I have to start this piece by saying I believe in a woman’s right to choose concerning her pregnancy. I want every woman to know that God’s grace is sufficient for her choice. God loves you, and you are worthy of His love no matter what.
I had my first child when I was sixteen years old. That came with its own share of shame and challenges that I would have to overcome on so many different levels of my development and layers of my being, thinking, etc. So, you can imagine my dismay when I discovered at eighteen that I was with child again. I was not married, but I was in a relationship with a man who would become my husband eventually. We were kids, and we didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. He was a senior in high school and I was a junior—behind my classmates due to dropping out with my first pregnancy. Here we sat with this huge decision to make around what we were going to do about this pending baby.
There were so many reasons that having another baby was just inconvenient as hell, and we decided that an abortion was the right way to go despite us both being raised in Christian homes where we knew that any public knowledge of our decision would add shame and stress that we couldn’t and didn’t want to afford given our current life circumstances. I remember going to my mother and seeking her wisdom, and she gave me two pieces of advice as I sought to figure out what I was going to do.
“You’re going to live with either decision for the rest of your life.”
“Who knows? Maybe that baby is a playmate for your daughter.”
My mom has a way of being so plain and direct that I don’t always see the wisdom, profundity or relevance in what she is saying, but without fail, she’s usually right.
Despite that though, my boyfriend had plans to leave our hometown and go away to college. I didn’t want him to choose me because of a baby, and I didn’t want to be accused of attempting to “trap” him. So off we went to the dreaded clinic to do the deed. We made it past the gatekeepers who would stand outside and scream at patrons, “DON’T DO IT!” Their posse was armed with signs, pictures of dismantled babies and pamphlets that were enough to push you over the edge with the guilt of being a “murderer” and knowing you were directing your soul to hell if/once you came out on the other side.
We had an appointment, and we sat there quietly in the lobby waiting our turn. Internally, I was in so much turmoil and felt conflicted about what we were about to do. The hardship of being a single mom is real though, so a part of me was relieved that I was going to be piling on to what was already a very full plate. I didn’t know what his intentions really were, so I was just quiet. After a while he turned to me and said, “Let’s go.” I looked at him and responded, “If I leave here, I’m not coming back.” He listened and then looked at me and said, “Let’s go.” We got up and walked out together silently acknowledging that we were committing to the road ahead.
At the end of the summer, he did go away to school and was left with one baby and a big belly. I can remember how hard it was being alone and trying to navigate this new chapter of my life and our relationship. There were so many tears and lonely nights and prenatal experiences to boot. I can remember driving to school in an old car my grandmother gave me that broke down a lot. My belly would be tucked under the tight steering wheel poked out beneath my brother’s big shirts and unzipped jeans. That song, “I believe I can fly” would come on the radio a lot and the warm hot tears of loneliness, shame, and failure would fall every time.
There was a lot of responsibility, living on my own, being a mom, working full time, and doing my best to maintain in my second year of college as a dually enrolled student. My dreams of living out the episodes of “A Different World” completely faded away as I gave up any chance of getting to live in a dorm like Whitley and her friends at Hillman. There were times when I hated him for getting to enjoy all of the fun involved with going away to school, but he promised me that everything he was doing would be for the betterment of our future. I’m no fool though. Some of it was for our future, but there was also a lot of other bs involved that just equaled living this exciting life while I was stuck back at home baring the weight of it all--literally and figuratively <insert pregnant emoji>.
I was blessed though, and I had the help of dear friends and my younger siblings who would pitch in as much as they could. My little sisters would ride their bikes over to help me after school, and my best friend would take notes in class and do things she didn’t have to as a single young lady living her best college life. God was there, and He reassured me of His love despite the pain I was feeling. I became well acquainted with scriptures that would become anchors in my life to this day. Two of which are:
“Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him.”
Psalm 127:3
“All things work together for the good of them who love God and are the called according to His purposes.”
Romans 8:28
The word was my silent sword when I encountered the stares, the judgment, etc. To borrow from Sade, they were my rock to swim to in the storm. No matter what I had done, God gave me my child. She was a gift and despite the peril of my errors, my life would have to work together for good. I held on to the belief and had faith that at some point, life would get easier/better.
My baby girl came bursting into the world, emerging from a complex delivery experience where they almost when in for her because she was in “distress”. From the day she was born, we fell in love and she continues to be a source of light and hope throughout the seasons of life. My mom was right. She was my daughter’s playmate, and as soon as she got her sea legs, they were thick as thieves. Their friendship actually eased the burden of parenting. She was born in the middle of a semester, and when she wasn’t with my mother, she was calmly sitting in her carrier absorbing the likes of Statistics, Child Psychology and whatever else was on my schedule at that time. My village stepped up all the more and my professors were understanding when I needed to be out for that week she was born or nurse her in class.
In this blog, I don’t have space or time to elaborate on how much value this little girl continues to add to my life. All of my children gave/give me my purpose. They are my favorite people. Their company and existence gives me a comfort, joy, and peace like nothing else. So why am I bringing this up? Why am I all in my feelings about the second of my five heartbeats right now? That little girl is now a woman, and this Saturday she will graduate from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. I speak for many when I say to know her is a privilege, and I cannot think about doing this life without her. She is heart, beauty, brains, and courage wrapped in the most graceful packaging. I wish so much that her dad could be here to see it. He passed away in 2009, and every time we reach these milestones, I miss him the most. Our children were the things that we got right.
So as I think about this coming Saturday and am doing my best to offload all of the feels that I feel to avoid ruining my make-up and the pictures, I want to thank God, my mother, my best friend, my siblings, and all of the people who helped me be strong enough to get her here. I have an Isaiah 61 ministry, so I live with the level of vulnerability and authenticity that align with my calling. I know shame. I know loss. I know pain. It is these experiences that connect me to people who are hurting and empower me to walk in my truth in order to encourage, to comfort and to serve as a tangible example of God’s love and grace.
Keeping it real, true, and free,
Garland Darling
