“My partner and I kept arguing. Stress mounted. Next thing you know, I was dry heaving, teeth chattering. I just lost it. All of it. For the next 24 hours, I couldn’t speak to anyone from the outside, not even my husband. The paper scrubs the emergency room had given me had to come off, leaving me naked, shaking, and disoriented. How was this even real? I felt like I was watching a scene from a movie, rather than participating in my own life. But it was happening, and it was REAL.”
“I started to call 911, but hung up. There was a more important call I needed to make. My husband at work. ‘Wiley’s dead.’ I couldn’t sugar coat this and didn’t have time to explain. I had approximately 4 minutes to explain to his twin brother that his best friend had died before 15 people swarmed our home. I asked him to pick a location where he would feel safe. Then, sirens.”
“Little by little, I was completely reeled in, under the impression I was speaking to a 16-year-old girl with a traumatic childhood. The next morning she called me names and said, ‘This isn’t going to work. I’m finding someone else.’ I was completely devastated. ‘What the hell just happened?’ This person doesn’t ask for money. They don’t ask for material possessions. She literally just wants to destroy you.”
“For my wedding last year, I did something atypical. I put on not one, but two sets of wedding rings. In case you think I’m a psycho who is still in love with her first husband, you could be right. I didn’t take them off by choice—I took them off because he died. Three days after my son was born, I became a widow.”
“This morning was a battle. I worry. I worry because they are being picked on. It’s hard letting go, watching them hurt and struggle to find their way. We save our tears for the car, so they don’t doubt themselves.”
“A lot of people tell you how you should move on. You hope you’ve turned out to be every bit like Grandma. You dodge the card aisle because you can’t bring yourself to read them.”
“Parents. Stop the madness. The lectures. The play-by-plays. The should’ve, could’ve. Look around and you’ll see on every court, field, ball park…all the talk. How would it feel for someone to criticize your every word or move, in your ear? Even when they didn’t score, even when they didn’t win, even if they turned over the ball, flubbed up, or missed the catch, our kids need to be praised for their effort.”
“That first summer he came, all I can remember is the rash that covered my body for 6 months. It was my body’s way of telling me it was too much. I didn’t know how to be a mama to a then 7-year-old. As I walked beside him, I told him he never has to do that alone anymore. He looked up at me with his chocolate brown eyes. ‘Mommy, it sure is much easier to carry things together.’”
“My determination isn’t disabled, my fire isn’t disabled, but my body is. For a long time, this was hard to admit. I do my best to show up every day, but it’s not always enough. I can practically smell the resentment from my coworkers. My boss stopped believing me and asked for a ‘doctor’s note.’ Instead, I ended up hospitalized. ‘Is this good enough?’ I snarkily asked. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I really can’t help myself. The struggle is REAL.”
“I got a text from my husband. ‘Hey, I’m coming home. I need to tell you something. Cathy is going to meet me there.’ Cathy was a close friend and mentor to me. Why would she need to come also? I sat on my couch with my 4-month-old girl on my lap. My husband confessed he’d cheated with a woman he worked with. A woman who listened to me pour out my heart about my struggling relationship with my husband only one week before.”
