A Strong Arm to Lean On for Mothers in Trouble

Unwed mothers. The phrase seems outmoded, quaint; a throwback to more conventional times, before single motherhood became de rigueur. Indeed, about one-third of all births today are to unmarried women.

But, for many single women, pregnancy is not a cause for celebration, but one more problem in a long list of catastrophes.

Women like Shawn Murphy, 39, who found out she was pregnant just about the time she lost her job, her home, her son and her fiance. “Everything came apart all at once, and I was totally overwhelmed,” she says.

A recovering alcoholic, Murphy had put a newborn daughter up for adoption in 1996. Last year, she was forced to send her 8-year-old son to live with his dad. Mothering was clearly not her strong suit. Her life was too scrambled, her addiction to trouble too profound.

This pregnancy, she figured, was a gift from God; a last chance to turn her life around. “I don’t believe in abortion, and I really wanted the opportunity to raise this child. But I was scared. I had nowhere to go. I knew I needed stability.”

She found it at Casa Teresa, an Orange County shelter for single pregnant women. Six months there put her back on her feet, led her to reconcile with her fiance and restore her relationship with her son. Now, she has an apartment and is training to be a substance abuse counselor. And most important, she says, she is learning every day to put her newborn daughter’s needs ahead of her own.

“At Casa, they give you unconditional love,” Murphy says. “It’s a powerful thing, to know you matter. . . . That’s what’s allowed me to be a mother, to give this baby my unconditional love.”

*

About 80 mothers-to-be pass through Casa Teresa each year, staying an average of six to eight months. Most live in the shelter’s main facility, an 83-year-old hotel in Orange, converted to resemble a college dormitory.

But those who plan to put their babies up for adoption--about 20% of the women; a percentage that grows each year--stay next door at Hannah’s House, the only shelter in Southern California dedicated to pregnant women who have chosen adoption. “They have made a brave but painful choice,” says program coordinator Maggie Williamson, “and we want to meet their special needs.”

The rooms at Casa are cozy but spartan--a twin bed, dresser, rocking chair and a tiny bassinet. Each has its own bathroom and kitchen. I realize that this must seem like the height of luxury to women who have come here from the streets.

The shelter has a rec room, classrooms and a computer center. There, two very pregnant women huddle over a keyboard as I walk through. One, clad in a terry cloth bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, clutches a dog-eared paperback, titled “Women, Sex and Addiction.”

“We used to think it was the nice little girl away at college who accidentally got pregnant that we’d be serving,” says Sally Sullivan, a mother of seven who launched the original shelter 25 years ago, when she and her husband bought an old apartment building in Santa Ana. “The reality is it’s the girl on drugs who left home at 16, has been abused and is living on the streets.”

But that doesn’t make them any less worthy in the eyes of Casa’s staff. “Our position is really basic,” says Williamson. “We are here to honor the fact that these women have decided to choose life. We’re not here to make judgments, to say ‘Is this woman fit to be a mother?’ We’re just trying to provide them with the love and guidance they need to improve their lives.”

*

As the years have passed, Casa Teresa’s clientele has gotten older, tougher, with more complicated problems. Most are fighting drug and alcohol addiction. Many have older children they’ve already lost to relatives or foster care.

That has forced the shelter to expand its counseling, health-care and education services. “We’re trying to undo years of failure for many of these women,” says staff psychologist Jim Pugh. “We believe everybody, given the opportunity, has the ability to change. I don’t think you can ever give up.”

Still, with 10 staff members and a $500,000 annual budget, the nonprofit, nonsectarian center is mostly a shoestring operation, relying on the largess of private foundations and corporations and its large corps of volunteers.

Most of them are middle-class Orange Country women, some from local Catholic churches, who do everything from hosting fund-raisers to donating baby clothes and bouncing newborns on their knees.

Ask them why they help and their answers are straightforward and heartfelt. They know the joy that babies can bring, and they want these women to know that too. “I lost my third child and the doctors said I would never have another healthy baby,” says Jean O’Toole. “I had five more, all healthy . . . and I thank God for them every day.”

Angela Ordway has five grown children. “And with every baby I had, my mother came out to help. I think every new mother deserves love like that.”