via Oprah Daily: The Cost of Mother Shaming by Nicole Lynn Lewis
Young mothers need a cheering squad in the form of economic and social policies, not the short shrift our country gives them, writes the founder of the nonprofit Generation Hope.
On my first Mother’s Day, a beautiful sun-drenched Sunday, I held my nearly 1-year-old happy, healthy daughter, overwhelmed with both gratitude and a need to protect her. I had learned early on that Mother’s Day is a day of celebration for some mothers and that our selectiveness about which mothers are deserving of support and resources is evident every day of the year. These biases, often used to shame and villainize mothers who do not meet the accepted definition of "good," create disparities for millions of women and families across the country, especially for one of the most maligned groups: Black teen mothers—like me.
Teen motherhood is a fact in this country. Though birth rates have been dropping for this group since 1990, the U.S. teen birth rate still remains higher than many other developed countries. And once a young woman becomes pregnant, we make it incredibly difficult for her and her baby to thrive. Teen mothers face an economic impossibility. Education is one of the best paths to higher wages and fulfilling careers, but with almost no legislative or institutional support, only about 50 percent of teen mothers finish high school by age 22, and fewer than 2 percent finish college by age 30. On average, a year of infant childcare across the U.S. is more expensive than a year of attending a public four-year college. Negative stereotypes about young mothers suggest that the main reason for their lack of academic success is an indifference to their education. As the founder of a nonprofit called Generation Hope, I have worked with hundreds of teen parents, and my colleagues and I see the exact opposite of apathy. These mothers are highly motivated to create a better life for their children, but one hurdle after another can make it feel impossible. Their difficult journeys mirror my own.
I was eight months pregnant, living day-to-day in a Motel 6, when I found out that I had been admitted into William & Mary. In the coming months, I scraped together the $300 to confirm my enrollment; found a one-bedroom apartment that was 45 minutes from campus but at least provided stable housing; worked with the financial aid office to ensure I qualified as an independent student when my daughter was born, allowing me to receive enough aid to pay my tuition; coordinated with my boyfriend to use our one car —a 1976 Cadillac—to get to and from campus each day; and arranged childcare with his sister, which was free but made my commute to drop her off and get to campus, then do it all over again in the evening, 150 miles.