MOTHER

I became a mother at sixteen.

Sixteen.

A baby raising a baby–

but that little heartbeat saved me before I ever saved her.

I found out I was two months pregnant,

and before her,

I was headed straight toward destruction.

I wanted to close my eyes

and never wake up again.

But the moment I saw her on that ultrasound,

the moment her tiny outline lit up the screen—

I changed.

Right there.

Right then.

She became my lifeline.

From sixteen to twenty-five,

I brought five children into this world

and survived more miscarriages than I speak out loud.

Motherhood?

It’s beautiful—

but it’s heavy.

Taxing.

Terrifying.

Because you’re holding multiple lives in your hands,

and you pray every day

not to mess up.

My memory is spotty now—trauma will do that—

but what I DO know is this:

I’m a better mother today

than I was a year ago,

five years ago,

thirteen years ago.

I grew up fast because I had to.

Because they needed me to.

Out there, people call me a “baby mama.”

But let me tell you something—

I am a MOTHER.

A warrior.

A protector.

A queen.

They’ll never know how many nights I cried

just wanting to give them the best life possible.

How many times I prayed—

for their strength,

their health,

their understanding of this wild thing called life.

I pray they smile.

I pray they dance like no one is watching.

They watch me

like hawks.

So everything I do,

everything I say,

has to be intentional.

Purposeful.

Because in their eyes,

I am the blueprint.

I am their queen.

My princesses.

My prince.

And they will always be treated as such.

God gave me five heartbeats—

even if one of my princesses now rests in His hands.

She was here.

She mattered.

She left her mark.

And I will never stop saying her name.

They call me “Mommy,”

and that is the highest honor I have ever received.

I’m becoming a successful writer for them.

I’m building a career for them.

I’m getting my degrees for them.

I am healing for them.

I am walking—

breathing—

becoming—

for them.

But after my daughter passed in 2022…

I can’t lie—

something in me shattered.

I stopped trying.

Stopped caring.

Stopped believing I was worthy of motherhood,

because I couldn’t save my daughter.

I replayed that moment in my head

until it bruised my spirit raw.

I told myself,

“If I couldn’t protect her…

how can I protect the others?”

Grief will make you forget your own power.

Grief will make you question your own breath.

But my babies—

my living heartbeats—

they pulled me back.

Piece by broken piece.

Tear by stubborn tear.

Every “Mommy?”

Every hug

Every laugh that cracked through my sadness—

it reminded me:

I didn’t fail.

I loved.

I showed up.

And sometimes, showing up is all a mother can do

in a world that takes too much too soon.

I learned that motherhood

is not about perfection—

it’s about presence.

It’s about prayer.

It’s about rising

even when your knees still shake

from the last time you fell.

So I got back up.

Slowly.

Quietly.

But I rose.

Because my daughter who rests with God—

she still watches me.

Because my babies who walk this earth—

they still need me.

And because the woman I am becoming—

she deserves to breathe too.

Now I mother with intention.

With softness.

With boundaries.

With purpose.

Now when my children say,

“Mommy, you did it,”

I can finally say back,

“Yes, baby… Mommy DID.”

And she’s still doing it.

Still healing.

Still growing.

Still becoming.

Because I am a mother

not just in title,

but in spirit,

in sacrifice,

in love that stretches beyond life itself.

And this—

this journey,

this ache,

this triumph

is all for them.

Ayanna Edwards is an internationally published author recognized for her dynamic storytelling and genre-spanning fiction. Her work combines emotional resonance with imaginative depth, earning her a growing global readership. Through her writing, she continues to leave a lasting impression on readers worldwide.