mother, but I knew in my heart that I would be a good mother to my child. Especially after my family rallied behind me.   Finally the day came and I delivered my daughter.  I pushed and pushed for two hours and when she finally came, I was startled by the reaction of the doctor nurses my parents and the baby’s father.  He began to pass out, which sort of made me laugh!  But, I stopped when I saw the faces of everyone else.  They wisked the baby away and began a thorough exam with a flurry.  I could sense that something wasn’t right.   They hadn’t even told me whether the baby was a boy or a girl!  So, I started to panic.  What was happening?  What could be wrong?  I could hear my baby crying from the other side of the room.  But they hadn’t even shown the baby to me yet.  My mom and dad were talking to me and saying everything was ok and it would all be fine.  What would be fine?!  What’s wrong?  Is my baby ok?  One of the nurses came over and gently explained that my daughter (it’s a girl!) was born with a birth defect called a cleft lip and palate.  She would need surgery…I couldn’t help but interrupt her – Is she ok?  Is it correctable?  That was all I needed to know.  It was a correctable defect.  As the hospital staff explained later in detail,  she would need a series of surgeries lasting into her teen years to correct the deformity.  After determining that the cleft was her only defect, my nurse Annie finally placed my beautiful daughter into my arms! What a precious gift I had been given. She was absolutely perfect, even with her lip and palate incomplete. It was a definite adjustment, becoming a mother. Certainly having a special needs child didn’t make it any easier. She choked a lot on her bottles the first few days, and she spit up at least half of everything she ate for a good 4 months. There were lots of visits with specialists and her first surgery was scheduled when she was only 3 months old. I was scared out of my mind the entire time, but she had a great doctor whom I had complete trust in. I waited so anxiously in the waiting area, trying to stay calm, but pacing a lot of the 2 1/2 hours the surgery took to repair her lip. I knew it was going to change her appearance, but I was not prepared for what I saw when the nurse took me back into the recovery room. My smiley bundle of energy was laying in the bed, her face all swollen, especially around her mouth where the doctor had repaired the defect in her lip. Every few seconds a tiny whimper would escape.  One of the nurses turned and picked her up to place her into my arms. When I looked up at her, I realized I knew her! What a relief to have someone I knew back there…but it wasn’t enough. Another nurse guided me to the rocking chair while I was quietly crying, holding my daughter so carefully. Susie, the nurse who was a family friend, asked if there was someone else in the waiting area I would like her to get for me, and then she went out and brought my mom in for me. I feel a little foolish about that now…I was a mom, crying for my mom. I guess it makes a little bit of sense though, I was just a kid who had a kid. My daughter has since had 5 more surgeries for her birth defect, and will need at least 1 or 2 more in the next few years. She is the greatest patient, always remaining optomisitc and never complaining about the inconvenience or about any pain. She does everything the doctors tell her to, so her recovery is as quick as possible. She is not embarrassed or ashamed of her condition, she embraces it. It makes her special, she says. Not that she wasn’t already special enough!

