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Updated: Sep 28, 2023

From the best selling book SACRED LEGACY – Empowered Generational Healing

Pregnant with Little Rose

After graduating high school in May 2018, I threw myself into work at a coffee shop, a dream job I had manifested. In this line of work employees barely make enough money to afford shared rent. There was no way I could reach my goal of moving out with such a low income. So, I did what most do and got a second job. Mind you, I often worked sixteen-hour days and sometimes stayed up all night because I was afraid I’d sleep through my alarm. Life hit me with a two-by-four, knocking me on my ass. On top of it all, my boyfriend at the time left the country for five months. I felt alone.

New wounds formed, causing me to slide even faster into depression. Now, I felt like I couldn’t be in the spirit world. I didn’t have any friends. I was working my life away and had recently broken up with my boyfriend. This is not what I planned life to be like after graduating.

Over the next two years, I dove into dating. If friends were flakey, then maybe I could focus on my love life. At least I’d have someone to talk to. Let's face it, dating in the modern world has gone from night to day. A guy used to ask a lady for her number or to meet for a burger on Friday night. They’d pick you up in their car, meet your parents, and drop you back by your curfew. It was simple; everyone knew the playbook. Nowadays, what guy has ever asked you for your number? What guy has taken you on a first date and hasn’t tried to kiss you or get in your pants? Somewhere down the line, these guys got the bright idea that they could date without strings attached. Still, I was going to try my best to find the good men hidden in the sea of trash. I quickly changed my mind after a selfish prick broke up with me over social media, then posted that he was single and going to a concert wink, wink. My blood was boiling. I was actually ready to smack him in the face with a shovel. After that instance, I gave up on love. Unconsciously, I fell into a negative pattern of primarily dating foolish boys. For some reason, I didn’t feel worthy of dating mature men.

I was still living with my parents by the time I turned twenty years old. There’s nothing wrong with that, but all I could think about was the freedom that would come with having my own place. I thought moving out would solve all my problems.

Fall came, and the leaves on the trees changed to beautiful colors of burnt orange and red. I finally finagled my way into an apartment with two acquaintances. Which quickly turned sour after one of my roommates showed signs of mental illness. She was bipolar, passive-aggressive, and quite frankly, crazy. The two roommates would team up and squeeze pennies out of me. Things got so bad that I couldn’t cook food without one or both of them looking over my shoulder, but that's a story for another time. While living in the apartment, I met a guy from an online dating site.

We’ll call him Runaway Dad. We never went on an actual date, but I was grafted into his friend group. They were all car guys and I had a passion for cars. I drove a six-speed manual turbocharged mini cooper with an eight-inch subwoofer in my trunk and enjoyed the feeling of music pulsing while cruising on country roads. My little car gave me a taste of the freedom I yearned for. I easily fit right into this newly found friend group. We hung out almost every day, not because we had to but because we wanted to. I even grafted a friend from my childhood into the group. We went to Christmas parties, cruised on Saturday nights, drank beer, and watched stupid movies. We were homies, to say the least. Finally, my efforts had paid off. Or so I thought.

“What!? What does it say?”

“Two pink lines,”my friend stated.

“Okay, does that mean positive or negative?” I questioned.

I could tell by the look on her face it wasn’t the news I wanted to hear.

“Oh honey, I’m guessing you're five weeks pregnant. It’s verrry positive.”

Staring blankly, we walked into the next room. Shit. Shit. What do I do? What do I do? Think Jewelia, think. Runaway Dad hadn’t dealt with his pain. He was looking for the same thing I was; some kind of connection or physical touch, no strings attached. I was his booty call and nothing more. Looking back, I realize I was upset with men but ultimately wanted someone to love me.

“How are you not crying right now?” Her voice shocked me out of my looping mind.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I said numbly.

She looked at me with a compassionate twinkle in both of her eyes. I lost it, bursting into tears. “I don’t know what to do. It’s his baby. If it was anyone else… ugh, but it is his.”

My friend gave me a little pep talk. She had a two-year-old daughter and had recently been divorced. I felt like her advice was genuine, partially because she lived through a similar situation. The air felt different as I pulled myself together and slowly walked out to my car. It was like I was in a soap opera, minus the opera part. Before I backed out of the driveway, I sent Runaway Dad pictures of two positive pregnancy tests. He viewed my message and ignored me for an hour. Talk about holding out in a time of need; I was desperate for a response. Finally, a notification appeared on my phone as I climbed into bed.

He simply retorted, “Figure out how to fix that.”

What an asshole! How could someone be so heartless and insensitive? I felt like a bag of bricks had just dropped on my heart. I wrote songs and poems until I cried myself to sleep that night.

My heart is broken, and it just keeps breaking. Splitting into a million pieces. I feel like a part of me is slowly dying. And I’ll never get it back.

