Morgan Williams Youth Advocate Program Inc.

Like many young teens, I started experimenting early. I had my first smoke of marijuana at 12, my first cigarette at 13, and my first taste of alcohol and experience with sex at 14. Things went downhill from there. Despite all this, I did well in school. My high school attendance wasn’t great, but my grades were good. Teachers, my mom, my pastor, and my church family believed there was still hope for me, and they never gave up on me, even to this day.

 

At 14, I became pregnant with my firstborn, my son. Everything changed after that. Growing up in a religious home through adoption, getting pregnant so young caused a lot of conflict. My mother and I clashed immediately, and I ended up living with a family friend for six months during my pregnancy. Being away from home, I began running the streets. I didn’t do hard drugs, just marijuana, because I saw what it had done to my parents. However, I started selling drugs—not out of necessity, but because it was easy for me.

 

By the time my son was born, my mother had enough and placed me on a PINS (Person in Need of Supervision). I completed it without any trace of weed in my system, not because I thought I could outsmart my PINS officer, but because I felt misunderstood. I grew up in a strict household where school took precedence over work, and having a child didn’t fit into that plan. In the ’90s, when I grew up, everyone was working and going to school, but I wasn’t taught the responsibility I needed. My mother didn’t think it was my place to learn. I lost custody of my son to my mom through a court proceeding because of my age, and after that, I stopped caring.

 

At 16, I finally had enough of street life. I had spent over a year rebelling, mostly out of anger at my mom for not giving me the chance to prove I could be responsible. I retaliated by being irresponsible. Life on the streets became so chaotic that I believe I scared myself straight. I watched things unravel around me.