I spend much time reflecting on my experience as a single mother; the experiences my child and I shared as we grew up together over the past decade. I learned I was pregnant at the age of 19, right before my 20th birthday. There are numerous tropes in media, film, and pop culture where young, single-mothers are vilified through inaccurate stereotypes of addiction, sex work, and mental illness; framed as unable to provide for their child without the help of some heroic (usually white male) figure. I think about all the infrastructures that force single parents, single mothers into poverty, denying opportunities for them and their children. For me, my first 10 years of parenting is deeply apart of my identity; a thing that forced a painful learning curve. It hit quick and hard, but it's the space were my experiential knowledge developed exponentially. This experience for me is very much an artwork on it's own. It's not just a work of art by me but through every single parent with a middle finger to the system. It's an insight that I've gleaned not only through my own firsthand experience, but also by witnessing generational single-mothering that my grandmother and mother have also experienced, as well as aunts and cousins. This aspect of my life shapes very much how I live, how I see the world.