STRIVING TO BEAT THE ODDS

Molested at age eleven. Pregnant at fifteen. The odds were clearly against me.

No one said it directly to my face, but I knew. I overheard. And I internalized the grim predictions for my future: increased risk of suicide, likely to drop out of high school, potential runaway, prostitution and drug use, problem child, not likely to succeed, promiscuity.

At first, after being molested, I gave up and gave in. If that was what my life would now become, then bring it on. Why fight the statistical odds? Why make any effort to rise above or to accomplish anything of value? The odds were against me: Girls who are molested simply do not excel. I was damaged goods.

Then, as statistically predicted, I was pregnant at age fifteen. But, becoming a mother motivated me; I suddenly felt compelled to prove them all wrong. I could and would achieve great things.

I put my energies into being a good mom - proving I was not too young. I could do it. I could wake up in the middle of the night to change a diaper. I could find a man to love me. Get married. Clean a house. And I took the first offer that came along in my then-unconscious drive to beat the odds.

But, in my youth and inexperience, without any clue as to who I really was, I jumped into one bad relationship - and then another. By then, babies were coming ever other year or so. Still, I struggled to "do the right thing" in an effort to prove my worth. I joined the church. Now for sure I was doing things correctly.

Wrong.

More mistakes. More proof that the statistics were correct. More proof that I was destined to make one mistake after another. The ditch that was my life erroded into a pit so deep that it was swallowing me whole.

Still, I fought it, driven to prove that those dire predictions of eternal failure would not apply to me. So I began to claw my way up and out. Self-reflection, return to school, admit the church was wrong and walk away, admit my marriage was killing me and learned to stand up for myself. In essense, I began to focus on pursuing a dream. I would become something more than just a mom. I would get a degree. Become a teacher.

Wrong.

More mistakes. Allowed that bad marriage to slow me down and distract me from my goal. Put others ahead of me. Took too much time off from school: to resolve marital conflict, to focus on the kids, to help a sick husband. And the door to that dream closed.

No matter. I'm determined. Build a new dream. They're wrong, I tell you. Those statistics will not apply to me. I'll get a degree in psychology.

Got the Bachelor's degree. Not good enough. I'll get a master's degree and become a licensed counselor. A new dream! A goal! It's right there on the horizon! Oh and I'll be more than good at it. My professors tell me so! I'm a natural! It will be great!

Wrong!!

Funding not available. And I'm not getting any younger.

Throw in the towel. Give up. Give in. Admit failure. The odds were against me after all. I will remain working class. Blue collar...or worse. A ghetto grad. Just as predicted.

But hey, I like my redneck life...don't I??