Amanda Doulos is a digital editor for Love What Matters based in New York City. She will graduate from Binghamton University with a Bachelor of English Literature and Spanish in Spring 2023. She loves staying involved as vice president of the mock trial team and secretary of Spanish Honor Society. In her free time, she loves reading, traveling, and spending time with friends.
“I convinced myself I was dying. I worked myself into a panic attack. ’Why is this happening to me?’ It was brutal. I didn’t know how I was going to make it, but I knew I had to do it for my baby.”
“I started to see bald patches on the back of my head. My legs and arms would ache so badly I felt like I would vomit. I lay on the couch, wondering why my body hated me so much. Every day, I woke up with one more symptom, one more medical bill.”
“Growing up, my birth story wasn’t like the ones my friends had. I never knew where I was born or what my biological family looks like. ‘Why do I have black hair and black eyes while you’re blonde? I felt displaced.”
“I was bullied by my classmates. ’You’re just faking.’ I had pneumonia, broke my wrist twice, tore my MCL, sprained my ankle again, and had my appendix taken out—all in 3 years. I just wanted to be normal.”
“I felt a pit in my stomach. Then the pain started, a sharp pain right above my belly button that wouldn’t go away. I was collapsing every time I got out of bed. I’d drink a ton of water, eat enough, and was still feeling ill.”
“I entered the life-changing, magical world of motherhood. I had no clue what I was doing. Breastfeeding vs. formula feeding. Crib vs. co-sleeping. It felt like there was nothing we moms could ever agree on. Well, except for one thing… wine.”
“I felt very drained. I kept running to the bathroom every 5 minutes. My shoes wouldn’t fit, and my face was starting to look and feel puffy. Our precious child was now going to help Mommy fight for her life.”
“I found myself with two kids, multiple divorces, and a life in utter chaos. I still couldn’t see the problem was me. I’d promise I’d be back and never show up. My kids spent 3 years never knowing if I was coming home.”
“I felt as if I had a UTI, but the dipsticks came back fine. I spent so much time in the toilet it became a work joke. I’d wake up five times a night for the toilet and at times, would hardly empty my bladder at all. I just felt clueless.”
“My body’s injustice and betrayal would send me fleeing to a quiet place where I wouldn’t be discovered by my kids. I’d hide in my closet, trying my hardest to muffle my crying. As the tears fell from my cheeks and were washed away, I’d wish they were carrying the sickness out of me.”
