Now 46 years old, I have a 29 year old big boy, which suggests that I had my son when I was 17 years old. I got pregnant as a result of an ongoing relationship with my boyfriend for a year. I was scared because I did not really understand what was going on in my body and did not perceive the upheavals that this event involved.
My parents immediately made an appointment with a gynecologist with a view to having an abortion. The fate wanted that I “fall” on a very “conservative” doctor who, in private, enumerated me the risks which I run (in particular the risk of infertility). Following this interview, I stood up to my parents and imposed on them my will to keep the child.
My son is my pride, the fight of my life and a very balanced child, very sociable… However, at the beginning, it was not won. Driven by a great deal of guilt (which my mother greatly helped to maintain), I left school immediately after the announcement of my condition. We were “obliged” to get married. So I found myself a housewife, living in a village, with my house and the daily visits I made to my parents for only occupations.
“I have never strayed from my child”
The idea of divorce came to me quickly, with the desire to find an activity. I studied a lot, maybe to forget that I was not up to raising my son on my own, as my mother had suggested to me for years. But I never strayed from my child so far: daily care was her, but her education was me. I also took care of his needs, his hobbies, visits to the doctor, vacations, school …
Despite this, I believe that my son had a happy childhood, with a lot of love, although I could have been faint at times. He had a relatively calm adolescence and he had an honorable education: bac S, college and now he is a physiotherapist. I have a very good relationship with him today.
As for me, I had a lot of trouble finding my balance. After many years of psychoanalysis, I am now a fulfilled woman, graduate (DESS), part of the territorial public service, but at the cost of hard work and unfailing pugnacity.
Looking back, my regrets are absolutely not about the choice I made to have a child at 17. No, today I have bitter memories of my marriage and the relationship I had at the time with my mother. The debasement I was in and the difficulty I had to get out of it gave me, at the same time, a strength to live that I might not otherwise have had.
Where are the fathers in history?
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