“My mother was pregnant with her seventh child… and when I refused to continue raising her children, she called the police to have me arrested as if I were a criminal.”

The most painful part was a quote I had overheard my mother telling a neighbor about how she didn’t need a babysitter as long as I was there. My childhood had been converted into domestic savings, and my life was worth less than the cost of professional childcare.

“You are taking things out of context because a mother needs rest after so many pregnancies,” Lydia argued while sounding increasingly nervous. The officer asked her exactly who took care of the children during the day if she was resting, and she had no answer.

My aunt Helena spoke up and reminded them that a sixteen year old girl had been carrying the entire load for far too long. My mother turned on her and shouted that a childless woman knew nothing about the sacrifices required to maintain a household.

“I might not have children, but I know when a young girl looks so exhausted that she is physically ill,” Helena retorted. The officer put the paper in his pocket and stepped out onto the porch to make several official phone calls.