“Every diaper I got to change came with so much excitement. Every feeding was so special to me. But secretly, I was still scared. My heart was attached, but my mind knew to keep a distance, just in case. And then I felt it. ‘This baby isn’t going anywhere.’”
“My dad was the disciplinarian at home. DO NOT MAKE DAD ANGRY. I don’t remember hearing ‘I love you.’ From my dad. Ever. He was brought up in the traditional ‘macho’ way. He’d constantly tell me, ‘I had it MUCH worse than you growing up!’ But then something really weird began to happen at school – it made me feel warm and fuzzy. I was validated and encouraged by teachers. Wait, what? A hurricane of hormones was wreaking havoc on me. I was an angry teen who needed to fill the hole in my heart.”
“The day before my vacation to the Caribbean, I realized my period was late. I spoke to my mom on the drive home from work. I’ll never forget her words: ‘Honey, it will probably be negative, but you will be drinking on your trip. Just take the test for peace of mind. ‘ I took it that night. It was POSITIVE! I laid there in so much pain, sobbing, and praying for a miracle.”
“BAM. So, we get to church, and the sermon was, you guessed it, ON THIS VERY TOPIC. Well played, God. Clearly God is listening to us around the kitchen island, too.”
“My dad was a dangerous man. After I was born, he endeared himself to me. ‘I’ve seen 100 girls like you,’ he said. He found my diary. He read it. Humiliated me. They tracked my periods. They would time how long it took me to walk from the bus stop to the apartment. I hid who I really was. I got smarter. I knew how long it took to go from the bedroom window to the front door, which I’d deadbolt when he left. I hid notes in menstrual pad packaging. I tell myself, ‘You tried to break me. You told me to kill myself. But YOU WON’T WIN.’”
“When she finished my transaction at the bank, she said, ‘I want to thank you for your energy and smile today. I wasn’t feeling very happy, but you raised my spirits.’ The tears came back again. It wasn’t me at all, but my beautiful son who had caused it. That night, we ate a meal together and he left to go out with friends. My daughter and I walked him to the door. On June 22, I saw his smiling face for the last time.”
“The envelope showed up in Judah’s backpack. I wasn’t expecting his report card, but I was eager to see how the goals we put in place manifested themselves. Imagine my surprise when that paper was littered with the lowest scores possible. My stomach lurched. My logical brain understood, but my mommy instinct was still pissed. Imagine how this little boy will feel when he understands what those 1’s will signify?!”
“We were having identical twin girls. My husband and I were overjoyed. But our twins did not develop their brains. We lost both our little girls. Because I am a teacher, I had to write to all of my students’ parents about what happened, asking them to explain it to their 5-year-old children. There was no belly. I had to mutter the words, ‘They’re gone, we lost them.’ It leaves behind scars, fears, and triggers.”
“My boys (14 and 10) can confidently navigate self-checkout, withdraw cash from an ATM, pump gas, make phone calls with confidence, order groceries, manage an Excel budget, order an Uber, etc. I refuse to send them into the workforce without basic skills.”
“‘Let mama throw on some clothes and put makeup on.’ Some days, I embrace the chaos. I laugh it off. It’s fine. This was not one of those days. I felt the tears welling in my eyes. There I was, day 3 of dry shampoo, on my knees in my 6-year-old’s closet 10 minutes before we had to leave. My toddler sitting atop the kitchen table, spilling milk from his brother’s cereal while the dogs licked the sticky floor. The words came from the other side of my bedroom door. I stopped frantically searching for a bobby pin. I just stopped.”
