Pregnant with purpose, being delivered into my destiny. Pt.2

Part 2

Hello! Welcome back. I am sincerely grateful that you are continuing on this journey with me. You and your time are valuable to me, and I don't take you for granted. Are you ready to continue our conversion? If so, let's go y'all. 

I sat with my church squad on the church's balcony during a Watch Night New Year's Eve service. There had been talking in our group about another girl having an interest in the Intro. I remember the sense of urgency I felt thinking about losing him. Anxiety is probably a more accurate term for what I was feeling. I was so worried that the back of the seat was wet with my sweat. In all of my confusion and desperation to hold on to the Intro, I recall praying to lose my virginity to him before the end of the year during that service. I was so young and so naive. There was a stigma associated with being a virgin, and I wanted no part of that. I was too immature to think through the lie that being a virgin was a bad thing or not cool. This, in itself, proved that I was too immature to handle the mental stress of a physical relationship. The issue was that my body was prepared. I prayed that God would forgive me and understand my prayer. In my prayer, I tried to reason my sin away by saying we will be married eventually. So as long as we were going to be married, it wasn't really a sin. Later that month, I gave away my innocence to the Intro. I thought as long as I continued to have sex with him and make that the topic of our conversations, I could keep him solely focused on me, and I would continue to be the one he loved. I continued to have sex with him regularly, carefully coordinating sneaking him into my home before my parents arrived home from work. I thought this ensured my place in his heart. I remember being excited about the thrill of almost being caught but still being exhausted about coordinating this activity. But it was a small price to pay to remain the apple of his eye. 

 Words can't express the sadness I feel as I write this. How could there not be one person in my family, my church, my school, or my village that I felt safe enough to talk to? Why didn't anyone see me? Many times, we have a way of focusing on and fixing the problem we see. Problems are normally representative of much larger, more complex issues. We all need to learn to stop the knee-jerk reactions and ask, “Why?” In my profession, this is called a Root Cause Analysis (RCA). I have learned to apply the RCA methodology to every area of my life. If you put a bandage on cancer, is it not still cancer? It might be cancer you can't see. It might be cancer that you don't have to deal with now, but it is still cancer. Take the time to identify and treat the cancer. Giving the cancer your attention now will save you time and quite possibly your life or the lives of others.

 Challenge - To all the parents, aunties, uncles, big brothers and sisters, pastors, preachers, ministers, teachers, mentors, and community leaders, you have to have hard conversations. It is your responsibility to meet those in your care at their need. The conversation cannot and will not stay in your comfort zone. Be prepared to teach them from your pain and be prepared with a detailed plan to get them from their problem to their goal. For example, I was taught that I should save myself for marriage in my church. That is true, and I believe it to be the best advice. But what was the plan to deal with the way my body felt? What was the plan to deal with the lie that being a virgin was bad? I will take it a step further, where was the strategic plan to address these things before I started to feel the urges? I believe planning and acting on these plans is how someone could have helped me solve the problem I had and is also how we can help others solve their problems.

Later that year, our youth group was planning a ski trip. The Intro and I talked about how romantic it would be to sneak away and be with one another during the trip. I agreed but said that I had to find a way to get birth control before we left. Although we were using condoms, I knew that I needed to protect myself as well. I was only fourteen, and I couldn't go to a clinic at this time and get a prescription. To see a doctor, I would need my parents’ consent. I wanted to talk to my mother about it. But I knew she wouldn't have the conversation, and I would certainly be punished - or worse - for bringing it up. This conversation would confirm that I was indeed having sex, and she would punish or discipline me for being fast. I decided to go to the closest person to me at the time, my sister. She is 10 years older than me and was living on her own in Maryland. I called her and pleaded my case. I told her about the trip. I shared that I had been having sex but wanted to be careful. I asked her not to tell my mother and to help me. The next day, my entire world fell apart. I remember the disgust in my father's eyes. I remember my mother screaming at me and asking if I was planning a "sexcapade" on a church trip. I tried and tried to plead with her. I asked her to just help me protect myself. Instead, I was told that I wasn't going on the trip. I was forbidden from speaking to or being around him in any way as well. The embarrassment and betrayal I felt are still fresh in my mind when I think about this moment. I thought I could trust my sister. I thought my parents would see me as rather mature because I tried to ensure that I wouldn't get pregnant. It seemed no matter what I did, I was wrong and bad. I didn't go on the trip. I took the punishment. I was used to the tense environment in my house anyway, so there was really no change in that way. I was used to being alone and lost in my thoughts too. I learned to cope with everything. Like most teenage girls, the punishment was not enough to deter me from my behavior. Then it happened.