Competitor

After having my first two children, my weight has been an issue for me. I gained 70 lbs with my first, but lost most of it. Then I gained another 70 lbs with my second child, but never could seem to lose the weight I had gained. Over the past 11 years I have lost and gained, over and over. I had three more children during that time period and never gained more than 35 lbs with any of them. I actually lost 50 lbs in the first trimester of my last pregnancy, before I knew I was even pregnant. Gaining that weight back was devastating to say the least. The up and downs with my weight have taken their toll on me emotionally. I have gotten upset and cried more than once about it. And that would get me motivated to work hard to get back in shape. I would workout hard and diet for a month or two, see no results, get frustrated, give up and eat. And the cycle would repeat. I have tried so many “diets.”  Most of the diets you can quickly name, I’ve tried. Most never worked, while a few worked initially, but as soon as “banned” foods were added back in, I regained everything. No matter what I lose initially, I can’t ever seem to maintain it if I backed off on working out at all. The only time I managed to maintain any sort of weight loss, I was doing 40 minutes of strength training along with 60 minutes of cardio EVERY day of the week. Any less than that and I would regain. I have been to doctors to make sure its not a hormone or chemical imbalance in my body. Every time they tell me I am healthy, just carrying some extra weight and to "try diet and exercise for another year."  That’s what I have been doing for 7 years!!! And it’s getting very frustrating. I weigh nearly 40 lbs more  than I did 7 years ago. So obviously its ot working or I am doing something totally wrong. I’ve hired personal trainers and nutritionists. I took a class at my gym that is supposed to help you get into your best shape in 12 weeks. I took it twice and only lost 20 lbs. I gained 12 lbs of muscle also. I was working out 60-90 minutes 6 days a week. I even participated in an indoor triathlon the gym put on. And I didn’t finish last! The tri is what helped me to rediscover that inner athlete, the competitor inside of me that I thought I had lost. I loved the adrenaline rush I got, pushing myself to the limit. Swimming was a lot harder than it had been when I was competing on the swim team in my youth, but my team mates and I had practiced a bit before the race. I had never been in a cycle studio before the race, never been on a spin bike, but I rode hard and fast for 30 minutes! The running portion of the competition was the part I was concerned about. I knew it was only 20 minutes and I could walk what I needed to, but I really wanted to run as much as possible. I could run in 3-4 minutes bursts in class, but usually just walked briskly at at a steep incline ot get my heart rate up. But on race day, I pushed and pushed, running for 7 1/2 minutes straight and could’ve gone longer but time was up! I had run for a total of 13 minutes of the 20 minute run! I know that might not seem like much to moist people, but I was so proud of myself. I never thought I would ever be competing in a race again, and now I can’t wait for the next indoor tri to beat my times from the last one!

…and NOT believing

So, now that I am finally believing in myself again, maybe we should spend some time talking about why I stopped believing in myself.  One might think that it was before I became pregnant with my oldest at 16. But that’s not the case. Strangely enough, it was a while after her birth. But finding out I was pregnant was what actually inspired me to be a better person. Not that I wasn’t a good person before that, but I just wanted to be the best I could be for my child. I was only a sophomore in high school the night I took the home test. It was prom night. On the way home we stopped at a park so I could take the test, and waited in silence and darkness for an agonizing 3 minutes. When we flipped the light on to check the test, I think I stopped breathing for a minute. I couldn’t be pregnant. My parents would be so disappointed. And I was only 16. Barely 16. And I had a life planned for myself. But deep down I already loved that little baby growing inside of me. And I already knew that it had changed my life forever. But not for one second did I think that my life was screwed up, or that I would never amount to anything because of this bump in the road I had created. No, I just knew I would have to work harder than I was. Finishing school was a no-brainer. I had  a baby to provide for now and I needed to give that child the best I could. I could’ve gone to the special classes for pregnant teens and teen moms, but when I went to look into that, I was surprised to see that curriculum would’ve been nearly the equivalent of what I had taken in 7th and 8th grade. Not really what a girl in Advanced Placement and Honors classes wants to go back to. So I opted to stay in my high school, and deal with the looks, comments and judgements of others. I believed I could finish high school with a respectable GPA regardless of my situation. My parents and I met with my guidance counselor and my teachers for my junior year and discussed that I would be missing some classes but that I didn’t want any special treatment or sympathy. I wanted my grades to reflect my work, not my “situation.”  I had my daughter in December and missed 4 weeks of school surrounding her birth. But I picked work up from my teachers and stayed as caught up as I could, still believing in myself. Even when my daughter was born with a birth defect, and the doctors swooped her away immediately after she was born without telling me what was happening, I knew I could handle whatever it was. When the nurse finally explained the situation to me, my only question was “Is it correctable?’ When she said yes,I knew it would all be ok. When her father and I parted ways when she was 3 months old, I believed I was making the best choice. It was. I graduated high school in the top 10% of my class of nearly 900, all while raising a baby who was now 18 months old. All because I believed in myself. But that was all about to change. I got caught up with the wrong guy and found myself in a very bad predicament. Details of that aren’t necessary, but as a result of my poor choices, I found myself pregnant again, single again, and raising a toddler at 18. Now here is where I really started to question what I was doing with my life. Who had I become? When did I stop loving myself? And what kind of a role model was I to my daughter and the little one on the way? It was hard enough with one baby, how could I handle two and still go to college and make a life for myself and my babies?  Should I keep this second baby? And then the hardest of all….should I even have this baby? Of course I should! I don’t believe in abortion. But no matter what I tried to tell myself, I didn’t believe that I could tell my parents and the rest of my family. I didn’t believe I could raise two babies. I didn’t believe that my family would support me again like they had when I had my daughter. I felt so lost and confused and detached from everything. I was dying inside because of my own stupid, selfish choices, and now I was faced with one of the biggest decisions in my life. Although I didn’t want to do it, I felt there was no other option at that time. I told my parents, and got completely different reactions for both of them. Regardless, an appointment was made at a clinic to terminate my pregnancy. I felt empty. I couldn’t believe that I was actually going through with it. But I went to my appointment. Sat in the dingy, musty waiting area for what seemed like an eternity. I debated leaving, as I sat there silently crying, in complete denial. I kept asking myself, “What are you doing? You don’t even believe in this?!” But I would tell myself over and over, “This is the best thing for this baby. I can’t give it what it needs. I can’t give my daughter what she needs and deserves if I have this baby. No matter how much I love this baby, this is the right thing to do. ” But I didn’t believe that. It was a cop-out. And I knew it. My baby deserved better than what I was about to do to it. And I just sat there crying. Finally, my name was called and they took me to an exam room where they would do an ultrasound to check how far along I was. I turned my head so I wouldn’t be able to see the screen, knowing that I would lose it emotionally if I saw the baby inside of me. But when the tech and the nurse started talking about it, I couldn’t help myself and I peeked at the screen. I saw my baby, kicking it’s little legs , but what got me was seeing it’s tiny heart beating. I took that emotional punch right in the gut. I shed a few silent tears barely managing to keep the wails of emotion inside. The nurse then took me to speak to the psychologist, which was required to have an abortion. Her first question to me was, “Why are you here?” and all I could manage was ” I don’t know!” through an awful lot of sobbing. When I managed to pull myself together, I explained to her about my faith and that I feel abortion is wrong. So I wasn’t quite sure why I was there other than that I felt like I had so massively screwed up that I had no other option. And the words I had been holding inside so I wouldn’t have to deal with them came spilling out and I told her how much I loved my baby already and that I wanted to keep it. I was just so scared and lost. And then I went home, with my baby still growing inside and completely unaware of what had almost happened that day. I went home knowing that I had made the right decision, knowing my baby would have a good life with its mommy, who was already completely in love with it. Home, where I was safe, where my daughter was safe, where my baby was safe.

