Raising a child in someone else’s home has to be one of the most difficult things that I have ever done in my life. I must have weighed my options over a million times before I decided to make that step. It wasn’t easy but sometimes in order to take one step forward you have to take three steps back. I was standing in the middle of my empty apartment staring at the empty walls where precious still images once hung. Beneath me the debris and dirt that was left behind from moving all my furniture, and as my eyes gazed back and forth I could see ghost of the past walking through, Hear the distant laughter and voices that once filled this place. This place I once called my home, and now it was empty. And nothing or no one could remove this ill feeling of loneliness and discontent that I felt in the pit of my stomach. I slowly slid down on to the floor as I leaned on the wall and I just sat there and I just started to think about it all. Where did I go wrong? And all I could do was cry. It was like I couldn’t catch a break no matter how hard I tried. A simple little apartment meant more to me than anyone could ever imagine. It was my security and the one thing I could offer my daughter. No matter what else happened in my life at least I still had a home, and just like that in a blink of an eye it was gone.
Moving back in with my parents was the hardest thing I had to do not only for myself but for my daughter as well. We were used to living on our terms, and having to move in with someone else took some time to get used to, and at times it’s still extremely hard. I went from sleeping on my nice big queen sized bed to sleeping on a sofa bed. My daughter had to give up her own space, in exchange for little corner in the living room.
For days on end I would just became consumed in my own little world. A world filled with sadness, anger and embarrassment. I went from being this girl who was full of life who had such a promising future, to falling flat on her face and becoming imprisoned in her own thoughts. I let my circumstances determine who I was. I let others people’s opinion affect me and began to believe what they said. I felt like I was in a hole I just couldn’t dig my way out. I started to compare my life and accomplishments against others. I would look at my cousin’s brothers and sisters and just think what have a done NOTHING. Look at them with professions and married and living in nice homes living life. And here I am sleeping on a couch next to my daughter at 28.
It took a lot of strength to get me off the floor. But I’m up and moving and I’m not ashamed. I’m no longer ashamed to say I fell for the wrong man. I am not ashamed to say I am a single mom. I am not ashamed to say I had to move back in with my mom so that I can go back to school and move towards getting a degree. Finally I can say I am not ashamed.