“I came home early on a Sunday morning. Still drunk from the night before. I had a plan. I executed my plan. I say this next part with absolutely no dramatization; if my wife had stayed in bed for another 10-15 seconds, I would absolutely be dead. I would’ve been dead that morning. I owe my life to her. And I wouldn’t be here to tell you that things get better.”
“The room is still, almost silent. I meet their beautiful baby, I hold their baby, talk to their baby. All while taking a mental assessment of how much posing I can do. I ask who he got his beautiful wavy hair from, or his button nose or long toes. I talk, but not too much to overwhelm anyone. I work gently, efficiently. I capture every single detail. No one wants this. Their child existed. Their child was so loved, and so wanted.”
“I approached the school in a new dress I was so happy about. I felt strong, confident, and absolutely terrified. I made my way to the library for a meeting. All the tables filled, yet no one joined me at mine. Teachers gathered to decide where to go for lunch. I asked if I could join. ‘We’d rather you didn’t.’ Broken, I returned to my classroom, closed the door, and cried.”
“I didn’t know what to say at first. She went there. Without fear. Without hesitation.”
“We ended up leaving 5 days before Christmas. The tree was decorated. Stockings hung. I tried to drag my babies out of their good time. I absolutely panicked. I wasn’t rational. But, panic, absolute real panic, is not rational. If I hadn’t left when I did, myself, my children, or all of us would’ve been dead.”
“My husband committed one of the biggest flagrant fouls of parenting – he let our 4-year-old twins fall asleep at 5 p.m. He let our little Tasmanian devils outsmart him. I made everyone’s dinner, called the twins, and there was no answer. My husband turned to me. ‘Oh yeah, they’re sleeping.’ ‘They’re WHAT?’ I knew we were about to go to war.”
“I overcompensate. I smile at strangers. I ask the check-out girl how her day’s really going. And I’m polite. Today I wasn’t. Today I was in my own world. I was quiet.”
“‘How long did he breastfeed?’ ‘Have you started potty training?’ Confession time. I’ve lied about all of this before. But I’m done feeling ashamed for the choices I make. My kids may not seem ‘independent’ enough for some, and that’s okay because these kids? They’re mine to bring up.”
“On the day of the results appointment, I walked into the office sipping iced coffee. I even took a few selfies in the exam room while I wore the breast-cloak. I was gearing up to announce my relief of a positive result on social media to my followers. The doctor came in, iPad in hand. She settled on a wheeled stool and cleared her throat. Then she said, ‘I never want to tell patients this, but it’s breast cancer.’ Just like in the movies, I went into a fog.”
“Growing up, my mom always slapped me when I acted ‘weird,’ calling me ‘broken.’ I gave up on being loved and turned violent. I just felt angry all the time. I stopped caring about everything, especially myself, and contemplated suicide. Then, I met Sylvia. She understood me, she saw past the self loathing and the anger. She saw the real me, the loving me. She broke down the barrier I had put up to protect myself. I wanted to change for her. I wanted to deserve her.”