February 1998

Take Two

So I had managed to maintain my new weight for a while. And then what did I do? I got pregnant a second time at 18! I was determined not to gain another 70 lbs. I was working full-time as a hotel housekeeper, and it was a very physical job. I spent 7-8 hours each day on my feet making beds, washing windows, vacuuming and scrubbing bathrooms. I didn’t always eat a healthy lunch, but I was very surprised that I was gaining weight as I had in my first pregnancy. Ugh, another 70 lbs.! Puffy skin, swollen feet- very uncomfortable. I was able to move around a lot easier this time around though, and worked up until a week before my son was born. By that time, I was very much looking forward to the relief I had felt after my daughter’s birth. The birth of my son was fairly easy and I was hoping to lose the weight quickly. I didn’t. I had gone up 2-3 sizes from where I was AFTER my first pregnancy. So now I was 5 sizes bigger than before I had first gotten pregnant. I felt awful. And I looked awful. And the athlete I had once been felt completely dead.

Ok, so today the athlete inside showed up when I needed her, so I know shes not dead. I made it to the gym. Yes, I procrastinated this morning. I told myself I was going to get up and go right away, but I didn’t get there until after lunch. But I did get there. And I got a great workout in on the elliptical. I wanted to give up after 5 minutes. I was out of breath, since it was first trip to the gym in over 3 months. I was going 5 days a week up until then, but I got sick with a terrible bronchitis that left me with no energy for 11 weeks. When I got over that, I took the kids to the pool and ended up with double ear infections and could hardly hear for 3 weeks. So now I am finally feeling great again…but today was tough at the gym. As much as I wanted to quit, I dug deep to find strength to keep going and my inner athlete pushed me to keep moving. And what a great feeling to have my former trainer see me and say how nice it was to see me there! Just a bit more motivation to keep going. Slowly but surely I will achieve my goals. I have a lot of weight to lose…and my whole life to gain during this journey.