“Raising a non-verbal child taught me to communicate with more than mere words and to listen with more than mere ears.”
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“Raising a non-verbal child taught me to communicate with more than mere words and to listen with more than mere ears.”
“I went to take a sip of water and all of it dropped out of my mouth. I looked in the mirror to find half of my face sagging. Paralyzed. My face just stopped working.”
“I was hysterical. ‘This can’t be right. I’m 21 years old. I have my whole life in front of me.’ I was afraid it would ruin Christmas. I’ve never cried more in my life.”
“In sixth grade, I attended my first Weight Watchers meeting. We counted points and bought ‘low-cal’ foods. I never really hated my body. I wanted to be accepted for who I was.”
“‘Their current foster home is abusive.’ When we dropped them back off, she yelled at us for giving them haircuts. Most days, it felt like the system simply didn’t care to provide what was necessary. I can rest now, knowing she is loved.”
“If I didn’t get high within an hour, I’d start throwing up. I’d sit in the bathroom for hours trying to hit. My veins were ruined. My probation officer was calling everyone I knew, threatening to send me to prison. I was at an all-time low.”
“CPS told my parents, ‘You cannot drop your kid off at a group home and not come back. If you don’t get her, you will be charged with abuse and neglect.’ My parents didn’t budge. At 14, I was given two weeks to find a new place to live. All I wanted was to be wanted. ‘I believe in you, I love you, you are worth it.’ My sister’s boss took me in.”
“I lost all energy whatsoever. My dad would come to my bedside when I couldn’t move a muscle without screaming and beg me to eat. ‘I want Louise back.’ I wasn’t able to carry on much longer.”
“I felt like I had the flu most days. I could never get warm, and I was getting severe migraines. I saw every specialist imaginable. I ended up housebound and bedridden.”
“‘Lexi has AIDS’ was written in graffiti outside my science class. Soon, the whole school knew. I was spit on, constantly told, ‘I hope you die.’ I was tired of fighting. ‘I don’t care if I die anymore.’ Immediately, my stepmother began planning my death party. ‘Enough is enough.’ A family friend took me to the school counselor to repost the abuse at home.”