I was seventeen years old when I discovered I was pregnant.

Seventeen year old girls don’t know what to say when their best friend is pregnant.

I wasn’t sure what I needed to hear.

I was thrown into adulthood before I knew what adulthood was. I became a mother before I had mastered being a child.

I waded in motherhood until I understood how to handle it. I went through the motions until I could make sense of the motions I was making. I struggled. I clung on to my youth and ran into my future. And after many years I found an odd sort of balance.

I was one of the lucky ones.

Some young girls get lost in their feelings. Lost in the statistic that they have become. Society presses in on them. They try to be something they aren’t quite ready to be. They get lost. They give up. They throw away their dreams and along with that..their hope.

This weekend I met Rebecca Woolf. Who I have always admired. I read her book. Devoured it all in one day. She is the writer everyone aspires to me. Turning feelings into words and making sense of things that don’t always make sense.

We all know at least one of “them.” One of the girls that get thrown into adulthood a little sooner than they had planned. Girls that are afraid of losing themselves to motherhood. The girls who appear a little lost. Who wrestle with the feelings that are twirling inside of them.

Give them this book. Watch them devour it. Let them know that there are not alone.

No related posts.