My Why

A wonderful writing friend recently asked me, “Is there a specific story you heard from one of your students that motivated you to write Things My Mama Never Told Me?” 

The answer is yes and no. Yes, there are many specific stories in Things My Mama Never Told Me that I can’t wait to share with you (and watch for snippets from some of those stories which I will be sharing in the weeks leading up to the May 13th book release ☺). But whether there is one specific student story that motivated me to write the book, I would have to say no.

Because there were a hundred little moments that built upon each other and then blended together to become one universal story from one universal teen. 

She was the teen inside of me who wanted to be loved by a high school sweetheart so much that she ignored red flags poking her in the eye. Like her boyfriend’s temper (he punched in walls and dented his car door with his fist). Like his manipulation (convincing me that a boy had needs which, if not met, could lead to medical problems like not being able to have sex in the future). Like his persistence without regard for me and my safety (those sweet kisses that led to unprotected sex when I was sixteen).

In my high school classroom, she was the teen writing a journal entry confirming my own teen inexperience: a lack of knowledge about her body, her intuition, her choices, her inner strength, her sexuality, her independence, her ability to be her own best friend and to accomplish her own dreams.

She was the teen who wanted to be accepted so much that she made unsafe decisions about what party to go to, whose car to ride in, what stranger to “friend” on social media, or whether to be pressured to make a decision she wasn’t ready to make.

She was the teen whose boyfriend demanded complete loyalty. She gave up her friends, her activities, her talents, and her dreams for him. She let him convince her to skip class and have sex behind the gym or in the canyon across the street from the school. Once she wore dark glasses and stayed after class to share her tears with me. 

She was the teen who didn’t really understand her body or his body or the different ways she could get pregnant or use birth control or contract STDs, even though she had attended sex ed classes in ninth and tenth grade. She was the girl who played an innocent game of  “Spin the Bottle” and when the bottle landed on her, went into the dark corner behind the couch with a cute boy she liked. She ended up pregnant and didn’t really know how.

She was the teen who didn’t have anyone with whom to share her fears, her questions, and her insecurities. She felt embarrassed to talk to her friends, afraid to talk to her counselor, and ashamed to talk to her mom. Would her friends even know the right answers? What would her counselor think of her? Would she end up in more trouble than she was already in?

These stories and many, many more joined together with my stories until I could no longer tell one teen girl from another. I wanted all of us to know everything about everything. I wanted us to hold each other tightly in the safest, purest kind of love. I wanted us to know our own strength and power and choice. 

And in that moment, my teen self knew she could and would write the book she wished she would have had.