Pride Over Pity

by Lowry, Kailyn

  It turned out I was right to take a chance on Jordan. He was a person I could truly count on. I found myself liking him more each day as he kept me on my toes and always found the fun in everything. This relationship was unlike anything I had ever experienced. We kept busy. We actually had adventures as a couple instead of holing up all the time. We went out to eat, saw movies, shopped, and took trips to the beach. Later, as his involvement increased with MTV, we traveled to New York and Los Angeles together.

  My decision to leave Jo meant I had to move out of his parent’s house. I had been living in their basement ever since we had broken up, but the change of rooms was a temporary solution to a growing problem. Eventually, I just ditched my belongings in the spare room in their basement and house hopped. No matter what the circumstances were I didn’t want to take advantage of the hospitality and generosity his family had shown me. I opted to stay at my mom’s whenever possible and at Jordan’s on the other days. Obviously, I couldn’t go on like that indefinitely. I needed my own place, but supporting myself and Isaac on a single, minimum wage income wasn’t realistic.

  Thankfully, there are resources out there for young mothers like me. Valley Youth House, an organization that provides intervention services and counseling for young people, has a housing program for single mothers but they required a two-day stay in a homeless shelter in order to qualify. I was very wary about staying in a shelter even temporarily, but Isaac was my main concern. He needed a safe place to live with me and, at that point, staying at a homeless shelter for two nights seemed like a small price to pay. I already met their requirement of working at least twenty hours a week and not having a safe, permanent residence. This was one of the last prerequisites I needed to check off to qualify for the program.

  I arranged for Isaac to stay at Jo’s, but I kept everyone in the dark as to where I was going. The shelter was in an old Victorian home in a not so great part of town. Since I still didn’t have a car, I asked Jordan to drive me there. I lied to him, saying I was doing a project—some good old-fashioned community service—but the backpack I brought didn’t have a notebook or log in sheet. Just a blanket, pillows, a few overnight supplies, and a phone charger. These were my temporary home fixtures.

  The room I was given was large and impersonal. The mattress was stiff and thin. I wasn’t expecting a Posturepedic or heated blanket, but it was still hard to be in a place like that. I felt so restless and uncomfortable. Maybe these feeling were coming from within, from feeling ashamed of where I was. Nobody knew what I was doing, not even the MTV producers, and I hoped it would remain that way because I felt like utter shit.

  The next day I went to work. I wouldn’t answer Jordan’s question as to why I needed to be dropped off again in Easton. I put on a happy face, but being in a homeless shelter was depressing. I couldn’t imagine spending more than the weekend there, yet most of the people there wanted and needed more than just a few days. The shelter had a thirty-day maximum stay, but everyone around me seemed to be begging for an extension. I wanted to believe the best but I overheard conversations about scheming the system. My heart went out to the innocent children who had done no wrong. They deserved better. I avoided looking into their eyes and shut myself into my room for the night.

  There was an 11:00 p.m. curfew and no TV, so I changed my sleeping patterns and shut my eyes early. If I had to pee, I held it in. I refused to use the bathroom or the shower. This had nothing to do with pride. I really had no idea if these closed-off rooms were ever cleaned or if any dirty scenarios played out in there. I just wanted to shut my eyes and forget that I had ever been there.

  I was able to get through it because I was motivated by a need for independence. I was determined never to have to rely on anyone ever again. I had to be strong for Isaac. I would never allow my son to become one of those children in the shelter, hoping in vein for brighter future. The amount I learned in the two days I stayed in the shelter was worth more than all the money in the world. It’s so easy to get caught up in your own life and tribulations, but there is always somebody out there who has it worse than you do. The payoff in my day-to-day life was tangible, too. The housing program would help me pay rent as long as I maintained a full-time job. Since I was already working, I was set. I found a reasonable apartment to live in and signed a one-year lease. The freedom of having my own place was like flying.

  Just like that, the solitude to which I had grown so accustomed disappeared. Jordan began spending the majority of his time with me, and was pretty much unofficially living with me in my new apartment. Finding a huge white tee or a pair of boxers mixed in with the laundry wasn’t so unusual anymore. Jordan was a huge help. He quickly bonded with Isaac and even Jo grew to like him.

  Chapter 10

  Regrets

  As my relationship with Jordan turned into a strong partnership, we found we had a new challenge to deal with. We had caught the attention of the paparazzi and, on Isaac’s first birthday, I had one of the inhuman stalkers follow me from Jo’s house to my apartment. I freaked out. They knew my address. They knew where my baby lived. Why were they following me? I’m not a celebrity. Teen Mom 2 filming aside, I felt like my baby was totally off limits. But the paparazzi seemed to have missed the memo.

  After that my guard was up, even while doing the simplest things like leaving work, doing laundry, or grocery shopping. I resented this invasion of my privacy. Although I had signed a contract with MTV to share certain aspects of my life, I hadn’t signed up for the public to have twenty-four-hour access to my life. But the popularity of Teen Mom 2 meant that details about our personal lives had become a valuable commodity. People wanted to know more about us, and the tabloids would go to any lengths to get their customers what they wanted. I was okay with that as long there were some boundaries. I didn’t want my entire life publicized. Unfortunately, I was quickly learning that I didn’t really have a choice.

