Because One Time I Almost Lost

Today I want to talk about something difficult. Something that very few people know about me. Something I've kept silent on for a long time for fear that my weakness would be exposed and that I may be looked at or treated differently.

I'm sharing this with you today because I need to. I need you to know you aren't alone. As alone as I felt. I need you to know that there is hope. That you matter.

Many years ago, I was lost. Constantly surrounded by people, but always alone. There was a darkness in me that I couldn't hide from and trust me I tried. I spent everyday drinking and smoking this darkness away. Trying to mask it's devastating affects with the help of little blue pills.

One day it almost won. One day I had decided I had had enough. My best friend was dating the person I was in love with. I had dated him for two and a half years before he broke up with me to date not only her, but my other best friend as well. 
He was dangling our "love" on a string trailing it behind him for six months after he ended it. Seeing them but seeing me too.

I was young I know. Naive and stupid. Not really sure what real love is. But I felt something so strong for him that it made me blind to what was happening.

Everyday I went to school I was high. 
I couldn't sit still in class from the uppers I was taking. If it weren't for the colored contacts I wore I'll bet my teachers would have caught on. My pupils took over my eyes. The artificial coloring helped mask the craziness that anyone would see if they had actually been looking. 

It was a cold day in January. A fight between me and this man pushed me past anything I could've ever imagined I'd feel. I sat in my bedroom. Music blaring, tears flowing.

So I tried.

I couldn't tell you how many pills I took. Or how long the belt was tied around my throat. I can't remember how long I laid there before I came to. I can't describe the hopelessness I felt. I was a failure at love. A failure to myself. And now a failure at finding a release.

I was more lost than ever. How would I ever explain to my mother where the marks on my neck came from?

She never even noticed.

I spent the next couple of weeks letting loose. I went wild. Nothing left to lose I no longer cared about anything.

Two weeks after my failed attempt I got so wasted I lost an entire weekend. To this day the stories people tell me still don't register in my memory. I don't remember anything past the alcohol, past snorting the klonopins, past making it to my house with a handful of friends.

I woke up two days later to my mother standing over me. Telling me I wasn't going to spend another day in bed. Then she was gone.

Two days later my life changed.

Two days later I found out I was pregnant.

Fear isn't even the word I would use to describe how I felt. The guilt for everything that I had done washed over me in an instant. What had I done?

It was in that moment where my failed attempt at release started to make sense. It was my first step in my journey towards God.

To say I was fully reformed would be a lie. While my battle with drugs and alcohol was over in that instant, I was still at war with this feeling of hopelessness and despair. Probably more so without their numbing release. 

My son helped me through the thick of it, and I had a temporary bandaid-like fix because my pregnancy brought me and his father back together. Which at the time, I thought was the only reason I was feeling the way that I was. Looking back, however, it's clear to me I was in a volatile relationship. We brought out the worst in each other. I had no filter when I saw red and everyone knew it. He was a master at getting me to that point.

Two years five months after my failed attempt I found myself at yet another low point. After enduring so much negativity in my life. Everyday we fought. Everyday I heard that I was a terrible person and a terrible mother. He was still chasing my best friend. I sat back and watched. Believing that this was all that was meant for me. Believing that I indeed deserved the treatment he gave me. Believing I wasn't a good mother.

It was June. My son wasn't quite two. His dad told me he was going fishing with our friends. That I wasn't allowed to go even though all of my friends were going as well. A fight ensued to the point where the police were called.

He went fishing, I called his brother to see if he could take our son. Which he gladly did. I was devasted. Swirling in the darkness once more. Lost. Alone.

I sat staring at a cup of bleach. Bawling. I wrote out a long letter to my son. Begging him for forgiveness. I'm sure if I looked hard enough I probably still have this note somewhere.

I gathered every bit of courage I had and raised the glass to my lips.

" Please forgive me."

There was a knock on my door.

It was my mom coming to see if I was ok. I told her I was, but I just needed to be alone and I sent her on her way. It took me nearly thirty minutes to gather up the courage to bring that cup to my lips again.

"I love you Damian."

There's another knock at the door. My son and his uncle.

