From unplanned to unbreakable: Motherhood before maturity
On Feb. 25, my firstborn, Jody Caitlin, turns 33. I was 20 years old when I became a mother. Young. Foolishly in love. And absolutely unprepared. At 20, I did not know much about protection, and I honestly believed that pregnancy was something that happened to other people. It could never happen to me.
That was the confidence of youth talking. Or perhaps the ignorance.
When I found out I was pregnant, I had known my ex-husband for only three months. Three months. Looking back, it sounds reckless. At the time, it felt catastrophic. My first thoughts were not of baby clothes or nursery themes. My first thoughts were fear. My life, I thought, would now be troubled and filled with hardship. Being a mother at that age was not ideal. It was not part of any dream I had carefully written down.
But life rarely asks for our plans.
When Jody was nearly one year old, we decided to get married and make it official because everyone believed that was the right thing to do. Three years later, on Dec. 24, 1996, Jacqueline Christel arrived. My Christmas Eve baby. By then, I was 24. Still young. Still figuring things out. But already stronger than I had been at 20.
It takes a village
Another four years passed, and the marriage ended. Just like that, a chapter closed. I packed up what little pride I had left and moved back home. My mom and dad welcomed the three of us with open arms. In many ways, they became parents to us three. They were our safety net, our compass, our steady hands when I felt like I was still a child raising children.
We went through challenges. Financial worries. Emotional bruises. Long nights of wondering if I was enough. I was growing up while raising two little girls who depended on me for everything. There was no room for self-pity. I worked hard. I hustled. I built my career step by step. My daughters grew up watching that.
But our challenges were not only financial.
As I slowly tried to rebuild my personal life, there were men who entered and exited our world. Some stayed briefly. Some overstayed. And my daughters, even at a young age, had opinions. They were protective. Fiercely protective.
There were boyfriends they did not approve of. There were tense dinners and quiet car rides. There were moments when I could feel their discomfort without them saying a word. They had already experienced one broken home. They did not want another emotional disruption.
Showing up for each other
For them, every new man represented uncertainty. For me, it represented hope. There were arguments. Tears. Hurt feelings on both sides. I wanted companionship. They wanted stability. Sometimes those desires collided in painful ways.
Looking back now, I understand them more than I did then. They were not being difficult. They were guarding their peace. They were guarding me.
It was not easy for them to watch their mother date. It was not easy for me to balance being a woman with needs and being a mother first. We stumbled. We learned. We adjusted. Through every disagreement and uncomfortable season, one thing remained constant. We showed up for each other.
And somehow, that was enough.
Perhaps that is why, despite the instability and the learning curves, they grew into grounded, intelligent, and independent women.
Steady, focused, resilient
Watching them finish college felt like watching a long prayer answered. Both graduated from the University of Santo Tomas. That alone felt like a victory lap, not just for them but for me. It was proof that despite my imperfect choices and the detours life handed us, they were steady. They were focused. They were resilient.
But we were not done.
With hard work and many sacrifices, I was able to send them to Toronto for an additional two-year degree. Letting them go was terrifying. Canada sharpened them. It stretched them. It gave them independence that both scared and thrilled me. I had to trust that everything we had been through had prepared them for the world.
Now they are 33 and 29. Working. Building their own names. Carving their own spaces in industries that evolve faster than I can sometimes keep up with.
And here we are. Fifty-three, thirty-three, and twenty-nine.
The numbers suggest distance. But in reality, it does not feel like two decades between us. It feels like we have grown up together.
Wonderfully uncomplicated
We have become travel buddies. Best friends. Occasional sparring partners when someone is tired or hungry. But mostly, we are a team.
I can still carry my own luggage. I can walk ten thousand steps without complaining. I can drive them around when we travel. I am not the mom waiting on a bench while her daughters explore. I am right there with them, sometimes even leading the way.
There is something wonderfully uncomplicated about being three women traveling together. We booked one room. We rotate bathroom time efficiently. We walk around in towels without awkwardness. We borrow each other’s makeup. We critique outfits. Jody and I even share clothes. Our closets feel like a joint venture at this point.
Jacqueline, meanwhile, works with me now. Which means I have built-in tech support. She makes sure I can differentiate real videos and photos from AI because, apparently, at 53, I am no longer qualified to detect what is authentic on the internet. She saves me from reposting something fake. She explains trends before I embarrass myself. She also introduces me to the coolest new songs, so I do not remain permanently stuck in my 90s playlist.
In many ways, the student has become the teacher.
On holidays, we love to sleep in. Nine in the morning feels civilized. We each find our own corner of the room, listening to the same playlist while applying makeup. Sometimes it is a song Jacqueline insists I must know. It is our quiet ritual before the day begins. By ten, we are out the door.
We go to the boutiques we love. The beauty stores. The places where we claim we are just looking. It usually hurts my pocket because, more often than not, I still end up paying. Some habits never change. But at the end of the day, when I see their faces light up, I am happy.
How motherhood changed me
Motherhood at 20 felt like a mistake. Motherhood at 53 feels like my greatest achievement.
If I had waited until my thirties, perhaps life would have been more stable. More conventional. But then I would not have this dynamic. I would not have daughters who feel like sisters. I would not have built-in travel companions who correct my tech blind spots and curate my playlists.
I would not have this beautiful realization that we have matured side by side.
So on Feb. 25, when Jody blows out 33 candles, I will not just be celebrating her birthday. I will be celebrating the 20-year-old girl who thought her life was over. The girl who had no idea that what felt unplanned would become unbreakable.
And if you ask me today whether I would change anything, my answer is simple: No. Because the life I feared at 20 became the bond that defines me at 53.
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