Hey Mom,

Where to begin?

If you had told me five years ago that today my biggest accomplishment would be eating breakfast before the baby woke up, again, I would have laughed. Choked, probably.

I’m not totally there yet, I won’t be for about 10 more years, give or take, but I’m beginning to get it.

And I’m sorry.

And I’m scared.

What I resented, I now see I should have respected.

But I’m hard headed, you know that more than anyone.

And I’m sorry.

What I saw from my perspective as taking what was rightfully mine, my freedom, I now see was a white hot poker to your heart.

I now see what I saw as overbearing, as you caring.

I now see what I saw as restrictive, as you caring.

I now see what I saw as boring, as you caring.

You cared who I was friends with, where I was, what words were coming out of my mouth. You wanted to keep me close for as long as you possibly could, and you wanted so much more for me than you had growing up. I see that now.

But I know that I did everything in my power to rebel and I can understand, now, what that must have done to you.

And I’m terrified.

I think of all the mistakes I made, because in my immature little mind, I knew what was best, and I wasn’t about to grow up into all the things I shamefully thought you were.

But now I see.

I see that you were doing your best. I see that you were working your ass off to try to give us the best life you possibly could with what you had. I see the frustration of coming home and wanting to relax, only to find a mess. I see the difficulty in wanting your daughter to have a better childhood than yours, only to be told what a terrible mother I thought you were.

I see that, and I’m sorry.

Where I wanted a friend, you were a protector.

Where I wanted my way, you gave me what was best.

Where I ran, you stood steady, always waiting for me to return.

I see that now, and I want to thank you.

Without you, Mom, I can’t imagine what my life would be like, and I don’t want to.

Without you, I can’t imagine what kind of mother I would be, and I don’t want to.

I see what you’ve done for me, and you deserve some recognition. I know I’ve been awful to you, too many times to count, and I just want you to know, it’s not your fault.

Sure, I maybe got my stubborn attitude from you, but those were all my decisions.

I honestly don’t remember in detail all those all-out battles we’ve had over the years. I know they were painful. I know there will probably be more (we’ve gotta keep things interesting, right?), but those aren’t details I remember.

Details I remember are more like being held when I was sick, and the smell of your hairspray and perfume when I laid my head on your chest.

Late nights watching sci-fi and eating Star-crunch cakes.

How you smiled when you’d hug papaw.

How you take care of EVERYONE when they get sick.

How, no matter how many possessions you have, will have boxes upon boxes of pictures.

Those details matter.

And if I can leave that kind of impression on my girls, no matter how badly they break my heart as they grow up, if I can leave them with little memories like that, well, I think I’m doing okay.

Love you, Mom.

Dear Diary,

It started with a panic attack.

A long, albeit gorgeous day at the park playing, after a restless night, was followed by a shopping trip. I knew I should have waited to shop. Shopping always triggers my anxiety at least a little.

Standing in the aisle of condiments, comparing prices, it suddenly took over. Little yellow tags everywhere, the buzz of cart wheels, chatter, and bright florescent lights suddenly became more abundant, louder, and brighter. My chest was tightening, and my face grew hot while my hands grew sweaty, and I felt like I was in the spotlight. I just knew everyone was staring at me, like my hair was on fire, and the pounding in my ears grew unbearable. I walked slowly and things became a blur. I grabbed a few more things and proceeded to the long line behind the only self-checkout that was accepting cash.

Halfway through I realized I grabbed too much, and had to call the clerk over to cancel some items from the order. My hands trembled as I put the bags in the cart, leaving behind a small pile of discarded groceries I couldn’t pay for. The thoughts in my head grew louder, and my limbs switched to auto pilot.

“How will we make it the next two weeks? This isn’t enough food. You’re so stupid. You should never have become a mother. You don’t deserve them.” And so on…

Ten minutes later I made it home, and broke down. I feebly tried to explain my mindset to Matt. I’m still not able to explain it well. Panic attacks do that to you. Stress triggers your fight or flight reaction, adrenaline pumps, and whether you try to fight or fly, it leaves you feeling drained in every sense.

Today, I am depressed. It seems to be the natural progression of my cycles. I go from panic mode to anxious and depressed mode. I am trying to learn how I work, and what triggers it. Sometimes I think it can be triggered by exhaustion, but most of the time, I feel like I have these episodes fall from the clear blue sky.

I get tired of the way my brain is wired at times. I worry I will never feel “normal”. I am terrified I will lose my husband, and my daughters will grow up to resent me for the way I am. But I am fighting, and I am learning, and working to educate myself in order to educate others. And that counts for something. It must.

Time Changes Everything

“Where do you see yourself in five years? Ten?”

The teachers used to pose this question a lot in high school.

My outlook was never really bright. I saw myself alone and depressed, just like I felt most of high school. Sure, I had friends, but I couldn’t see them sticking around (and for the most part they didn’t).

I hoped to at least be in college, working and growing towards something. I just didn’t really know what.

Never in a million million years would I have imagined this.

I never imagined I would marry such a wonderful man. I never imagined having children. When I was sixteen, twenty-five seemed so far away. Sometimes I didn’t want to make it that far. Sometimes I wanted to take the easy way out.

I was a dumb teenager. A really dumb teenager. I dated a boy that took advantage of that. Took advantage of my poor poor self esteem. I didn’t want to be alone, I was terrified of it, so I let him abuse and manipulate me.

There is a reason my friends didn’t stick around, and he was it. I wasn’t allowed friends.

I made a lot of mistakes, and time passed so very slowly, and lonely in those days.

And I never looked forward to the future.

When I was seventeen, I did meet a genuinely nice guy, who I know to this day honestly cared, but I was rushing.

We entered an unhealthy relationship.

We had a lot of fun, and maybe could have eventually thrived, but tragedy struck my family, and I went on a downward spiral.

I am too ashamed to think about some of the things I did in that time.

When I was nineteen, I was enticed by another abuser, and that went on for three more years. I became isolated. Abusers like to make sure of that, and I lost almost everyone, again.

I had given up on being happy, but as long as I didn’t have to be alone, it was okay.

One day I snapped out of it.

I don’t know what made me do it. Like having an out of body experience, I saw all the unfair treatment, the isolation, and the verbal abuse I was being subjected to.

I left, and it was the best decision I had ever made, because now I have this.

I have a family. I have someone I know I can spill my guts to without judgement. I have someone I know will choose to love me every single day, no matter how unlovable I’m being. I have someone who I know will always treat me tenderly.

Time was not kind to me in early adulthood. I did so many stupid things. I have spent nights crying over wrongs I can never make right (and still do sometimes), but life has brought me here.

I have so much to be thankful for.

I can’t say I can look back at my teenage years all too fondly, but it made me appreciate so much more.

If I could go back, I can’t say that I would try to change things, because I might miss out on so much now.

Like counting little fingers and toes.

And reading bedtime stories.

And learning what unconditional love is.

If I could meet my sixteen year old self, I may not try to steer her clear of all the pain that awaits, but I would hug her, and tell her to just be patient, because the future is better than she could have ever imagined.

Time. It moves slowly at some points in our life. Often the worst times in our lives, but if we can just keep pushing forward, we may see the future holds such a better outcome than we could have ever imagined.

Some of the old wounds are still there, and some of the old scars are so ugly, but I wear them proudly, because they brought me to the most wonderful time of my life.