It Takes A Village

A friend once corrected me: "Stop saying you're alone."

For a long time, I believed I was.

As a single mom, it felt like I had done everything on my own—raised my son without his father's help, survived heartbreak, navigated motherhood, chased dreams in a new city. I carried the shame of having a child outside of marriage with someone who didn't want to build a life with me.

I thought I had made it to this point despite everyone else.

But that wasn't the whole truth.

I've been helped. I've been supported. I've been surrounded by people who showed up for me, and most of them weren't family by blood.

I had Kam during my senior year of college. The news shocked me, and I wasn't sure I could continue school.

I went to each of my professors—people I had built strong relationships with over the past two years—and told them the truth. Each one reassured me that I would graduate and that they would help me cross the finish line.

I worked in a department on campus, and the women there took turns watching my baby so I could attend class. One woman became a mother figure to me and showed me love I didn’t even know how to ask for.

My reporting professor held Kam during class while she taught. My entire reporting class came together and gave me Kam's first books—each with handwritten messages of love and encouragement. The head of the journalism department rocked Kam to sleep so I could take my final exam.

A close friend (from a previous school I had transferred from) moved in with me for the first two months of Kam's life. She watched him while I worked for the athletics program, and I was pumping in the bathroom of the press box during football games.

My dad drove up and helped me for a week after I gave birth. One of my aunts came down the week before Kam was born and bought his crib and other essentials.

When Kam was five months old, I moved to LA. His grandma—his father's mother—saw how her son had mistreated me and stepped in. She told me clearly that right is right and wrong is wrong. She welcomed me into her family in the city, became a mother figure to me, and watched Kam so I could work late nights.

Although Kam’s father and I didn’t work out, we decided to co-parent. Over the years, both his mother and the mother of his second child showed up in meaningful ways. Surprisingly, I became close to Kam’s brother’s mom, and she played a real part in helping me raise him.

My older sister opened her home to me while I was trying to get on my feet in LA. During that time, I was driving back and forth from her house in Vegas to LA for gigs, doing whatever I could to make ends meet and keep momentum going.

Kam’s godmother—also one of my closest friends—was by my side throughout my pregnancy. She held my hand in the operating room. She was my safe space in a profoundly emotional and precarious time.

A few of my best friends took turns in the hospital with me while I was in labor.

Kam’s goddad also stepped up. He's taken Kam to the barbershop and bought him clothes, showing up in the small but meaningful ways that matter so much when you're raising a boy on your own.

Most of my friends don't have kids yet, and they've always welcomed me to bring Kam to all our get-togethers, making it feel like a family and a safe space.

My tribe became Kam's tribe.

His aunties, his uncles, his constant support system. They've shown up to his plays, his games, encouraged his growth, and been role models for the kind of person I hope he becomes.

Even past partners who met Kam played a part—teaching him how to play sports, how to treat others, how to carry himself.

Recently, my aunt offered to pay for Kam's summer camps simply because she wanted to support him.

So yes, I stand corrected.

I didn't do this alone. I couldn't have.

It takes a village. And I'm forever grateful for mine.

The people who stepped up—whether for a season or a lifetime—became the foundation that allowed me to keep going.

They helped raise not only my son, but me, too.

I'm not alone. I never was.

My tribe at my birthday