February 1st, 2015. I walked into CVS, my hands shaking, to buy a pregnancy test. I was terrified. Honestly, I couldn’t believe my life had led me to this moment. Back at my apartment, completely alone, I read the directions with a pit in my stomach. I felt sick to my core. I didn’t want to take the test—I just wanted to disappear, to vanish into thin air.
Finally, I took the test and placed it on the bathroom counter. I turned off the lights and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, too afraid to face the truth. My mind raced with every possible scenario. After what felt like an eternity, I forced myself to look. At first glance, relief washed over me: I’m not pregnant! But then, I noticed it—a faint second line. NO. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a mistake. Maybe it was a false positive. Maybe everything would just go away.
But it didn’t. I was a mess. I turned on the saddest songs I knew and spent an hour in the shower, crying until there were no tears left inside me. This was supposed to be a happy moment for most people, a celebration of new life—but not for me. I was only 19, a sophomore in college, and a Division 1 tennis player on a full scholarship. Suddenly, everything I had worked for seemed at risk.
For the next few days, I isolated myself, unable to tell anyone. I clung to denial, hoping if I ignored it, it would disappear. A week later, I took another test, shaking with a mix of hope and terror. Maybe the first test was lying. But this time, there was no denying it—two dark, black lines stared back at me. I am pregnant.
Teen pregnancy. A reality I never imagined for myself. All my dreams and aspirations felt like they were slipping away. I feared my tennis career was over, my life as I knew it vanished in an instant.
In those dark moments, I found myself on my knees, praying to God for the first time in a long while. I begged for guidance, for strength, for a way to survive this overwhelming fear. Why me? I wondered. I was terrified, lost, and felt punished by life.
When I finally told my boyfriend, I braced for anger or disappointment. Instead, he was incredibly supportive. He reassured me, told me everything would be okay, and even shared that he had dreamed of marrying me someday. His calm, loving words offered some comfort, though I still felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me.
On February 23, 2015—my 20th birthday—I had my first ultrasound at a pregnancy resource center. They confirmed I was indeed pregnant. Seeing the little life inside me for the first time was surreal. At first, it looked like a mere blur on the screen. Then the tech zoomed in, and I saw tiny arms, legs, fingers, and even eyes. This wasn’t just a blob—it was a baby. A real baby growing inside me. I felt a connection I hadn’t felt before. My child was about 9 weeks and 5 days along, and for the first time, hope mixed with my fear.
I knew it was time to tell my parents. Calling my dad first, I struggled to even speak, finally choking out, “Dad, I messed up.” He wasn’t angry, just disappointed. Then came the three-way call to my mom. She was furious, her anger fueled by the shock that I was not a virgin. But eventually, she softened, telling me she loved me. My dad promised to fly out and pick me up from college, bringing me back home to California.
The car ride home was long, filled with talks about life spiraling out of control. At home, my mom hugged me tightly, and my siblings offered their support. But no one approved of my boyfriend. I argued, insisting I didn’t want to be a single mom—until March 24, 2015, when tragedy struck. My boyfriend died suddenly in a head-on collision. I was devastated, my worst fears realized: I would be raising this child alone.
The rest of my pregnancy was a battle. Depression weighed heavily on me. Getting out of bed, eating, sleeping—everything was exhausting. The only thing keeping me going was the life inside me, my son. Rumors swirled around me, and judgment followed me in church, but I learned to block it out. Every ultrasound photo, every tiny movement of my baby kept me motivated, giving me purpose when I felt I had none.
On September 21, 2015, my life changed forever. I met my son for the first time. In that moment, my depression vanished. He was my saving grace, the reason I could smile again, the most incredible gift I had ever received.
After his birth, I refocused my energy. I returned to school and my tennis career with renewed determination. My grades soared from a 1.98 before having him to a 4.0 afterward. Becoming a mother reshaped my priorities, teaching me resilience, dedication, and love like I had never known.
Being a young, single mom was hard—balancing school, athletics, finances, and my own life seemed impossible at times. But life has a way of making things fall into place. I learned that determination, love, and perseverance could overcome any obstacle. My advice to anyone in a similar situation is simple: never give up on your dreams. Your only limits are the ones you place on yourself.
