People look at me and see the stereotype before they even see my name. Blonde, young, folding baby socks on the carpet like I’ve got nothing better to do. I’ve heard it all—“must be living off benefits,” “probably dumped the baby on her parents,” “should’ve kept her legs closed.”
But what they don’t see is that this room? I decorated it myself. Every pastel elephant on the wall, every second-hand plush toy washed and lined up with care. They don’t know I wake up before the sun so I can shower and prep breakfast before my daughter even stirs. That I juggle freelance gigs during nap time and clean in ten-minute bursts between tantrums.
The truth is, I didn’t get to finish school the way other kids did. I swapped prom dresses for prenatal vitamins and exams for doctor visits. My body was still growing while I carried another human inside it. And yeah, some days I’m exhausted. Some days I cry folding tiny socks because I don’t know if I’m doing any of this right.
But then someone—like the old woman who smiled at me in the park and said I was doing a good job—makes all the difference. She didn’t know me, didn’t ask how old I was. She just saw me with my little girl, making her giggle with a sock puppet, and said, “You’re a good mum.”
And in that moment, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
My name is Eliza. I’m nineteen now. And my daughter, Mia, is five. She has curls like honey and the most serious little face when she’s coloring. She likes dandelions and cheese toast and insists on sleeping with her old stuffed bunny, Mr. Lops. Every time I look at her, I think, You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if the world doesn’t see it that way.
When I first found out I was pregnant, I was fourteen years old and scared out of my mind. I was dating this boy—Marc. He was sixteen, had a skateboard and a chipped tooth and laughed like he didn’t care about anything. He was the first boy to ever call me beautiful.
We weren’t careful. I didn’t even fully understand how everything worked. My mum was always working late, and we never had that talk. When I missed my period, I thought maybe I was just stressed. Then came the nausea. And then the second line on that test I took in the Tesco bathroom.