This Mother’s Day, I am happy to support mothers like me, parents for whom mental illness can be an ever-present or overwhelming piece of the parenting experience. I wrote an essay about my own experience parenting through bouts of anxiety and PTSD episodes and held onto it for many months before reaching out to Stigma Fighters to see if they might want to publish it for Mother’s Day. I held onto it because stigma makes it difficult to speak up. Stigma Fighters knows this. They recognize the ways we are silenced and
I am coming through an intensely anxious period. In 2014, I had multiple surgeries culminating in a partial hysterectomy. I got to keep my ovary, but my uterus hadn’t been a team player for quite awhile. It had to go. The result was extreme hormonal confusion that sent me back to dark teen-ages. I was catapulted back into ADD and relived all my traumatic triggers, sometimes daily. During that time, an individual who had harmed me found me on Facebook and tried to reconnect. Um, no. I blocked that fool.
I logged into Facebook the other morning to find my mother had written a few words for her friends after visiting our family for a day. The support feels wonderful. Truly, my mom has been an active help in making Appa’s service training a reality for us. I asked her if I could share her words. She said, “Of course!” Here they are, along with a reminder to please submit to the Four Paws for Noah writing competitions before March 31! “I had the opportunity to see first hand how
I’ve never written about Autism and its presence in our home because my son hasn’t been open to it. Since we’ve started our fundraising campaign to get him a service dog, Noah has opened up. He’s willing to put himself out there to get this animal. Our whole family is, which is more significant than you’d think. Despite what I write about, I am extremely private. There are many aspects of my life (most) I choose not to share in a public manner. This does not affect my honesty. I
I want to tell you how hard it is to know why I am this way. How hard it is to self-advocate. Admit I need to walk away. Tell you why I am this way. Tell you I am this way. Tell you I am triggered, or having a panic attack, a flashback, or any other trauma response.
If you enjoy understatements, here’s one: healing after trauma is hard work. I often find my lips have glued themselves shut when my therapist zeros in on the traumas most alive in me. I’d be terrible at poker. But here’s the thing–I’m great at putting my head down and getting through. I am strong in multiple ways. When it comes to healing, I don’t give myself a break. We found the tip of the iceberg? Great. Let’s haul that whole sucker out of the water and chip it into slush
If we were having coffee, I’d wink at you and smile. Why? Another Friday and more lives linked. Yesterday’s linkup was particularly powerful. I am a life blogger. I am also a writing coach with a passion for understanding what makes people tick. I don’t believe any person is two-dimensional, but social media makes us seem that way. We share only the extra-good or extra-bad creating a flat digital impression of ourselves. Here, friend, let me refill your cup. Stay awhile. What I want to say is people are complicated. It
I was the child of a difficult situation. I write most frequently about abuse, post-traumatic stress disorder, and survival. However, I take care to infuse everything I write with the glow of hope that I learned from the first person who decided to interrupt the cycle: my mother. It may seem strange that I can write about physical and emotional trials and gratefulness in the same breath, but the truth is I am grateful. My experiences helped create who I am today. I am strong, full of courage and I
As Winter approaches, I am discovering the strength of my relationship with light. Winter is the season of quiet. Leaves have long since fallen from the trees, life is slowing, and the daylight is capped by late and early calls for sleep. While the ground has not yet hardened with cold, I feel the same foreboding that arrives every Winter. I am lost. I am trapped. I must wait, clawing at the ceilings as I search desperately for sunlight. In Summer, you will find me outside, face upturned during the