 I got pregnant. 

It was the spring of my 9th-grade year. I tried my best to hide it from my family while being responsible as well. I couldn't get birth control independently at this age, but I could go start prenatal care. The Intro seemed almost excited about being a father. I was terrified and tired. I was so tired from managing school, extracurricular activities, and daydreaming about this fabulous life I was going to have one day. I wanted to be an obstetrician specializing in neonatology and an entrepreneur. It was more than a daydream; I felt it. I felt that a pregnancy wouldn't stop me from achieving this dream, but it would certainly make the path more difficult. But all I knew was difficulty. In fact, difficulty is where I thrived. I prayed that God give me the strength to do it all. I knew I didn't have the answers, but I asked God to help me. Through all of my confusion, rejection, and stress, there was a new feeling. I started to think about the life growing in me. I talked to the new life in me. I expressed my love for it. I said that I would always love and care for it and promised that it would never be alone. I was showing the new life the love that I never felt. I promised the new baby that I would be to it everything I didn't feel I had. I was falling in love with the baby in me. 

My mother learned my secret when I was three months pregnant. Even when I think about this now, all I hear is my mother saying, "Your sister had a baby (at 19), and that almost killed me. How could you do this?" My parents asked what I was thinking but didn't ask what I was feeling and why I felt it. I honestly think they thought I did this to them, and in return, they reacted to protect themselves and their image. My feelings or thoughts were not a priority or worth exploring. My parents made the decision that I would have an abortion. I had no say. I didn't consent at all. I had no control. A memory that will never leave me is of me crying on the doctor's office's bathroom floor while I prayed for strength. I talked to my baby, explaining that it would be okay, and we would be together soon, just before the procedure. I knew my baby's fate but had no control over my own, so we were both helpless. Arriving home, I was expected to resume my normal activity. I wasn't afforded the time and space to grieve and process what happened to me or what made me think pregnancy was an option. I was expected not to be emotional. I was expected not to feel empty. I was expected to feel like nothing had happened. I was expected to resume life as usual. I was not the same. Nothing was the same. To my list of negative emotional baggage, I added feelings of violation and loneliness.

The major change at this point is that I experienced unconditional love for once in my life. While I was loving this unborn child, I felt that this child was loving me back. I felt it to be pure and bright. I couldn’t say the same with the Intro. There would be a series of events that would show me that the Intro was not showing me love. It's probably best to say that the Intro showed lots of girls, including a cousin of mine, the same “love” he showed me. To be honest, at this point, I didn't care. I experienced love and wanted that back. I was upset that it was taken from me, and there was nothing that I could do to stop it. I had no control over anything in my life. I wasn't happening to life; life was happening to me. While the Intro remained my boyfriend, he was no longer the apple of my eye. The love that I experienced during my brief pregnancy was what I desired. The desire to feel this love again led me to decide to get pregnant just a year later. The results were the same. My parents arranged for me to go to my sister's doctor in Maryland, who would perform the procedure without my consent. After the second pregnancy, my parents took me to see a psychiatrist. I guess they thought there had to be something wrong with me. I understand that. Who in their right mind would decide to get pregnant as a teenager, knowing that they would be forced into abortion? But why didn't someone stop and say, “Let's look at our family”? Why didn't they ask, "Could it be us? Is it all of us?" After a few sessions with me, the psychiatrist decided that my parents needed sessions as well. Shortly after my parents started going for sessions, it became less important for me to be in therapy, and we stopped attending. I still prayed and talked to God, but I was broken. I had no hope and no love. The pain and lack of love were physically visible too. I look at pictures of myself from these years and see the sadness and despair in my eyes. Of course, there is a smile on my face in many of them. But it is the fake smile we all have. It's the smile where the lines we all have around our eyes don't show. These little lines are a real indicator of the authenticity of a person's smile. Real emotions can't be faked, no matter how hard you try. 