I dumped the glass and put it away and opened the door.

I found God that day.

While many would brush this off to coincidence, I can't.  I can't believe that a coincidence would knock on my door at the precise moment I'm ready to succumb to the darkness. Not just once but twice.

I can't believe a coincidence would allow me to just wake up that moment two and half years ago and walk away with only a few marks on my neck and a massive headache.

My life didn't change overnight, but my heart did. I stayed with him for a couple more years. Trying to make it work for our son. Believing it could. It couldn't.

Now looking back I see that every rough spot I went through, I went through for a reason. I had to believe my life was worth something. Even if I couldn't measure it in my own mind. God wanted me here.

If I would have succeeded at least two lives would have been forever changed. Four lives wouldn't have even came into existence. I wouldn't have been able to share this with you.

I would like to believe that my life has touched many others in the eight years since. That I have made a profound difference to at least one other person. I believe with one hundred percent of my being that God put me here because I am needed.

You are too. You may not be able to see it right now. You may be lost and scared like I was. You aren't alone, I promise. You matter to more people than you realize and you owe it to yourself to reach out to them. Some choices can't be unmade, but they can always be worked through together.

If you're having trouble talking to someone you know, the suicide prevention hotline is available 24/7. 
1-800-273-8255

Memories of Your "Mean Mom"

You know kids... One day you'll read this and memories of me will come to mind. Sometimes those memories won't be very pleasant and I think we should take a minute to explore that.

As well intentioned as I may be, sometimes I'm slightly ... Let's say, unbalanced.

Sometimes the crying and the arguing; the 12:30 am wake up calls from the puking five year old; the stabbing pain from misstepping while walking through the Lego minefield that's been on the bedroom floor for the last three days; and the tiny little hands that have permanently attached themselves to the side of my leg throws something off inside me which in turn makes me a not-so-nice mama to be around.

As much as I want to take a deep breath and find my center before addressing the unfavorable situations we find ourselves in, I also know that trying to pass on a logical solution to a four year old is going to go over about as well as vacuuming our lawn.

The reality is sometimes your mom has bad days. Bad days that make me your "mean mom." Bad days that cause you to roll your eyes and stomp your feet. Days that make you scream and cry and threaten to run away and never come back.

Sometimes I lose my shit and say things I don't mean. Sometimes those things are more funny than scary, like the time I told Penelope that if she didn't let me brush her hair I would just shave her head. Sometimes those things are more mean than helpful, like the time I told Lydia to stop throwing a fit about her shoes and look for them because if I found them first I was going to leave her home alone.

Others may not see the gravity in the things I've said to you, but Lydia your gentle heart broke at the thought of being left behind. My frustration in trying to get everyone ready so we could leave and still not being ready myself made me lash out unfairly at you. Sure, you really did need to stop walking around in circles crying because it was clearly not helping you. But, I could've started asking where you looked and gave you places to check to help the situation instead of leaving you in a panic from the unfair ultimatum I handed out instead.

There are many times I yell first and ask questions later. Times I don't give you a chance to explain yourself before I say "I don't want to hear it, go to your room." There are days you get in trouble for stuff your brother or sister did and had no control over. Or moments I am disappointed because I expected more from you than what (in hindsight) was reasonable.

I know one day when you read this you'll remember the mom that was angry and belligerent. The mom who told you to shut up and leave her alone. The one who only wanted five minutes of quiet before she lost it. The one who made you feel like an inconvenience instead of the incredible blessing that you've always been.

I wish I could give you a childhood free of these experiences. I wish I could picture a future where you read this and say "what in the world are you talking about mom?" But I'm realistic kids. Your mom is a basketcase. For better or worse.

Someday, you'll have your own unstable moments. Moments where you snap at that mini version of you. The one who isn't really the reason you are frustrated. The lack of sleep and non stop go, go, go energy that radiates from them will grate on your nerves and the exhaustion will get the better of you. You'll hurt that sweet kid's feelings.

At the moment it may seem like the biggest parenting fail of your life. I promise you it's not. I'm not a perfect parent you guys. As your memories may remind you. But my imperfections don't lessen the amount of love I have for you. They just make me human. Just as they do for you.

