Personal Narrative: Growing Up As A Young Woman

It was three days after my eighteenth birthday. It was a day of many firsts. I drove a long distance to place I had never been by myself. First time being introduced to my boyfriend’s parents. Also realizing you should always unpack your car after a trip. Signing my own paper work legally as an adult. Biggest first of the day was being in my first car accident. Never thought being an adult could be so difficult.

Aristotle once said that “Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.” While other children grew up amazed by the night sky and all its wonders, I grew up captivated by the orchestration of the tiny universe within each and every one of us. Throughout my life, I am constantly mesmerized by the human body’s uncanny resilience against adversities. What fascinates me the most is the body’s ability to constantly overcome obstacles in its battle for survival. The intricate and interdependent symphony of our inner machineries working ceaselessly, enabling us to not only survive, but also thrive fascinates me unlike any other fields of knowledge. Yet, despite the body’s best effort to maintain this inner harmony, there comes a point when it can no longer burden the stress placed upon it. I learned this harsh reality through my father’s battle against his chronic kidney diseases.

Reproductive rights for women was not focused on until the issue of women’s rights in general became the main issue and focus. “Voluntary Motherhood”. The phrase voluntary motherhood is a new genuinely vision of motherhood. The idea of a female choosing to be a mother voluntarily and becoming pregnant is a wonderful image instead of being forced to carry on a pregnancy without the right of privacy and getting an abortion. Many young colored children are being brought into this world into broken families. For policy makers and government to understand why colored females have abortions more than any other race, first understand the social disorganization, value, intersectionality, and oppression of colored women.

On November 17,1989 my mother Juanita Renea Ohlinger went into labor at 6:00 A.M. she was in labor for 12hrs. She laid there in so much pain at Providence hospital until Dr. Kendal Foster showed up and told her she had to have a C-section because her pelvis would not expand. The nurse hooked my mother up to monitors and willed her to the operating room, my father Raymond F Smith was dressed in hospital operating clothes. Dr. Foster began to open my mother’s womb and pulled me out at 5:25 pm.

Leaving home signifies a coming of age into the beginning of adulthood, they say that’s when you really start to grow up. I was around thirteen years old when when my mother and I left home. It was around that time that I realized I couldn’t be a kid anymore, I no longer had that privilege. Thinking back, it seems like a dream you’ve just woken up from that you only have a vague memory of.

There are plenty of points in my eighteen years that made me grow up more than I really needed to. Moving from Michigan to Spain when I was nine, smoking my first cigarette when I was eleven, my dad leaving when I was eleven, my first alcoholic drink when I was twelve, losing my friends when I was fourteen, et cetera. Some of these were just me trying to act like an adult when I wasn't actually ready, but none of these were some pivotal point in my life where I went from being a child to being an adult. And now that I think about it, maybe that's just not how it works. Maybe adulthood doesn't always come crashing down on you at a major point in your life, but comes in gradually like the sea on a calm day rising higher and higher on the sand.

She would try to get lost. It was the eighties and we had no cell phones or GPS. But, we had a car, and she said we were free with a car. She drove down all the little roads, but we were never really lost because we were never really scared and all roads lead somewhere.

I was born January 9, 2003 at 11:44 P.M. I was born at the Mason City hospital and my mom, dad, and family was there. My dad was the only one in the room while I was being born. My grandpa was with all of my older siblings in the waiting room. When I was a baby I would only suck my thumb. I sucked my thumb until I was about six or seven, and I would never suck my thumb in public. I was the only one out of four who sucked my thumb. My brothers Gaige and Nikolas had a pacifier. My sister Lily also had a pacifier and I sucked my thumb.

Growing up, I never really liked children. From the crying over no reason to the whiny voices of deceitful little monsters, the feeling of overwhelmness and depression seemed to rush into me instantaneously whenever I was near one. I dreaded helping out in the nursery during Relief Society Enrichments and yearned to be free when I was stuck babysitting hyper little ones who did not seem to know what an indoor voice was and was all too familiar with screaming. The thought of having kids, let alone being near them was a nightmare. As I saw my peers coo and fuss over a first grader (who seemed to me, knew just the kind of power he had) for hours, I wandered how anyone could be so fascinated by a simple child. It was not until my Junior year that I received more than just that answer.

Going through life is not an effortless task for just about everyone, but a huge difference is made when one is guided through it along the way. Growing up, my brother has been a close companion and someone I relied on a surplus amount of times. I was awful at being sociable, attentive, or judicious as a little kid. Even though I still do not have much to show for those categories, I was able to drastically improve off of them thanks to him.

In everybody’s life there is a point of your life where we have to grow up a little and be more responsible than before. When it was my time to grow up a little bit more I was only a 11 years old, I had to start to mature a little bit more and be able to watch my little brothers and stay home alone. Before this would take place my twin and I would have to prove ourselves to are parents that we are capable to watch ourselves.

Growing up is never easy. Everyone, from the moment we’re born to the moment we leave to fend for ourselves, is told how to be themselves; how to act, talk, walk, think, feel, and believe. Eventually we reach a point in our lives where we figure out how to live for ourselves rather than blindly accepting what we’re told. We begin to discover ourselves as life progresses, learning about our passions, talents, strengths, weaknesses, and orientations. Growing up is never easy, but it’s an uphill battle when it comes to accepting and dealing with a differing sexual and romantic orientation. Trudging through a flurry of mental illnesses, nights of emotionally charged arguments and deafening yells thrown between relatives, self-image issues due to

Growing up it was hard being your own person with a twin attached to you, but that didn’t stop from trying. When I was little I didn’t have a clue what the world my parents were trying to protect me from. They tried to cover up the fact about their finical issues and about their jobs. My first day of school ever was with me crying saying I wanted to go back to my mom, making any excuse to get out of school. In 3rd grade I wanted to join the basketball team mostly because my sister was in basketball, but they told me I couldn’t join basketball until I was in 4th grade thus the beginning of my athletic career stared in fourth grade.

I once believed teaching was the least gratified, but most important career until I remembered motherhood which is more arduous yet less appreciated than any other job. Mothers serve for at least eighteen years, everyday, sunup and far past sundown, without sick days, and arguably no pay. My mother, Manola Jean-Mary having eleven children has done the impossible for twenty-two years with seventeen more to go. There has been countless opportunities missed, many decisions questioned, even hospitalization because of the side effects of stress, however with no regrets she continues to do her absolute best for every one of us. A dissertation could be written about her strength, hardships, and how she has prevailed, but this essay only briefly explains my mother as my source of inspiration. I reached a point where I lost all motivation, any urge to accomplish anything. I was convinced that everything I did was unsatisfactory, that my role in this world, and my efforts were unimpactful,

Growing up yes it happens to everyone. Each one of us grow like a rose from a seed to a blossomed beauty. As i was blossoming i realized that i didn't just grow up like that. Each day was a new adventure . All of us has had a few days that are still yet proud of to have accomplished. I as well had many successes throughout growing up