Growing Up Without My Mom: Why I Am Called to Support Girls

I was 12 years old when life changed in a way I did not have words for yet.

That is the age when a girl is still becoming herself. I still needed someone to help me understand my body, my emotions, my friendships, my fears, my gifts, and my future. I needed a steady voice. I needed a woman who could have said, “I have been there. You are not crazy. You are just growing up.”

My mom was not there for so many of those moments.

She missed school events. She missed heartbreaks. She missed conversations I did not know how to start with anyone else. She missed the quiet, ordinary things that do not look important at the time, but shape a girl deeply. Picking out clothes. Talking through emotions. Learning how to carry myself. Asking questions about faith, womanhood, marriage, motherhood, and identity.

For a long time, I only knew that it hurt.

Over time, as I grew up, I began to see something else too. Growing up, through my teen years, without my mom helped make me who I am today. It gave me tenderness for girls who feel forgotten. It gave me eyes for the young woman standing alone in a room, pretending she is fine. It gave me a heart for girls aging out of foster care who do not just miss one parent, but often step into adulthood with no family safety net at all.

And I believe God has called me to support them.

My mom and me

Losing a mother to addiction changes the way a girl grows up

Mother absence can happen for many reasons. Death. Addiction. Incarceration. Abandonment. Illness. Family conflict. Mental health struggles. Divorce. Sometimes a mother is physically gone. Sometimes she is nearby but emotionally unavailable - which was my situation for many many years.

The reason matters, but the wound is still real.

A mother often helps a daughter form her first picture of womanhood. She may be the person who teaches a girl how to care for herself, how to set boundaries, how to trust her instincts, and how to believe she is worth protecting. When that voice is missing, a girl often has to learn through trial, observation, and pain. My mother did do many of these things, but by the time I was 10 years old she had slowly started losing herself.

Research around parental absence and childhood loss points to higher risks for emotional struggles, lower self-esteem, grief, anxiety, depression, and challenges in relationships. Not every girl will experience all of those things. Many girls become strong, wise, responsible, and deeply compassionate. But strength does not mean the absence did not cost something.

In the United States, Census data has long shown that most children live with two parents or with their mother, while a smaller share live with only their father or with neither parent. That means girls growing up without a mother in the home are not the largest group, but they are a very real group. They can feel invisible because society often talks about fatherlessness more loudly.

Motherlessness deserves language too.

For me, it meant learning how to keep going when I wanted my mom in the audience. It meant watching other girls have something I longed for. It meant wondering why certain milestones felt both joyful and incomplete.

There were times I felt angry. There were times I felt embarrassed by the ache. There were times I told myself it did not matter.

But it did matter.

A missing mother leaves questions behind. Was I worth staying for? Who teaches me how to be a woman? Who do I call when I do not know what to do?

Those questions do not disappear just because a girl gets older. They often follow her into adulthood until someone helps her name them, grieve them, and heal.

I had pain, but I also had support

This is where I have to tell the whole truth.

My mom was not present the way I needed her to be, but I was not completely alone. I had grandparents. I had a dad. I had people who helped carry me, even when they could not replace what I missed.

That matters.

A grandmother cannot fully replace a mother, but she can be a shelter. A father may not understand every part of a daughter’s inner world, but he can still provide love, protection, and stability. Extended family can become a bridge over a painful gap, and I had all of these things.

I did not always recognize the gift of that support when I was younger. Pain has a way of narrowing your vision when you are in the middle of it all. Sometimes it was easier to focus on who was missing rather than who was there.

Now I can see it all very clearly.

My grandparents, my dad, my extended family, and friends gave me something many girls aging out of foster care do not have. They gave me somewhere to belong. They gave me names to write down on school forms. They gave me adults who were connected to my story. They gave me a place to return to.

That does not erase the grief of growing up without my mom. It does put my grief in perspective.

Because if it hurt that much to lose the daily presence of my mother while still having family around me, what must it feel like for a young woman who has no mom, no dad, no grandparents, no home base, and no one waiting for her?

My precious Granny and me

Girls aging out of foster care face adulthood without a safety net

Every year in the United States, about 20,000 young people age out of foster care. That means they leave the child welfare system because they reached adulthood, often around age 18 or 21 depending on the state, without being reunified with family or adopted.

Many of them leave care with a trash bag or a few boxes of belongings. Some leave with a caseworker’s phone number, a small amount of transition planning, and a list of resources. Too many leave without the lifelong family connections most young adults lean on.

For girls and young women, the risks can be especially heavy.

National data and long-term studies of foster youth have found that young people who age out of care face higher rates of homelessness, unemployment, interrupted education, early pregnancy, mental health needs, and justice system involvement compared with their peers. The well-known Midwest Evaluation of young adults formerly in foster care found that many struggled with stable housing, college completion, and steady work in the years after leaving care.

For young women, the numbers around pregnancy and parenting are especially sobering. Research following former foster youth into their twenties has found high rates of early pregnancy among young women who aged out of care. Many become mothers before they have had the chance to be mothered in a safe and steady way themselves.

Around 20,000 young people age out of foster care in the U.S. each year, and many enter adulthood without the family safety net most of us depend on.

Think about what most young adults need between 18 and 25.

They need someone to call when the car breaks down. They need help reading a lease. They need advice before signing a loan. They need a couch for a few nights when a plan falls apart. They need someone to celebrate a new job, show up at graduation, or sit with them at the hospital.

They need more than services. They need people.

