Two months after my nineteenth birthday I became a statistic; a teenage single mother. To say I was terrified would be an understatement. My life plan up to that point had been to work just enough so I had money for beer, cigarettes and some new clothes every once in awhile. If there was a big party on a Saturday night and I couldn’t get off work, I would quit my job. I felt that I could always get another job, but I never wanted to miss a great party. (I’m still not convinced that this is a bad philosophy)
At any rate, there I was the year after graduating high school with a baby to raise. My family was supportive, and my parents let me stay at home with my son. My mom babysat on weekends when I worked the overnight shift waitressing at our local House of Pancakes.
This went on for the first year of my son’s life. I leaned heavily on my mother . As much as I loved my son, the thought of building a life for us on my own was something beyond my comprehension. I didn’t believe I would ever be able to do it. As long as my parents were willing to let me stay there and keep me from facing my fears, I was more than willing to ignore them.
But one day my mother sat me down for a talk. She told me that she felt I was leaning on her too much and that I needed to move out and start life on my own.