I Had My Daughter At 16. It’s Shocking What People Feel Comfortable Saying To Me.

“You look way too young to have a child that age!” This is the comment I get every time I share how old my daughter is. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt that they are being complimentary, but every time it happens, I feel a pit in my stomach.

My responses change depending on the tone of the comment. They vary from matter-of-fact to sarcastic and snide.

“Tell me about your teen sex life first.”

“I have a good moisturizing routine.”

Sometimes I’ll do a “Mean Girls”-style, “I’m a cool mom.”

Other times, I simply don’t have the energy to respond at all. The truth is that I am too young to have a child that age. I was groomed by an adult man and became a mom when I was 16 years old.

When I was young, I thought I was cool because an older guy liked me. I was caught up in a romanticized idea that this man thought I was “mature for my age.” I know now that I was extremely immature at that time, and didn’t know what a healthy relationship was supposed to look like. When the emotional and physical abuse began, I had a feeling in my gut that I would be the one who would be judged for it.

Eventually, I had a pretty strong idea that I was pregnant, but I believed that if I ignored it, it couldn’t be real. Finally, I told my therapist about it. She facilitated a conversation with my parents, and in an instant, my world was upside down. That was the moment that solidified my shame into something tangible and real. I couldn’t ignore any of it any longer.

It’s common among pregnant people to have to navigate unsolicited opinions and advice from strangers. Being pregnant as a child also invites that behavior, but the overall tone takes a sharp turn toward shaming and judgment. When I was pregnant with my daughter, there were strangers and acquaintances alike who felt entitled to information about my sexual history, and about one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.

I would get comments from people at the grocery store, people in waiting rooms, phlebotomists, hairstylists, friends, parents of friends, bullies, strange adults, and people from my school whom I’d never spoken to before. Mostly they felt entitled to know how old I was, who got me pregnant and what I was planning to do with my baby. Everywhere I went, I began to feel flayed open, like everyone was pointing and judging. I realize now I had to completely dissociate to survive that time of my life.

Being a parent while also being a child, and later a young adult, brought uncomfortable comments and assumptions. Friends of my family or community members took it upon themselves to scold me about my actions. I would get interrogated by people I didn’t know about my plan for my future now that I had “ruined it.” I constantly caught people looking at me and then glancing at my left hand to see if I had a wedding ring. My family never pressured me to marry the father of my child, but a lot of strangers felt like that was their business.

I believed I had to take it all, like it was my penance. It was easier to swallow that judgment than it was to admit I’d gotten myself into a dangerously abusive relationship. Given our society’s tendency to blame victims for their abuse, I knew better than to share that part of my story with most people.

Things would have been much harder as a young mom if I hadn’t had the support of my own mother. Thanks to her, my daughter has so many treasured memories of time spent with her grandma growing up. I also had the support of one of my mother’s dear friends, who took me and my infant daughter in during a very dark time and included us in her family. We are still family to this day.

Between them and a few of my close friends, I raised my daughter surrounded by a beautiful circle of strong women. Even so, it wasn’t until my daughter was grown up that I began to chip away at the layers of shame that had been holding me together for close to 20 years of my life.

As my daughter grew older, it brought new social hurdles. School events, kids’ birthday parties and parent-teacher conferences held opportunities for awkward moments. Once, while volunteering at my daughter’s school, I was reported to the front desk as a stranger wandering the halls. There have been an uncomfortable number of creepy dads at birthday parties asking for my number, leering at me, asking if I was married and commenting on how good I looked for having a child that age. I always felt frozen around these men, like they could tell how broken I felt.

I could also tell who was uncomfortable with my presence, or with the idea of me. People routinely made major assumptions about me and my character that were never based in fact. Several of my daughter’s teachers underestimated my intelligence or assumed I was an irresponsible parent before speaking to me. One of her elementary school teachers told me that I was a bad parent because my child was tired at school one day.

Shame has a tangible impact on our brains and self-image, affecting our neurobiology and attachment style. When we are shamed by our community, we begin to feel like we are not worthy of love and belonging. It can become a part of our personalities. The shame I experienced in my life has profoundly shaped how I walk through the world. It has taken years of therapy and self-work to get over that, and that work is not done.

While people regularly expected me to tell them how I would fix my ruined life, and about my deep personal traumas, I can’t help but notice the questions I was not asked. Things like: Are you OK? Things like: Do you need support? Things like: Are you safe?

Additionally, the stigma was always placed on me, and not on the adult who groomed me, got me pregnant, and physically abused a child who had no autonomy or ability to consent.

As a society, we do a lot of hand-wringing about the “teen mother problem,” but we rarely talk about how many of those youths have been sexually abused by adults. I may have thought I was in a consensual romantic relationship at 16, but I know now that I experienced physical and sexual abuse by an adult man who suffered no consequences for his actions. I raised a child while navigating severe PTSD, and I shouldered all of the blame.

As a result of the amount of shame and blame heaped on me for being a teen parent, I’ve spent most of my life making myself small so I wouldn’t inconvenience anyone with my existence. I believed for a long time that I didn’t deserve care, love or community. Even today, I still have to brace myself for the comments and questions that may come up any time I’m in a social situation with new people.

My daughter and I grew up together, and we have a powerful bond and a wonderful relationship. I did my best to raise her with care and validation. She is almost 30 now, and I am so proud of the person she has become. I’m very intentional about the kinds of people I surround myself with now. I certainly couldn’t have done the parenting job I did without the help and support of my chosen community.

I used to believe that because I was such a “terrible person,” people were entitled to know about my shame and trauma. That was my penance for “getting myself into trouble.” Looking back, I see how many patterns I developed to survive these experiences, and how many of them didn’t serve me well. Now, I hold strong personal boundaries. I’m a fierce advocate for myself and others. I have a daily practice acknowledging the child and young adult versions of myself with unconditional care and love.

I’m so passionate about advocacy and empowerment that I went back to school and earned a master’s degree in clinical social work, or MSW. My daughter joined me on stage for the hooding ceremony that is part of graduating with a master’s degree. Having her put that sash over my head and walking up there with me was an incredibly fulfilling moment. I recently started my first job as a mental health therapist. It’s truly a gift that I now get to support other people in healing from their shame and trauma.

Despite the hardships, I have achieved incredible things. As a traumatized teen mother, I graduated high school. I got a B.A. in English, and now with my MSW, I have achieved the highest level of education of anyone in my family. My daughter and I have a close and loving relationship. I do my best to walk through the world living my most authentic and shame-free life. I hope I’m showing that to my daughter, and to any other person I know who has felt like they are shameful. I believe I model a beacon of self-love and forgiveness. I couldn’t be prouder of the person I am today.

Now, when the inevitable small talk happens, and I see people doing the mental math that I am “too young,” I think about what kind of shame they’re holding. It helps me extend care and forgiveness to them. Most importantly, when I start to hear that inner voice and feel the stigma and shame of being who I am, I can talk over it.

“Hey! Look at me. I’m incredible.”

Need help? In the U.S., call 1-866-331-9474 or text “loveis” to 22522 for the National Dating Abuse Helpline.

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