Lynda Daluz Daluz T oday, I am 60 years old and grateful to be where I am, typing away on a computer with knowledge and high spirits. No one, including myself, would have thought that a girl from the south side of Robert Taylor would end up here, sharing her story from the depths of her heart. I never believed I could read beyond a third-grade level, but now I am pursuing my master’s degree in social work.
Let me start from the beginning so that you can understand how I got here and why I spent 10 years of my life in prison.
I was a survivor of sexual abuse, first by my father and then by my stepfather. The abuse continued when my mother made the heart-wrenching decision to give custody of me to my friend’s brother after the birth of my first son at the age of 15. I gave birth to a healthy baby boy, weighing 6 pounds and 11 ounces and measuring 19 ½ inches. In that moment, I found temporary hap- piness that helped me forget the pain of my past.
At just 15 years old, I was ill-equipped to care for a baby, lacking the knowledge of cooking and even changing diapers. I found myself in an apartment with someone I barely knew, with a newborn in my arms. I received no support and was isolated from friends due to my youth. I lived with a 22-year-old man who had recently left the army. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had accepted CONTINUE READING > > >
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