A black hole is consuming all the breath and tears that are looming. Stuck in time, it appears. The same loop is circling around. Not even giving it a chance to touch the ground. Getting rid of it just as it came. But never forget this feeling, this shame.

It’s only a vessel, I tell myself. Only a vessel, cells sitting on a shelf. I proceed to convince myself. Sitting in the room of the womb. I didn’t know I felt so intense. Connecting with my heart, it’s been a while, and it’s immense.

I’ve already been taught so much from this baby. I foresee kids in my future. I need to be more authentically emotional and tell others how much I care. I need to stop caring about what they think and care more about what I think.

Let the emotions flow right out of the car window. Then maybe some love will stop an accident or two. This is how the world changes. It starts with a thought, enters a breath, and creates magnificence.

Lessons taught by an unborn soul, channeling through the vessel’s window. Deep down I know this baby is more than a cluster of cells.

If you love something, let it go ... and if it loves you, it will come back. There are no limitations or boundaries on this love I feel; I didn’t know I had this much. I didn’t know my heart could be struck. Like a bolt, all within a day. This love has grown to overweigh.

Circular emotion is much like circular time. It constantly repeats. What you feel will be felt toward you. I know because I can feel all my love in return. Maybe that’s why I’m so broken. Because I’ve never been this unconditionally loved before. Yet, I am still slamming the door.

I know I have no other choice. This is what the baby wants too. But that doesn’t mean a mother’s heart can’t break over and over again.
— Jewelia Dobkins

He was pressuring me to get an abortion, and this is how I felt: broken. I very bluntly chose motherhood. When I explained that I was going to keep the baby, he came up with a truckload of excuses. Standing my ground, I told him I would love enough for two if he didn’t care for or love our baby.

Spill the Roses
Sitting across the restaurant table, I felt a load of guilt rest on my chest. Ulew agreed to meet for breakfast, something we hadn’t done very often. I was freshly moved out of my parents' house and felt like a real adult inviting my mom to breakfast. We were experiencing a rift in our relationship. You know, the typical fights that occur between mother and daughter. The ones where the baby bird tries to fly and the mama bird has to let go. It is by no means an easy transition.
On top of it all, my rooming situation wasn’t going very well. The environment of my apartment was hostile and toxic within the first few weeks of moving in. My parents warned me about roommates. I guess I better own up and tell Ulew she was right. Moving out wasn’t solving any of my problems. In fact, my problems were following me; they moved right into my fresh new space with me, how thoughtful. I reeled my brain back into the present moment: Ulew was sitting across the table. She knew something was up. I quickly scanned my mind, searching for the perfect words to break the news.

“Sooo, I found a new womb-mate.”

Ulew’s gaze bolted up from the menu.

“Womb-mate?” she sharply questioned.

I was wondering if she would catch on. Slightly whispering, “Yeahhh.”
“Well, have you looked at insurance yet?” she replied.

Shock and confusion simultaneously hit my system. I came fully prepared to be in trouble. Ulew barely flinched, explaining how she saw this coming. I was known to make questionable decisions, but this wasn’t supposed to happen to me. Ulew had many conversations with me while growing up; she wanted me to find a man who would treat me right.

“Don’t give yourself up on a silver platter to a guy that doesn’t matter. And always leave them wanting more.” Were two of her adages.

Giving myself a healthy dose of the hard truth, I had let Ulew down. I was racked with shame. Both of my parents had a dream. They wanted my brother and me to choose a healthier path than they did. Ulew was pregnant at the ripe young age of nineteen. I was supposed to break the pattern. Every woman from my direct line of ancestors became pregnant between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one before they were married. Ulew had done so many things to break the generational pattern. The last step was for me to break the pattern of young traumatic pregnancies. While I was a few years older than she had been, I still fell into a similar situation.

I chose to be pregnant and to do it alone; a lot easier said than done. Deep down, I knew it was my calling to keep my baby girl, but trying to please everyone else confused my pregnant brain.

Three months before my little Rose was born, her father attempted to walk back in the picture.

“How convenient for you to try at the very end. You have no idea how many nights I cried myself to sleep. How often I talk to my baby girl, telling her that I want her so she doesn’t feel unwanted. How many mornings I woke up sick—running to the bathroom, not even able to eat. There were so many times I wished I could just be held and told everything would be okay … but there was no one. Having to rely on myself as the sole provider for my new little family, I worked to improve my life. We’re doing amazing now. What makes you think you can waltz in and wreck that? I have a little life to protect. And you’ve played me before. How do I know you won’t do it again?”

Astonished by my own boldness, I felt a deep sense of purpose, allowing my voice to vibrate in the fiercest frequency. My small voice had quickly transformed into a rumble, like the sound of thunder. Runaway Dad ran away again, go figure. It would take a whole lot more to get this mama bear to back down.


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