Being a mom, no matter the age, is hard. It’s such a weird space. It is something that you cannot begin to comprehend and understand unless you are one. The gravity, the weight of the world on your shoulders—trying to learn this new version of yourself, mourn your past self, and embrace all that motherhood has.
It’s not just hard because of sleepless nights, blowout diapers, and baby cries. It’s hard in ways that make you look at the world differently. It’s hard because it’s so beautiful and raw—you don’t want to mess up. It’s hard because you’re in a new world with more love than you’ve ever had. It’s hard because you are someone’s world.
For me, I was never a person who ever felt loved, no matter who was around and what they had to give. I always felt alone in a room full of people, in a house pouring with siblings. It was a shift for me because I felt I was undeserving.
Having children was always something that I wanted—being a mom was always a person I wanted to be. The idea of that wasn’t going to be feasible, or so I thought. From the time I was twelve years old until I was nineteen, I was told that would never be my reality, even the month before I found out I was pregnant.
Then they came—my Aspyn Dior and Alaïa Mae.
Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy being pregnant with twins as a textbook sick person. I almost lost them. I almost lost my life. I was single, dealing with this alone—relatively. I didn’t have friends. Those that were around genuinely traumatized me in ways that choke me up even remotely thinking about it.
I had a traumatic birth. Even through that, the three of us almost lost our lives. During a time that was supposed to be all about bringing in life, a time of pouring life into me, it felt like the opposite just kept happening—like I was being punished for something, something I didn’t even know I did.
But those girls, man… your children make everything worth it. Everything.
They came. It got harder. It got easier. I was happy. Sometimes I was sad. NICU stays, single mom life, many milestones hit—some not. I settled into my life, questioning why I got them, why I got to have two little girls that love me so much when I couldn’t even love myself.
Postpartum had me so messed up that I questioned all the time if I truly was deserving to be their mom—to have their love. Which is so weird, because I’ve never heard anyone talk about that. Maybe I’m alone in that. I’m not sure. Either way, it’s okay—that’s my experience.
While I was trekking along the twin mom path, I found out I was having another baby. It was a cryptic pregnancy. Which—hello, what the fuck?! Like, I thought that was only on TikTok. LOL. Jk! But seriously, guys, it was a shock to my system.
I had no time to prepare. The dad wasn’t taking care of our first two—I knew damn well he wasn’t going to be helping me with number three. Spoiler alert: at first, he didn’t. While I may have lived with my parents, I brought her—Alaska—into this world, brought her home… alone.
I had to balance three kids. Alone.
No partner, no help with night feeds, no special reassurance. I had to figure out the ins and outs, manage PPD and PPA. Thankfully, this was a time when I got closer to my two best friends, one of my sisters, and my parents. They were truly a saving grace.
However, there were so many things going on, and so many people that ruined my experience because—let’s face it—so many people are just selfish, bad people. They would rather have tea and talk than realize there’s a young girl on the other end whose world they’re destroying.
After that experience, I realized many people for who they were, the world for what it is, and the strength I had in me.
This was in the midst of trying to figure out what was going on with the twins. They were 15 months old when Alaska was born. They were doing almost everything they should—except talking and a few other things.
Everyone around kind of chalked it up to the preemie thing, but I knew it wasn’t that.
Now, it’s semi-settled—they have a developmental disability and sensory issues. There’s still a lot up in the air with that, but a lot is coming together, too. It was hard to come to terms with. It was hard watching them continuously get treated differently by daycares and teachers. It wasn’t until this year, at their new school, that I finally felt safe sending them somewhere.
Alaska has grown and now does things her big sisters can’t yet. Things are changing.
I have grown and done things that 19-year-old pregnant me couldn’t even imagine.
I have had to stop moving so fast and remind myself: God made me these specific girls’ mom for a reason. He blessed me with them—surprised me with them—for a reason. He’s granted me the experiences He has—the pain, the joys, the struggles, and the fear—for a reason.
I’ve learned to just stop. Enjoy. Soak it in.
I’m not going to know everything. I’m not always going to do it with ease. I’m not always going to struggle. I’m here, right now, with my babies—day in, day out—loving, teaching, and watching them grow, while I am learning, growing, and experiencing. And that’s all that matters & I want you to know that too.
YOU are doing great.
No matter if you missed that seven-month photoshoot, if Ms. Rachel has been playing on a loop, if you cry and break down, if you feel like you can’t figure it out.
Take your time. Embrace your life.
Yesterday doesn’t have to be today, and that’s the beauty of it all.
You’ll find your way.
Make sure to give yourself grace.
