Pastor’s Daughter, Teen Mom, and the Church’s Response
What Happens When Teen Moms Are Shamed Instead of Supported
I was 15 when I found out I was pregnant. A pastor’s kid—both parents. And the father? He was the church organist. He asked me not to tell anyone, said we’d “take care of it.” But before I could even process what that meant, everything came crashing down.
I came home late that night. My parents were already mad and went straight into yelling and swinging the belt. I couldn’t stop crying. Not just from the licks—but from everything. My mom finally asked me what was really wrong, and through the tears, I told her:
“I’m pregnant.”
The room went quiet. Both her and my stepdad. No more yelling. Just that heavy, blank silence.
My mom’s first words were: “This is not what I had planned for you.” Duh…no mother plans this for their child. Do they?
Next thing I knew, we were getting dressed to go to church.
Dragged to the Altar
We walked in, and my parents had both me and him—the organist—stand in front of the whole church and confess. Like…say out loud what we did.
I was given two maternity outfits once I started showing. Just two. Sometimes my mom would take me to the doctor. Other times I had to take the bus alone. I was still in school, still trying to be a kid while carrying one.
I remember her saying to me once:
They made us kneel at the altar. Pentecostal style. Cry. Snot. Wail. Apologize to the people. Then just like that…service moved on. He went back to playing. I sat in the back. And the looks came from every direction.
“I hope that baby rips you from hole to hole when it comes out.”
When labor started, I was scared to even tell her. I did anyway. She was asleep and barely opened her eyes. Just smacked her lips and asked if I could wait until morning. Six kids under her belt, so she knew better—but still…
At the hospital, the baby was breech. The doctors said I might need a C-section. My mom said no. Told them to turn the baby manually. She said her sister had it done and survived, so I could too.
It took several back-and-forths before they finally convinced her it wasn’t safe. They went ahead with the C-section, and out came this beautiful little girl—my first. She’s grown now, with four of her own.
What No One Talks About
Only one person asked me how I was doing through the pregnancy.
And it wasn’t in some sit-down heart-to-heart kind of way.
It was my stepdad, and all he said was:
“How are you? You doing okay?”
Then he motioned toward his belly, so I’d know what he meant.
That was it. One time
“We don’t celebrate unwed pregnancy” is what I was told. So, no baby shower for me.
People treated me like I was contagious. Like I had fallen off the pedestal they put me on just for being their example of “what not to do.” Nobody offered grace. Just glances. Whispers. Distance.
Let Me Be Clear
It wasn’t the church that hurt me.
It was the people.
People who confused their pride with righteousness.
People who let their emotions lead instead of love.
People who passed judgment and called it “God.”
I learned more about meekness, humility, and kindness in that one season than they ever taught me.
Because girls like me weren’t supposed to survive it.
But they didn’t break me.
They couldn’t.
I carried shame, yes—but I also carried life.
And somehow, I carried strength too.
And maybe you’ve been there too shamed, overlooked, made to feel less than.
If that brings anything up for you… pause.
What would you say to your younger self? What part of you is still healing?
