Chapter 19
Episode 19
The Women Centre Of Jamaica Foundation Is where I graduated from.
The day Mrs. Brown handed me that pamphlet, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in months: hope. The Women Centre of Jamaica Foundation in Half Way Tree wasn’t just a building; it was a promise. A promise that I could still be something, that my life hadn’t ended the day I held my son in my arms.
The first morning I walked through those doors, I was nervous. The air smelled of antiseptic and baby powder, and the walls were covered in colorful posters about breastfeeding and child development. Other young mothers sat in plastic chairs, some with babies on their laps, others with toddlers tugging at their skirts. I clutched my son’s diaper bag like a lifeline. My partner had kissed me goodbye that morning, his eyes full of pride, and whispered, “You got this, Mama.”
The program was rigorous. We had classes in the morning—math, English, life skills—and then practical sessions on parenting and nutrition. I had to balance homework with midnight feedings, study sessions with diaper changes. There were days I wanted to give up, when the exhaustion felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. But every time I looked at my son’s face, I remembered why I was there.
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