As the author of the Mr. Right Series, I have a passion to mentor teen girls and single women. You may be wondering why a grandmother of eight, all ages ten and under, would feel that way. What fuels that passion? The answer is simple: a vivid memory. My years as a teen were filled with confusion, anxiety, and many wrong decisions. I really needed someone to mentor me, but I ignored the advice of my parents and other adults who were trying to protect me and listened to my peers instead. I can remember as a teen sitting in anguish, my head in my hands, crying bitterly—feeling alone, forgotten, and having little hope for the future. I didn’t like my body—too skinny. My nose was crooked. My hair was wavy. The other girls were prettier and more popular than I was. At least that was how I felt. Why did I feel like that? They all had a boyfriend and I didn’t! I desperately wanted a guy to prove I was special and wanted, too!

Like millions of other girls and single women, my self-worth was rooted in the belief that I was inferior unless I had a boyfriend. Because I believed that lie, I was driven to make decisions that led to more pain and heartache than I had experienced by being alone.

This guy was a senior; I was only a freshman. He was leaving after graduation to join the Marines, so I would rarely see him. I also knew his family had many serious, unresolved issues. These were all good reasons to walk away, but I was attracted to him, and that’s all I cared about.

For the next three and a half years, we wrote letters and saw each other when he was home on leave. We broke up several times, only to get back together when he was home again. When I was a senior, he gave me an engagement ring for Christmas. I wanted a nice wedding, but he was in a hurry to get married. He talked me into eloping with him in January as soon as I turned eighteen. I was afraid I would lose him if I refused.

So, when he was home on leave the week after my birthday, I skipped school to get the required blood test and marriage license. That Saturday night, he picked me up for what my parents thought was a routine date, and we were off to find a Justice of the Peace. Driving down several country roads, I spotted a sign for one; we were married twenty minutes later.

Afterwards, we headed for the nearest budget motel to spend a couple of hours together. All my dreams of a beautiful wedding were shattered due to my fears and poor judgment. The ceremony had been so brief and cold, I didn’t even feel married. I knew I’d made a mistake, but there was no turning back. I had to live out the consequences of my foolish decision. I was back home by my designated midnight curfew. Lying alone in my bed, I felt empty, certainly nothing like a bride. Tears of regret slipped down my cheeks.

The next morning, my new husband was on his way back to his base. I was left behind to deal with fears that had already begun to haunt me. In my day, students couldn’t graduate with their class if they were married or pregnant. Instead, they would have to finish their degree at night school. In addition to coping with the fear of discovery at school, I knew I had to eventually tell my parents what I’d done. Why hadn’t I thought this all through before doing such an irresponsible thing?

A month later, I did tell my parents. My dad couldn’t believe it; my mother cried for days. Their daughter had repaid their many years of love and sacrifice with disappointment and betrayal. Knowing that I could lose my chance to graduate, they supported me and kept my secret until I had received my diploma.

Barb Precourt