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October 13, 2010

Someone told me I wasn’t an adult yet. I’m twenty and I am raising a child on my own. I don’t think I am a child or a teenager any more. I quit being one at seventeen. I have made decisions no one at my age should have to make. I chose to go against some people and not get an abortion. I chose to stay in a bad relationship for the sake of my son. I chose not to move to Oregon to go to college so I could keep my son close to his family. Carson has always come first. I probably would have given up on school if it wasn’t for him. He has been me reason to do better even when it stresses me out too much. I have pushed threw the hard things because in my mind there’s no other option. I picked up and moved across the country for my son. I left all I am familiar with behind because I know I have a better chance at success here. I made the hard decision to move my son away from his dad. His dad is a great dad, just a bad significant other. I won’t lie, I cried on the floor of my empty house and thought about how much I was changing not only my life, but Carson’s, his dad’s, his dad’s family, and mine. I laid there praying I really was doing the best thing, then got up and locked the door to the first place that was mine, forever. I have made a large number of these types of decisions. Don’t tell me I am thinking or behaving like a child. Every movement in my life requires a large amount of thought, and children don’t do that.

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