When I went away to college, I strayed away from my religious upbringing. It was the mid 90's, and the Nation of Islam was becoming more popular and accessible to me. I took full advantage of my newfound freedom from my parents and the Intro being in a different state. I had not healed from my past trauma and craved love and acceptance. This left me open to find it in anyone willing to give it to me. You truly attract people who are where you are. That is when I met the man who fathered two of my children (Tyree and Azariah). Let's call him the Haze. I would eventually have a wedding service with him (I will explain in a bit…)

 The Haze and his friends spoke about Islam and the Five-Percent Nation, which made me very curious. I would spend hours talking to them about Christianity and Islam and which was the true religion. These conversations would lead me to spend hours reading books on Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. I prayed that God show me what religion was real and show me what religion I was supposed to be in. I felt close to God and felt a pull toward God. I felt the need to draw closer to God but gave more and more of my time to the Haze. I wanted him to fulfill a need I had. He proved to be a distraction from school and my increasing thirst for learning about and spending time with God. We had very little in common and were clearly meant to be temporary in one another’s lives. That reality was overshadowed by the fact that he was easy for me to talk to, and he showed me an abundance of attention. I don't believe the attention he showed me was because he was smitten with me; instead, he had nothing better to do. He wasn't in school. He was barely working and had no goals for his life. I think he showed me attention because I made myself available to him. I made myself available to talk to him between my classes and hang out with him and his friends. I would do things to make their apartment feel like a home by cooking and just hanging out. I fulfilled two roles; I was the homegirl and the girlfriend. Everything in me told me that I shouldn't be with him. My sister-friends didn't understand this at all. To be honest, I didn't either. I even had college professors chastise me in public and in private for being with him. This one professor tried to save me from me. He spoke to me about the bright future I had. I just couldn't hear his voice over the stories of inadequacy I had been telling myself for years. As the Haze desired more time from me, I gave it to him. I was like a sheep being led to the slaughter. I managed to keep my grades high and tried to exist both in his world and my college world. Eventually, my juggling act caught up with me. You can't be in two places at once. This is why it is essential to surround yourself with a tribe that is at and higher than your level. There is a saying that I live by: "Chickens don't hang out with eagles." On the surface, you think that this just states the obvious. But it is actually a pretty deep thought. Chickens spend most of their time with their heads down in the dirt, traveling in circles not far from where they start. Eagles, on the other hand, have sights on the sky; they have the desire and capability of going higher. Even better, when things need to be investigated, the eagle can change its perspective and position by flying to determine which way to go. I didn't have this wisdom at this time. I was numb. My heart and my head were disconnected. My heart's urges overpowered my head's reasoning. Making myself available to the Haze would soon develop into him expecting that I stay with him, which resulted in my getting pregnant. 

I talked to God all the time about how way off-course my life was. I knew the decision to create this life with the Haze was a poor decision. I recognized the way I compromised who I was as a young woman and as a student. I compromised my health and safety to play a trivial role in a relationship where love didn't exist. I asked God to forgive me, even in my wrongdoing. Throughout my pregnancy, I often searched and prayed for a way to escape the physically and emotionally abusive relationship I found myself in. When I looked at the Haze, I knew that he wasn't ready. I would spend months leading up to my due date telling him we had to prepare and grow up and get ready to be parents. My words fell on deaf ears. He continued to be the same person he always was. I expected him to be evolving the same way I was. It would be years before I would realize that it is impossible to control or make any person do anything. You might suggest a change. You can even advise a change should be made. You can even manipulate situations and circumstances around a person in an attempt to force their hand. But in the end, every person has to decide to change, no matter how big or small. The Haze decided he was not going to change. He decided to focus on smoking weed, hanging out, making music, and selling drugs to get money to make music. He was focused on him and what he wanted.

 Life Lesson - If you are considering having a child with someone, look at their priorities. Is it easy for them to put others first? Is it easy for them to put you first? Do they do it with an attitude, or do they get joy from their sacrifice? This will tell you what type of parent they will be. Make your decision based on the answers to these questions. Please don't think anything will change. Take it from me, it won't. It's probably more socially acceptable if I say the likelihood of change is slim. The child I was carrying was not going to alter the Haze's life at all. The child would just add to his life. I knew I wasn't going to let my baby live a life like that. I knew that feeling all too well and wasn't going to allow that to happen to my son. I knew what it felt like to live that life.  

