When I was 16 I lost a baby.
She was left on our doorstep as a newborn by my brother, an addict. I mothered her for 18 months until, while I was in the shower, he took her back. Forever. I never even got to say goodbye.
Losing her felt like I died.
I was a mother without a child. But I was only 16. And I was dead.
This story is for the young, misunderstood, complicated brown girl who lived too much and then not at all. And of finding the balance.