Strength I Didn’t Know I Had: A Young Mother’s Journey Through Loss, Love, and Law

My Journey Begins: A Young Mother Fighting for Survival

-At 18, I wasn’t just a teenager. I was a mother with no guidance, no money, and a hungry baby looking up to me for answers I didn’t have. Desperation pushes people to make choices they never imagined—but I had to survive.

The Weight of Young Motherhood

I was just 18 when I had my first daughter. Unlike many young mothers who lean on their parents for support, my reality was much different. My mother was battling addiction, and my father was incarcerated, awaiting trial on a murder charge. Just weeks after I gave birth, he was convicted and handed a 25-year sentence. Though his physical absence was constant since I was four years old, he was still present in my life through weekly letters and daily phone calls. As a child, I never truly felt fatherless. But as I transitioned into adulthood, the void of his presence became undeniable—especially when I started dating and eventually became a mother myself.

My daughter’s father, much like me, was navigating life without real guidance. He was caught up in the streets at a young age, and though he was around, he didn’t contribute to our daughter’s basic needs—only material things that looked good on the surface but did nothing to fill her stomach. Fancy footwear doesn’t replace formula or diapers.

The Harsh Reality of Survival

I was on my own. Social assistance at the time barely gave me enough to scrape by—$330 a month. Even though I was in public housing, taking over the same unit my grandmother raised me in, my rent was still more than half of what I received. Child tax benefits in the early 2000s were a mere $253—an amount that didn’t even begin to cover the cost of formula, diapers, or any of the other necessities my daughter required.

Despite these struggles, I refused to let my situation define me. My daughter was born in the summer of 2003, and by September of that same year, I was already back in school to graduate. My plan was simple—finish high school and take a year off to figure out how to make life work as a single mother.

All the while, I was balancing my grade 12 year while helping care for my sick grandmother, who had been battling cancer for over a decade. She was my rock, my guiding light, but her health was deteriorating, and I was doing everything I could to support her while also being a mother. She passed away in January 2004, and I graduated in June of the same year. In the midst of my grief and uncertainty, I enrolled in a customer service program while trying to navigate life as a young mother with no real support system.

I updated my resume and hit the pavement, hoping that my work experience as a cleaner at 16 would be enough to land me a job. But rejection after rejection left me feeling defeated. No matter how hard I tried, no one would hire me.

A Desperate Choice

The desperation to feed my daughter and have some sense of stability started to consume me. The gnawing anxiety of wondering if I’d have enough to provide for her basic needs kept me up at night. It’s one thing to struggle on your own, but it’s entirely different when you have a child depending on you.

Then, an opportunity arose. It wasn’t a good one, it wasn’t a legal one—but it was a way to put food on the table. And at that moment, that was all I could think about. I knew it was wrong. I knew there would be consequences. But when faced with watching my daughter go without or making a choice that could change our circumstances—even temporarily—I took the risk.

During this time, someone else came into my life, someone I thought would be a source of stability. Instead, he became my abuser. Our relationship led to the birth of my second daughter, who was born with multiple complications. The weight of my past decisions, my abusive relationship, and my daughter’s health struggles pushed me deeper into despair. I felt trapped in a cycle I couldn’t escape.

Looking Back, Moving Forward

That decision led me down a road I never expected—one that eventually led to incarceration. The fast money came with a price, and it wasn’t long before my past caught up with me. My actions led to me being criminally charged and, most devastatingly, temporarily losing custody of my two daughters. That loss was a pain I could never have imagined. The very thing I was trying to avoid—losing them—became my reality because of the choices I made.

The 16-month battle to get them back felt like walking through fire barefoot. There were moments I wanted to break down completely—times when I almost lost my mind. I was working full-time while dealing with the weight of my criminal charges, trying to hold myself together for the sake of my children. My oldest daughter, already aware that her father was gone, needed just as much attention and care as my youngest, whose medical complications demanded constant support. Both of their fathers were murdered five months apart, which added yet another layer of trauma to an already devastating time.

In the end, I won full custody back of my oldest daughter. But my youngest, due to the severity of her health issues and the instability of our circumstances, was placed in the care of the system. That loss—knowing I could not bring her home—left a hole in my heart that no words can truly express.

Looking back, I now understand the weight of the choices I made. I don’t share this story to make excuses, but to shed light on the reality so many young mothers face. I made mistakes—ones I deeply regret—but I also found strength in my struggles. I didn’t know how strong I was until strength was the only thing I had to depend on. I share my truth not for sympathy, but in the hope that someone else who is struggling might see that they are not alone. Survival sometimes forces us into impossible decisions, but we can always choose to grow beyond them.

In my next blog, I’ll share how surviving domestic abuse was another defining chapter of my journey, and how it helped me rebuild my life.

Join the Conversation

Have you ever been in a situation where you felt like you had no options? Where desperation clouded your judgment? I want to hear your stories. Let’s have an open conversation about the challenges of young parenthood, survival, and finding a way forward. Share your thoughts in the comments or use the hashtag #IntimatelyUStrong to join the discussion.

This is only the beginning of my journey, and I’m grateful to have you here as I share my story. You are not alone. We are in this together.