  I felt bad for Jordan because he truly had no idea what he had signed up for when we started dating. But, despite how being in the public eye was impacting his life, he made it clear to me that he intended to be there next to me for the whole journey. Jordan was my sidekick and a rock for me as the ratings for Teen Mom 2 soared and I became the subject of media scrutiny. Meanwhile, because Jordan was now a regular on the show, he was developing a fan base of his own. We received countless well wishes to our future on Twitter, which were more than welcome. However, some girls took it to a level I wasn’t comfortable with and Jordan was a little too friendly for my liking. One girl in particular was acting like she was making plans to move in with Jordan. I felt really hurt and almost angry for Jordan. This girl wanted to live with him just because she saw him on television. He had so many amazing qualities and she wanted him for something so stupid.

  After such a solid year together, I was disappointed that Jordan had become so caught up in the attention that the show had brought him. I don’t think he had any real intention of going through with this move, but at the time I couldn’t help but leap to conclusions. I really loved him so the betrayal stung. But, I couldn’t really confront him about it without being a hypocrite. The small mistakes Jordan made weren’t seen on television, but my huge downfall was.

  Doing laundry with Isaac

  My heart may have belonged to Jordan, but there were pieces I never took back from Jo. Because of Isaac we had a deep connection and an intense shared history. For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, we were getting along smoothly. Because we had never learned how to be friends, we fell back into old habits and I cheated on Jordan with Jo. Even though I was deeply in love with Jordan, I selfishly wanted Jo to remain single. I had typical girl syndrome: I didn’t want Jo, but I also didn’t anyone else to be with him. One night, after he dropped Isaac off, we slept together. Jordan arrived home from work earlier than expected and he knew almost immediately what happened.

  Cheating never leads to a happy ending. It certainly didn’t for us. Cheating on someone is a he
avy burden, worse than any other mistake you can make in a relationship. Cheating is cold, selfish, and heartless. I had committed a cardinal sin in my book. You’d be surprised sometimes what you’re capable of. Jo and I were finished. We weren’t getting back together and the hook up didn’t signify a change in that. I wanted to work it out with Jordan so we tried to recover from the betrayal. There was the predictable breakup, and the even more predictable getting back together. I still deeply regret that I put Jordan in that position. He didn’t deserve to have an arrow shot through his heart only to have it ripped out again.

  But, at the same time, Jordan was changing. When we first started dating, Jordan rarely drank, but now he was partying all the time. Since he was young and carefree, he had a right to do that, but I didn’t have that luxury, so I decided that we needed to break up permanently. In the year and a half that we were a couple, I took away a life’s worth of lessons about how to function in a healthy relationship. It was easily the most stable relationship I had ever been in and knowing I was capable of having that in my life was a blessing. I was sad I had to say goodbye to someone I considered to be such a great, dependable person. Now, there was nobody in my life I could depend on.

  ***

  After Jordan and I broke up, I met I guy who had a detrimental effect on me. We were not dating, just casually seeing each other once in a while. We weren’t sexually active, so minds out of the gutter. Caleb had been asking me out on a date and I had finally said yes. After I had blown him off multiple times, I figured one date wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. Just like most guys want sex, most girls want to be loved and I was no exception.

  One night, Caleb came over to my apartment. He was plastered and insisted he needed to talk to me so I let him in. But he had no interest in talking. He pulled me into the bedroom and slammed me onto the bed, taking my clothes off roughly. I screamed and tried to shove him off, ordering him to stop touching me, but I was no match for his tall, muscular frame. His strength was so overpowering, I could barely move. I felt a tear and knew I was bleeding. When he finished, he left me in tears, screaming for him to leave.

  I was in a state of shock. It felt like I was dead. The bloodstained sheets snapped me back to reality and I realized I wasn’t okay, even if I was still alive. I didn’t know what to do, so I called the only person I could trust. Jordan rushed me to the hospital. He wanted to know what had happened, but I couldn’t talk about it—not even to the doctors. I was so torn up inside, I needed stitches sewn with the thickest thread they could find. The pain was excruciating. My nerves were shot. Although the doctors knew what had happened to me, I wouldn’t give them permission to use the rape kit. I was set free—contrary to how I felt—to go home.

  As Jordan drove me home, I was still in a state of shock. I wasn’t able to fully process what had just happened to me. Doing the right thing and reporting Caleb to the police never seemed like a viable option at the hospital. Fear had taken over. What would happen to me or to Caleb if I turned him in? Would he come after me for revenge? I was afraid of all the consequences. What’s even crueler was how I viewed myself. I was so disgusted, like it was my fault. I was a victim and classically accusing myself of having done something wrong. My usual strength and confidence vanished as fear took hold.

  As days passed, the fear of seeing Caleb subsided and he never contacted me again. The damage he had done was obvious enough even to him, so he knew to stay far away. The trauma of having been raped ate away at me. Not speaking out or acknowledging how I had been violated meant that I was imprisoned by the weight of such a horrible secret. But keeping secrets with a smile was the way I had always lived. I didn’t know how to break out of the pattern. Speak up. Have a voice. I wanted to. I wanted to shout for every single woman who has ever been touched against her will. I’m the exact example of what not to do. Admitting that has been difficult for me.