I attempted to leave him several times during my pregnancy. We lived in the Arbuta Arms apartments in Baltimore at the time, and our apartment was on the top floor. We would argue because when I got home from work, the house would be full of his friends smoking weed and eating the food we struggled to buy or was donated to us. I was afraid we would be put out because the neighbors complained about the smoke. There were countless occasions I would pack bags in attempts to leave. The Haze would take my clothes out and throw them in the air and laugh. I hated my life. I hated feeling like a caged animal. On this one particular day, after an unfruitful attempt at packing my bags, I just left. I walked down the stairs and saw a group of young men I knew were in "the life" standing in the doorway. The walls were thin in our apartment, and they knew all too well how he treated me. I wouldn't be surprised if he bragged about how he treated me to them in passing. As I approached them in my very pregnant state, one said, "You don't deserve that. You want us to take care of him?" I said no, "I just want to leave." I walked out of the complex and down Patapsco avenue looking for a phone to call someone. I didn't have anyone to call. He knew that. I knew that. I had no place to go. After some time walking and cars stopping to ask if I was working (if I was a prostitute), I decided to go back home. I didn't want to further complicate an already horrible situation with more trauma. At least at home, I knew what I was dealing with. I didn't know what danger I might find or could find me walking the streets that night.

My labor was difficult. I was in active labor for 29 hours, and although I had an epidural, it did not work. I felt all the pain but was not prepared mentally or physically for the natural labor process. When the contractions started, instead of relaxing into the pain and surrendering, I held the pain in. I pulled my own hair out, trying to cope with the pain. I did the opposite of what one should do in labor. I didn't know any better. My resistance to the labor process extended the labor and put both of us in grave jeopardy in my preeclamptic state. But when my baby was born, my heart was overjoyed. He was calm and inquisitive. He was peaceful. Although I was exhausted and depleted when I looked at him, I saw what could be possible for him and me. I saw love in his quiet eyes. His eyes required me to love, lead, protect, and provide for him. I joyfully accepted his requirements. I knew being intentional about giving him a biblical name, even though I was living outside Christianity's lines, was fitting. He would be Tyree. I knew the name fit. He would be my rock. He would be my island of hope. At that moment, he became the sole reason to set standards for me a little higher and grind a little harder. True to his name's meaning, he also would be familiar with war in his life, and that was okay. He would be my rock, and I would be his. Tyree and I would be good.

To my surprise, walking after labor proved very difficult. All of the hours of resisting labor strained muscles I didn't know I had. I could only walk holding onto the walls or to his bassinet that I wheeled through the apartment. The healing process was slower than I expected, and I planned to go back to work when he was four weeks old. Don't judge me. I didn't know any better, and we needed food. I also knew I had to be ready to leave if an opportunity presented itself. I went to visit my parents for a week when Tyree was two weeks old. The Saturday I returned home, I didn't inform the Haze that I was coming. When I walked into the apartment, I could feel something was different. The door to Tyree's nursery was locked… Why would it be locked? If we weren't there, who would need to go in? The Haze explained the guys were over, and he didn't want them to go in. I quickly responded by saying, "You never locked the door before; why now?" I dismissed his answer and continued to walk toward the bedroom and noticed the sheets were off the bed. I questioned that as well. He said they needed to be washed. I knew this was a lie because I was the only one that had ever done laundry. Just then, the phone rang. The Haze was jumpy because of my interrogation but became visibly more anxious when the phone rang. I answered it while looking at him, and the other person hung up. This would happen about three more times over the course of that evening. I asked the Haze if there was something he wanted to tell me. He looked at me like I was actually crazy. I reminded him that I hated to be lied to and that it's always better to be honest, especially when you've been found out. He stuck to his lie. When the phone rang the next time, I picked it up again and said, "Don't hang up. It's okay." The person on the other end of the phone stayed on. After an uncomfortable pause, I asked if they were still on the line. She responded, "Yes." I introduced myself and asked who she was. She told me she was a coworker and had been seeing him. I asked what that meant, "seeing" him. She explained she had been over at the house several times lately and that they were intimate. I decided to validate her story and asked what she saw in the house. She proceeded to explain what our living room furniture looked like in great detail. She told me what dishes were in the kitchen sink, all of which were still there. She described what the bedroom looked like. She even indicated there was a room she couldn't get in. It was Tyree's room. I unlocked the door to the nursery and saw all of his things, and mine, had been thrown in. He literally sanitized the house of my existence. I was shocked but quite relieved. Still on the phone with her, I explained that I had been his girlfriend for the last few years. I told her I was done and was not upset at her. I assured her she wasn't responsible for this, that he was. I told her that I would not be a problem for them and encouraged their new relationship because my new son and I were OUT! When I was done talking to her, I asked if she wanted to talk to him. She responded, "Yes." I handed the phone to the Haze. With a bewildered look on his face, he took the phone, and I finished packing our clothes. I think he was confused by my lack of emotion. I was very calm and systematic in executing my exit strategy. But why wouldn't I be? I had been carefully reviewing it for months. When he completed his call, he attempted to explain himself to me. I heard nothing. Dismissing him, I called my parents and let them know what happened. I didn't wait for them to shame me or chastise me for being in this position from the start. I continued to execute my plans. I asked my mother to call my aunt to see if I could live with her. I can't remember why living with my sister wasn't an option. My sister and her husband did pick Tyree and me up the next morning, something I am eternally grateful for, and I never looked back. I mean, I was Angela Basset in all of her Waiting to Exhale glory OUT! I reached down deep and found some black girl swagger and sashayed out with baby Tyree in tow! 

