Much like this post, I’ve started this post numerous times, only to end up deleting it. After reading this moving post yesterday over at Real Life Blog, I’ve finally decided to get it out there. This way others can hear my story and maybe you can better understand me and where I’m coming from. Little did I know it then, but this is where my frugality began. Rather unwillingly.
In 2000, I was a senior in high school. I was enrolled in many advanced classes, some earning college credit, and I was excelling academically. After graduation I had every intention of going to a popular University in my state, so that I could further my education and become a pediatrician. I had my future completely planned out. I wasn’t going to get married until I was atleast 25 so I could focus on school, and I didn’t want children until I was atleast 27.
Then it happened.
My world as I knew it was shaken.
I suspected that I was pregnant, so I went to Wal-Mart and bought a pregnancy test. I promptly went into their bathroom and took the test. It showed those infamous 2 blue lines. Surely it wasn’t accurate. I ignored it, and went on with my business. Over the course of 2 months, I took 10 home pregnancy tests. All of which said I was pregnant. I finally decided that they only way I was going to get an accurate result (I was still thinking accurate meant negative) would be to go to the pregnancy support clinic. It, too, was positive. There was no denying it anymore.
My parents hated my then-boyfriend, for various reasons, and they had just recently forbid me to see him. How in the world was I going to tell them my news?! At this point I was about 4 months along. The only people that knew were my boyfriend, and 3-4 of my closest friends. At one point one of my friend’s moms called my mom and told her I was pregnant, but my mom didn’t believe her. As a matter of fact, when she got off the phone, she was laughing. She seriously thought it was a joke. This came the very night I had finally found the courage to tell them. Once that happened, I chickened out and went back to figuring out my plan.
I could not fathom facing my parents and telling them how big of a failure I was. What would they say?
I did what I thought I had to do.
One evening I finally decided that I would tell my parents in the morning. I had Open Block (no class for the first block of that day), and I had to go to work right after school and close. I worked at a fast food restaurant, and closing meant I ended up being home around midnight–or later, depending on if we hung out after work or not. So I did it.
I wrote a note. Yes, you read that right. A Note. I left it on the table while my mom was running errands and my dad was at work. Since my day was busy, I knew I wouldn’t have to face them until the next morning.
But boy was I wrong!
*I’ll leave it there for now. There is no way my story could fit into one post, so be sure to check back for future installments.*