  In order not to reveal the darkness I was swimming in, there was a certain of level of dishonesty I had to achieve. Victims become numb to the world. I was lying to myself in so many different ways because I didn’t want to feel. Denial is a powerful thing. There was a kind of relief to pretending I lived in a world where I wasn’t a rape victim. In different shoes, I was free from the trauma of brutality. But if I allowed my mind to waver from the lie for even a second, it would all come crashing down on me. The experience caused me to withdraw, so that I could hide from this colossal secret.

  Until now I have only told a handful of people about what happened. While I wasn’t brave enough to turn my rapist in at the time, I want to speak out now. I am a victim. Every victim deserves to be heard. If I could rewind time I would tell myself this. I hope that by sharing my story now, I might help someone who has been a victim of rape to find a voice to speak out. Please, no matter how frightened you are, no matter what your mind tells you, just do it. Don’t let anyone get away with the crime because you are worth so much more than that.

  Chapter 11

  Fixing My Fortune

  On January 11, 2011 the first episode of Teen Mom 2 aired on MTV to an audience of 3.6 million viewers. The success of the show seemed to escalate overnight. No one predicted its potential to surpass ratings of similar reality show premiers, like the original Teen Mom. The bigger the show grew, the more Facebook friend requests I received. I was averaging at least a hundred per week.

  But even as our fans and supporters multiplied, the critics were becoming harsher. The worst for me were the hateful comments on Twitter. There were tons of hateful posts judging me on my appearance and these trolls managed to find endlessly creative and hurtful ways to call me ugly. I even had a Twitter page dedicated to me titled, “Hulk Kail.” Some of the hate was generated from my actions on the show, like how I cheated on Jordan, but the rest of it was directed at my physical flaws. All that negativity and hate can be a heavy burden to carry, but I tried to rise above it rather than to allow it to drag me down.

  Nevertheless, the media’s capacity to dig up every dirty little secret terrified me. Mostly, I was terrified they would get hold of the story of my abortion, which at that point I was not ready to share. I had no illusions about the lengths the tabloids would go to obtain a story—they had already begun contacting anyone who had a few degrees of separation from me.

  Despite all that negativity, and on top of everything I was already struggling with, I managed to keep my head held high—even if it was a bit wobbly. The breaking point for me came after someone posted my cell phone number on a porn website, accompanied by a naked, photoshopped picture of Jenelle, one of the other girls featured on Teen Mom 2. I believe they wanted to pass the photo off as me, but despite how ridiculous this was, my phone started blowing up with calls from California to China. At first I answered the calls, not knowing who could possibly be on the other end of the phone. I regretted it immediately. The string of calls were from sleazy guys saying explicitly sexual things about the photo. The person who put my information out on the Internet clearly intended for me to become the target of harassment. The bullying was terrible. Being harassed from around the world was definitely a new experience, but one I’d sooner not have had. In addition to the porn site, my number was posted on Craigslist as though I were selling a mini fridge. The disturbing thing was that the person behind the posting must have been someone close to me. Otherwise, how would they have gotten hold of my private cell number?

  No matter how hard I tried to rise above it all, incidents like this began to eat away at me. I took every comment to heart and even considered deleting my Twitter account. Not only was I listening to people who really knew nothing about me, I actually began to believe their negative opinions. Like most teenage girls, I already struggled with insecurities about my self-image. Having my imperfections broadcast on television, like the days I had a skin flare up or a bloated stomach from my period, only intensified those insecurities.

  Now that I was on television, I no longer had control of my own image. I hated seeing my face a
nd my body on the TV screen. Every flaw, down to the last stray hair, was magnified by each close up shot. Most people on television have makeup artists, hair stylists, and a wardrobe team to transform them into glamorous superstars. I had a tube of mascara, a brush, and a closet full of leggings and sweatshirts. Not to say I needed any of that big production stuff, but there is a certain elegance required for the on air look and I definitely did not have the resources to pull it off.

  But it wasn’t just the physical that was being judged, my personality was under the microscope as well. In reality television, there is no middle ground. If you’re too monotone, people accuse you of being a miserable bitch. If you’re too bubbly and happy, you’re accused of being a fake bitch. Without really knowing me at all, people accused me of being selfish, of being a bad mother because I warmed Isaac’s milk up in the microwave. I was branded incapable of monogamy because I had cheated on Jordan with Jo. Worst of all, was how people judged my relationship with my parents. I was accused of being shallow because of my decision to cut them out of my life.

  When I signed on to do Teen Mom 2, I had no idea how much of an affect the negative attention would have on my self-esteem. I wasn’t sure anymore if I could justify the short-term pain for the long-term goal of sharing my story and helping young girls like me. I had always been my toughest critic, but I was feeling more critical of myself than ever. I let the hate soak in and allowed the negative comments to overshadow the love and support I did receive. There were times I even felt suicidal, but I managed to stabilize myself when I hit that low point.