My story begins with my mother’s strength to keep her pregnancy — to keep me.

Eighteen years ago, my mother wept on the cold bathroom floor, her mind swimming. Like many other women, my mother was faced with an array of harsh realities that drove her to consider an abortion. Many find themselves basing this decision on socio-economic factors if they assume they cannot provide for a child. In a 2004 survey of 957 women having an abortion, 1 in 4 said their foremost reason for having the procedure was that they were not ready for a child and could not provide for them.

My mother was no different, facing financial difficulties, drug use before and during the pregnancy, poverty, and lack of familial assistance. She had many reasons to say she, too, was not ready for a child. Instead, she chose to keep me, and my life is a testament to why abortion should be the last resort, and why the 99% of abortions that are not promoted by cases of rape or incest should be reconsidered.

I spent many years grieving. Grieving the parent-sized holes in my life as it was tough to explain to my friends why I lived with my grandparents, why my dad wore an orange jumpsuit in every picture with me, or why the other moms on my softball team would take their daughters to get earrings while my mom was nowhere to be found.

I worked my entire life to move forward and found that through my academic pursuits, anything was possible. I graduated from Kamehameha Schools Kapalama Campus in 2021 and am now attending New York University on a full-tuition merit- based scholarship to study in the pre-med track. My mother intended to give me a fighting chance at life and now I intend to join the fight to preserve the lives of others.

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My life has been full of adversity but also beautiful. I experienced my mother’s troubles while on her hip. When I was 1 year old, there were days where we only had a pack of dry ramen noodles to eat during the day and we spent nights sleeping in a broken-down car. We struggled for the early parts of my childhood, and when my mother realized she could no longer properly take care of a baby, she alerted Child Protective Services. From that point on, I was raised by my foster grandparents. They provided me with what they had and allowed me the room to blossom into a life that many would not think possible.

Without the strength of my mother’s “Yes,” I would never be where I am today. It’s a strength that requires vulnerability, both hers and mine, to live life against the dominant narrative that says that both our choices were the “wrong” one.

The New York Times editorial board recently used the phrase “clusters of cells that have not yet developed into viable human beings” to describe a fetus in the womb, or what I would call a prenatal child. These dry words or phrases used are dehumanizing, allowing people to solely consider the mother’s rights, while ignoring the fact that we all were once “clusters of cells that have not yet developed into viable human beings.” This usage of language also hides the fact that during the time of most surgical abortions, a prenatal child has electrical activity in the brain and a beating heart. Where do we draw the line? My life mattered in those bits before birth and remains that way today.

Let’s not draw the line at six weeks, nine weeks, 21. The bottom line is that both lives matter, a mother’s and a child’s before and after birth.

To be vulnerable is to have the strength to break down your walls of comfort. Like my mother, I believe that though times may be trying, there will always be more to one’s story. My mother’s story is one I cannot neglect. As I was writing this article, my mom told me, “I struggled with my decision to keep you. I was a homeless drug addict and grappled with the fact that I could not take care of myself let alone a child, but I knew I couldn’t do away with the life I created.” Our stories began at the same point and time. “Though my living circumstances did not immediately get better I slowly began to gain control of my life. I gained strength through you. You were my hope at rock bottom.”

I marvel at my mother’s grit and boundless love. Thank you, Mom, for your story matters as much as mine.

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Cheyenne Bajo is a Kamehameha Schools graduate, Class of 2021, and a New York University student, Class of 2025.

“Raise Your Hand,” a monthly column featuring Hawaii’s youth and their perspectives, appears in the Insight section on the first Sunday of each month. It is facilitated by the Center for Tomorrow’s Leaders (www.CTLhawaii.org).