The problem with being a teen mom is that I don’t hate myself nearly as much as you wish I did.
My humble pride and my happy life upset you because I do not embody the self-hate and stereotypes you want me to.
My existence challenges everything that you’ve been told to believe about me, which makes you uncomfortable. And instead of getting to know me, you cast hate and anger at me. Hoping that your negativity will tell me to quit, hoping that I will amount to the nothing you desperately want me to be, and hoping that your negativity will give you a voice for a moment.