“Maybe you never lost that 15 pounds, or paid off that credit card debt. You never got that dream job or organized your linen closet. Or your life. But if you’ve accomplished nothing more than living 365 days this year, that’s okay. Completely okay.”
“I don’t always get enough sleep. I spend my ‘free time’ cleaning up messes. My husband doesn’t get to watch all of the sporting events he wants to watch, and he has learned to get the little ones ready for school by himself. We don’t do it all, we do enough, and sometimes that is everything. I don’t, under any circumstance, feel bad for my husband that we were blessed with 7 girls.”
“All doors were alarmed, and I was surrounded by strangers. My identical twin made me a blanket to take to treatment. She wanted me to feel at home. The staff wouldn’t allow me to have it. Since I was still on Red level, I wasn’t allowed into my bedroom. I sat on the floor in the hallway by my room and cried to my mom on the phone, begging her to bring me home. As I cried on the floor, a patient walked up to me and handed me a little slip of paper. He had written ‘You can do this’ on a scrap of paper. I sobbed. I still have his note.”
“I knew they would reject me if I said no. ‘Sure, I’ll try it.’ I made a fool of myself. My ‘friends’ loved it. They bragged about me at school, about how cool I was. It was a thrill to be accepted for once. I didn’t know it was for the wrong reasons. It got to the point where I was homeless, using drugs to try to overdose. But it never worked. Every morning, I would wake up, cry, and tell myself it was the last time I was going to take drugs. But every night I would use again, trying to kill myself. Every day, and every night.”
“I walked in. A strange feeling came over me. This woman glowed. I was taken aback at first, but when she smiled, her eyes penetrated mine. It was like she could see into me. I had forgotten I was on a massage table. ‘I don’t know how I can thank you enough for what you just did for me. It was miraculous.’ As I walked out, I forgot to grab my purse. She was gone. What? I went room to room looking for her and never found her. I couldn’t shake this feeling. I wanted to properly thank her. No one knew who I was talking about.”
“I knew something was very wrong. I was barely able to hold myself up. ‘Really Jen? Pull it together.’ No one had answers. All I heard was, ‘I think you’re depressed.’ I felt like someone had filled my head with cement. At this point, I had given up. I convinced myself I was out of my mind. I laid in that MRI machine and lost track of time. I felt like my life was over at 15. The tech pulled up the images on the computer. ‘You’re going to need a neurosurgeon.’”
“I had just gotten home from running errands and opened up the fridge to pour a glass of wine. But before I opened the bottle, I ran upstairs to take a pregnancy test. My husband and I could never have kids on our own, but for some reason, I felt the need to just make sure. Within minutes, I had the answer. Tears poured down my face as I called for my husband. But here’s the honest truth. I didn’t want another child.”
“I went to work like normal. I put on my ‘happy face.’ Nobody knew what I planned to do after my shift. Living alone, I didn’t have anyone to stop me this time. When I went back to the service desk, the phone rang. I could tell Pam had been crying. ‘She didn’t make it.’ I fell up against the wall. I couldn’t breathe or swallow. I had to break the news to my co-workers. That night, I sat on my porch. I blurted out, ‘I don’t want to die anymore.’ As soon as I said it, this huge amount of pressure was just taken off of my chest. I had to keep going.”
“I’d catch the scent of him on my shirt or the smell of the hand soap I used at the NICU and my heart would long for him. After six long months in his tiny corner of the world, never seeing anything outside that NICU pod, we brought our new son home.”
“‘How could you discuss our marriage with your MOTHER?’ I demanded to know. I yanked my rings off. ‘Isn’t this what you want?’ He asked. ‘Don’t you hate me?’ It felt like a weight had been lifted. We planned our divorce. Everything was going great until the paperwork was signed. I suggested we go out to dinner to celebrate. He shook his head. ‘Just go, Tara.’ I didn’t understand. And then a tall, thin woman with wavy hair walked in the door. He locked eyes with her. I was struck with another revelation. It wasn’t his mother with whom he’d been consulting about our marriage, it was his girlfriend.”