Aging out of foster care means a young woman may have to build an entire adult life while carrying childhood trauma, family separation, and the message that she was always temporary.

Temporary homes. Temporary schools. Temporary adults. Temporary belongings.

Then, suddenly, she is expected to become permanent for herself.

My story helps me understand, but it also humbles me

I know what it is like to miss a mother.

I do not know what it is like to age out of foster care with no family.

That difference matters. Compassion should not pretend two stories are the same.

My experience gives me a doorway into empathy, but it does not make me an expert on every girl’s pain. It simply makes me willing to listen. It makes me willing to sit close to the ache instead of looking away.

When I think about foster girls aging out, I think about the questions I carried as a child, then I imagine those questions multiplied.

Who will help me move?

Where do I go for Thanksgiving?

Who knows my medical history?

Who keeps my baby pictures?

Who tells me I am proud of you?

Who shows up when I make a mistake?

Who will still answer the phone after I have pushed them away?

That last question matters because trauma often teaches young people to test love. If everyone has left before, it can feel safer to reject people first. Supporting girls aging out of foster care requires patience. It requires consistency. It requires adults who do not take every guarded answer personally.

Presence is not dramatic. It is faithful.

Sometimes support looks like helping a young woman fill out a job application. Sometimes it looks like teaching her how to cook a simple meal. Sometimes it looks like showing up to court, graduation, childbirth, or a hard appointment. Sometimes it looks like being the person who says, “You can call me, even if it is late.”

What God has called me to do with the story I carry

I do not believe God caused every painful thing that happened in my life. I do believe He can redeem what pain tried to steal.

The ache of growing up without my mom could have made me hard. In some seasons, it did. But God kept softening me. He kept showing me that my story was not only about what I lost. It was also about what I could give.

I believe He has called me to support girls and young women aging out of foster care because I understand the longing for a mother’s presence. I understand how a girl can look strong and still be aching. I understand how milestones can bring grief to the surface. I understand how much one steady person can matter.

This calling is not about rescuing anyone. Young women aging out of care are not projects. They are daughters of God with gifts, personalities, dreams, humor, intelligence, and strength. They deserve dignity, not pity.

The calling is to come alongside.

To be steady.

To listen before advising.

To support without controlling.

To pray without using faith as a shortcut around pain.

To create spaces where young women feel seen, safe, and valued.

Faith calls us to care for the vulnerable, but care has to become practical. A Bible verse can comfort a young woman, but she may also need groceries. Prayer can strengthen her, but she may also need a ride to work. Encouragement matters, but so does help opening a bank account, finding counseling, applying for school, and learning how to manage rent.

Love becomes real when it shows up in ordinary ways.

How support can change the future for a young woman leaving care

Support does not have to start with a grand program. It can start with one committed adult, one church, one family, one mentor, one safe relationship.

Girls aging out of foster care often need support in several areas at once:

• Safe housing and basic needs A stable place to sleep changes everything. Without housing, school, work, health, and healing become much harder.

  
  

• Education and career guidance Many young women need help applying for college, trade school, financial aid, internships, or jobs. They may not have someone to explain the steps.

  
  

• Life skills Budgeting, cooking, transportation, health appointments, insurance, and paperwork can feel overwhelming without guidance.

  
  

• Emotional support Trauma, grief, and rejection can affect trust. A consistent mentor can help a young woman feel less alone as she learns healthy relationships.

  
  

• Spiritual care Prayer, church community, and biblical encouragement can provide hope and belonging.

  
  

• Motherhood support Young mothers who aged out of care may need parenting support, baby supplies, childcare connections, and someone to remind them they are not doomed to repeat the past.

  
  

The goal is not to make a young woman dependent. The goal is to help her build a stable life with the kind of support many young adults already receive from family.

Most 18-year-olds are not truly independent. They may live on their own, but they still call home. They still ask questions. They still need help. Foster youth deserve the same grace.

The kind of presence I want to offer

Because of my own story, I know I cannot fill every gap. I cannot be everyone’s mother. I cannot undo the pain that came before.

But I can be present.

I can offer what I needed more of when I was younger. A listening ear. A safe place to ask questions. A reminder that her life has value. A steady relationship that does not disappear when things get complicated.

I can use my story honestly. Not to center myself, but to say, “I know what it is like to carry a missing place in your heart. I also know healing is possible.”

I can honor my grandparents, my dad, my sister, my extended family by extending the kind of support they gave me when I was young. I can recognize that even though my mother was absent, God still placed people in my life who helped me stand. That gift becomes a responsibility.

I was supported, so I want to support.

I was covered in ways I did not fully understand, so I want to help cover others.

I was not forgotten by God, so I want other girls to know they are not forgotten either.

A calling born from both grief and gratitude

Growing up without my mom from the age of 12 shaped me. It hurt me, stretched me, and forced me to grow up in ways I did not choose. It also made me more aware of the girls who are aging into adulthood with far less support than I had.

My mother missed many important things. That truth still matters. But her absence did not get the final word over my life.

God has used even that painful part of my story to give me compassion, purpose, and a calling.

When I think of young women aging out of foster care, I do not see statistics first. I see girls who deserve birthday calls, safe homes, patient mentors, second chances, and people who stay. I see young women who should not have to figure out adulthood alone.

And I see a clear invitation from God.

Take what hurt, and let it become love.

Take what was missing, and become present.

Take the ache of motherlessness, and use it to make room for someone else to feel held so we can all continue Loving On Borrowed Time.