Like most women, I found out I was pregnant by staring down at a pregnancy test, watching the second blue line come faintly into existence.

Unlike most women, I was unmarried, finishing my junior year of high school, and only 17 years old.

My very first thought as I stared at the test (besides, I need to go to the store and get more tests because this can’t be real) was, “My life is over.”

It was so truly terrifying, and I was filled with a deep, sinking, overwhelming shame. When I told my boyfriend (now husband), Joseph, the news, all we could do was cry.

I was in online school at the time, so I didn’t have to face hallways full of peers, but I stopped talking to my friends and going to school activities. I quit my nannying job and my job at the local ice cream shop so my bosses wouldn’t see my belly grow. I completely isolated myself.

One evening, at a praise and adoration event, I sat down in front of the Eucharist and bitterly poured out my fears to God, saying, “I need a house. I need a car. I need a job that doesn’t suck the life out of me. And I need them now.”

When we told Joe’s parents, his dad said, “No one is ever ready to have kids.” And, “God allowed this to happen for a reason.”

I thought, sure, in theory that’s a nice sentiment, but this doesn’t feel like God’s plan—it feels like punishment for my sin. 

The struggles kept piling up. We faced hurdle after hurdle—trying to get married, balance college and caring for a newborn, find stable jobs, and secure a place to live of our own. After our son was born, the prenatal depression I experienced morphed into postpartum rage and eventually depression. Just in time for Joe to be deployed to the Middle East for 10 months.

There is more to our story—which I’ll share sometime—but now, by the grace of God, my life is very different.

I’ve been happily married to Joseph for seven years, and we have five amazing kids and two businesses dedicated to helping Catholic families.

When I reflect on that time, I now see how God was present in every moment—even the hardest ones. Every single thing I told Jesus I needed that night, He has provided in abundance—but not in the way I expected.

Along the way, I’ve learned so many lessons, but one of the most challenging things I had to understand as a teenage mom was this: My identity had to be rooted in God, not in my circumstances.

At 17, my identity was completely defined by *my plans* for the future, my friends, and the activities I loved defined who I was. I believed everything I’d ever heard about getting pregnant and having kids young—my life would be ruined, or I should’ve gone and “done my life first.”

But here’s the truth: My identity wasn’t in my plans, my past, or even the whispers of shame I clung to. My identity was in God, who created me and knew me before I was even born.

Years into motherhood, I began to reflect on Mary’s story. When the angel Gabriel came to her, she had not yet become a mother and was betrothed but not yet living with Joseph as his wife. She did not know every detail of what her future would hold, but she trusted completely in God’s plan. And so, she said, ‘Let it be done to me according to Your word.’

Mary’s identity was rooted in her trust in God’s plan, not in her own understanding of how her life was “supposed” to go.

That mindset shift allowed me to stop feeling like my life was happening to me and understand that life was just simply happening—and I could choose how to show up. God had given me the free will to choose.

We all have the power to spiral into hopelessness and defeat. And we have the power to live as God wills and designs for us to live.

But it begins with understanding and being rooted in our identity as daughters of God. And that takes work. As St. Joan of Arc wisely said, “Act, and God will act.” Not because He needs us to, but because He loves us enough to invite us into His plan.

I’m curious—did you wrestle with your identity when you became a mom? I’d love to hear your story.

Olivia