Fact is guys, there's a lot of things I may not do right. There's probably a ton of things I could do better. But, being a parent is not about appearing like you always have your shit together. It's about providing an example of embracing all parts of who you are as a person. Accepting you are flawed and showing how to push on, admit when you're wrong, and strive for better.

And sure sometimes "angry mom" could be avoided. But sometimes "angry mom" is the result of you kids acting bad as Hell.  Sometimes I can't handle that tantrum over your marshmallow being smashed. Or the fit because I can't make the sun move out of your eyes. I'm sorry that's the best corner of the couch, how about you scootch it over an inch and ta-da no more sun in your face.

Sometimes I can't deal with one more mess. The kid that is covered head to toe in baby powder, or toothpaste, or marker. The make-up that is wiped all over my mirror and carpet and clothes in my closet. The lake you've created on the bathroom floor and fishing toys out of the toilet.

Sometimes I just want you to get along. Stop touching your sister, stop making that humming noise your brother has repeatedly asked you to quit for the last five minutes. Stop taking that toy, or that spot, or that blanket. No one cares that you wanted the red plate. Not the blue, not the yellow, not the green. The red. Babe, they all have the same food in them.

You kids have been the greatest blessing God has ever given me. You have gotten me through so many of my own self doubts and you have made me a better person than I thought I could be. So when you reminisce about the kind of mother I have been all I ask is that you remember, you outnumbered me six to one. Please be thankful you survived. Lord knows I am.

Love you all forever and ever,
Mama

Make It Count

I don't pretend that I have all the answers. Most days I'm at a loss for words so please don't read this thinking I'll be unveiling the how to's of life. All I know is that I'm determined to make this year a better year than last. I respect the hell out of all you avid resolutionaries. The ones who probably spend all of December going over their year. The ones who try to prep for what we have come to view as our blank slate period (aka January). I'm not one of those.

No matter the effort of trying that I put into it. The process becomes overstimulating for me and I get burnt out really quick. The anxiety I feel from reliving even the good moments of my previous year is enough to make me want to commit myself. Judge me as you will. I'm a spaz.
Moving on.


That doesn't mean that I don't set goals for myself. In years past I was all about the number of goals. I know. Silly and naive. No worries, I now focus on the quality.

I'm realistic.

365 days is a long period of time to commit to endeavors that you won't put your whole heart into. I don't like the idea of dooming myself before I even begin so I try to generate ideas that will grow me as a mother, wife, and person. This year my overall goal is to live in the moment.

There are few things that we can actually control in this life. Once we accept that life can become a lot easier for us. I've wasted way too much of my time stressing out over situations outside of my control. And even more over situations that hadn't and could very possibly NEVER happen. I dream of a year with less of this. Less anxiety. Less worry. More focus on the moment in time where I do have control. Control over my emotions. Over my choices. Over my actions.

I want to spend my year loving more and yelling less. Ok, look. I have five kids. My home is overflowing with love, but it is also overflowing with noise. Loud, unnerving hysteria that centers around the constant worrying of what someone else is doing. Unless of course "nobody" is doing it because obviously "nothing" is going on. (insert exaggerated eye roll). I will remind myself amidst all the chaos there is a magical world of childhood imagination that my kids have created. A world that I will visit more because my children won't be children for long. And I'm coming to grips with the realization that the more I yell the faster this life stage disappears. I'm not ready for that so I will make the conscience descion to be in the moment.

This year will be the year that I stop comparing my life to everyone else's and stop letting other people's assumptions affect how I feel about myself. No one's story is identical to mine so how can I expect to have the same pages? Our journeys are meant to be our own. We walk alongside one another for the company not for competition. We all need to spend less time judgine one another on how far we have or haven't come. I will remember that those who spend their life going through mine with a fine tooth comb are just looking for a distraction from their own problems. I will focus solely on those who enrich my life.

In closing, here's to making 2015 count. Stay present in all you do this year. Life is a gift and we are all struggling with our own issues, be kinder to those around you.


Namaste.