“My best friend pulled into the driveway of my home as I was packing. I started bawling my eyes out, sharing my pain. The door slammed wide open. She had been kindling a relationship with my husband behind my back and sharing all of my personal details and events with him. He threw me out of our house in my panties. I sat there, cold, alone, and numb.”
“14 years later, devastation struck once again. I lost my 19-year-old son in a tragic, earth-shattering suicide. The only comfort I have, is that my father was there to welcome him home. He was not easily influenced by peer pressure. Or, so we thought.”
“I remember the car. The social workers wore suits, and the car was dark blue. I sat in the back. The child lock was on, and I felt trapped. When we arrived at the foster home, it was a place I had been in with my sister, but I still didn’t understand. This time, it was only me.”
“We had another baby, we were happy. Things were great, until they weren’t. I’ll never forget the day when I called in sick because of a bad migraine. An hour after my husband left for work, he called to tell me the bad news. He’d lost his job. He was crying, I could barely understand what he was saying.”
“He’d opened a private bank account where he had been hiding his lifestyle. I found countless large charges to the local casino. Angry emails. Work phone calls he had ignored. I discovered he was regularly viewing porn. I was livid. Heartbroken.”
“Mom shamers lined up with judgemental eyes. The grocery line was never-ending. My friend and her sweet, well-behaved daughter began quietly cleaning up their lunch. ‘If you do it this way, they wouldn’t be acting like that.’ Within five minutes, I raised my white flag.”
‘It was happening at home, at work, at the grocery store. When I got home, I would give my daughter a snack and immediately go to sleep. Every time I got up to use the restroom, my heart rate would shoot up. I started teaching my 8-year-old how to call 911 if I couldn’t make it to the phone.”
“We got a call for three boys – ages 1, 3, and 4. They were brothers, and had been separated. ‘I’m glad you are not mean and never get mad. I was scared of foster parents, but not you. You never scream or cuss,’ the oldest said as my mom tucked him in. In their eyes, they were already a part of our family.”
“I didn’t just wake up one day with my body not fitting into jeans. I didn’t just wake up with muscle separation, a saggy belly, stretch marks or a bit of extra weight. I had a freaking baby. I grew a baby. I made it in my body. I made a foot in there, an eyeball, I made another heartbeat.”
“You sat with me when I couldn’t hold back the tears. You carried my mom when she was too weak to walk. You held her hand the day she died because you didn’t want her to be alone.”