He called and tried to plead his case over the next few weeks. He also asked me if he could come to pick us up to spend Father’s Day with his new son. I agreed.

 Life Lesson - Brace yourself ‘cause this is gonna be hard to deal with - But when people don't get what they want from you in the way they normally get it, they know what things to say to get you to volunteer it. See, the Haze understood that I was done as done could be. He also knew I was all about being a mother and wanted the best for my new son. He played into my idea of a family, if only for a day. He knew acting as if he wanted to be around his son would make me let my guard down. He knew I would never stand between him and his child. I agreed. The Haze picked me up from my aunt's house, and we caught the train from P.G. County to Baltimore and spent a nice day together with his parents. Things were good until it was time for me to leave to catch the train back to P.G. County. His whole disposition changed. He had quickly become the unstable man who used to laugh as he threw my clothes in the air. I was afraid. I wasn't afraid for me - I was afraid for Tyree. A mother's fear for her child is a wild and scary thing.

As we made our way on the bus from his parents’ home to Penn Station in Baltimore, his anger grew with each passing minute. He was loud, dramatic, and making a scene. He wanted people to see him. I ignored him and focused all of my attention on Tyree, making sure to hold the baby bag with my "escape" money close. He kept saying, “I told you if you ever try to leave, I would take my son, and you would never see him again.” The people on the bus looked at us, but no one offered to help. Finally, it was time to get off the bus. The Haze got up and pushed past me and Tyree having a temper tantrum. An older lady who looked to be on drugs touched me and said, "You don't deserve that. You need to get away from him.” The irony of what I presumed to be a drug addict appealing to my not so common sense is amazing. She was an angel to me. Her words prompted me to channel my inner warrior as I walked into the train station. When I walked in behind him, he grabbed Tyree and the bag with the money and pushed me to the ground. I started screaming and held onto the carrier as if my life depended on it. It did. I knew if I let go, there was a chance I would not see Tyree again. I also knew how he was pulling and shaking the carrier; he had no regard for the life it held. I screamed and cried, "Help me! Someone, please help me!" I pleaded with people to engage; instead, people looked at me and kept on their way. I was confused, but I fought back. Before long, he too was on the floor, and I had the carrier. He was still on me, but I had Tyree. I am sure our wrestling match probably only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like an hour. The police came, and he continued to act out and blame me for calling the man on him. He yelled and screamed all kinds of insults at me as they carried him off. I was so embarrassed. My clothes were torn. My legs and arms were bruised. My face was covered in tears, and my hair looked like I had been through a tornado. It didn't matter; my baby was unharmed and safe. We were together. 

I will pick up with part three soon.

Keep evolving toward excellence!!