I Was 16, Pregnant, and Trapped in Marriage | Dear PlanBCebu

Hi PlanBCebu,

I stumbled across your page tonight and, strangely, it felt like a mirror. I don’t need anything from you right now. I’m not shopping for pills. I’m not asking for contraception advice. I just need to tell someone my story, because maybe if I type it out it won’t feel as heavy. If nobody reads this, that’s okay. At least I said it out loud.

My story began nine years ago, when I was sixteen and still in Grade 11. I was always at the top of my class. Teachers used to tell me I had a bright future. I dreamed of finishing school, maybe even working abroad someday. But life had other plans.

That year I had a crush. His name was Joseph. He was in Grade 12. Not movie-star handsome, but there was something about him: a deep voice that made me melt, the kind of voice that made me speak softer so it wouldn’t break the spell. He hosted our school programs, sang like he owned the microphone, and people listened when he laughed.

During one school event I was assigned to help with props. That’s when he finally noticed me. He smiled and introduced himself, as if we hadn’t already met. He helped me carry things when he could have just walked away, and I floated on air for weeks.

We added each other on Facebook after that. From then, our story started. Facebook chats turned into late-night conversations. Simple “How are you?” turned into long talks about dreams and secrets. Eventually we started going out—not real dates, because we were still kids. But we’d eat tempura from roadside stalls, walk around, and talk for hours. It felt like a movie: two kids whispering forever into the night.

At first it was simple: holding hands on the walk home, a quick kiss goodnight. By the third date we were making out and whispering “I love you.” He said he loved me and I said it back. I thought we were a couple. But the next day at school he wouldn’t hold my hand. He passed me like I was scenery. I felt stupid and exposed. I ignored his messages—hurt, teary, angry. Then he sent one that broke me: “Are you mad at me? Sorry, I’m such a bother. I miss you. I love you.” He said he was embarrassed because I was pretty and he didn’t think he looked good; his friends teased him. I pitied him, so I agreed to keep things low profile.

Later he asked me to a proper dinner by the beach. He borrowed a car, picked me up, and I put on a red dress I loved. He wore a blue polo that fit him perfectly. We walked by the water and he told me I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Then he kissed me, and everything sped up.

Things moved quickly after that. He touched me in ways that made my head spin. I’d never been with anyone; I was still a child in many ways, but he made me feel like I belonged in the story he was telling. He said he loved me so much and promised marriage like it was a fairy tale. My common sense, which had been quietly warning me, was drowned out by words and the pressure to be wanted.

That night I lost my virginity to him. It felt both sacred and wrong. He promised, he swore. For a while I believed those promises were enough.

A few months later my period was late. I found out I was pregnant. We were both raised in Christian families. I told him, and he said he would marry me. I was sixteen. My parents were furious, but to avoid scandal in our community they agreed quickly, so we got married. I finished Grade 11 but couldn’t enroll for Grade 12—my belly was showing and the whispers began. He continued his studies but eventually didn’t finish college.

Fast forward to now: I have twins. Our first baby came as twins, a miracle and a sentence all at once. Joseph changed. He drinks. He accuses me of baby-trapping him. I am almost certain he’s cheating. The boy who used to host programs and sing now comes home drunk and angry. He works as a security guard. I am a stay-at-home wife—no work, no money, no love. The life that once felt like a movie is now a loop of shame, small humiliations, and constant disappointment. The girl who once had a bright future is stuck in a miserable cycle.

There is no love left. I wake up each morning and put on a face for the twins. Sometimes I imagine another life—a version where I finished school, learned a trade, and someone respected me. Most nights I lie awake wishing my suffering would end. I have thought about ending my life. It terrifies me to write that, but it has crossed my mind in the darkest hours. Then I see my twins’ faces and everything stops. They are the only reason I haven’t done anything. Who would take care of them? My parents are gone. I have no money. I feel trapped.

I don’t know how to get out. I don’t know if leaving would be safer or more dangerous. I can’t work easily because I didn’t finish high school and I have no one to watch the children. I don’t want to keep playing this loop where the person I married—the person I once believed would be my home—slowly breaks me. I am tired of pretending. I want my suffering to end, but I also want my children to have a mother who is alive and sane for them.

Please, PlanBCebu. I’m not asking for pills today. I’m asking for advice, for a map out, for a voice that says I can get through this. I just need someone to hear me.

— A woman who once believed in promises

💙 Our Team's Response:

Dear Someone who used to believe in promises,

You are stronger than you think. We know it hurts to look back at the girl who was always top of her class, with teachers saying your future was bright. That future is not gone — it just needs a new path.

From the way you write, it’s clear you have talent. Writing can open doors online — content writing, virtual assistance, or even storytelling. Start small, earn little by little, and save. Build a “rainy day fund” for you and your twins. Every peso saved will give you courage and options when the time comes to choose a new life.

You don’t need to leave today, but you can prepare for tomorrow. And when that day comes, you and your twins can walk toward a future you built with your own strength.

With care,
PlanBCebu