The TRUTH About Motherhood

Category: Personal

I Spent 50 Years Shrinking To Fit a World That Was Never Made for Me—I’m Done
Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
A life story of lies, deception and trauma.
Reborn, reparented and healing in process.
I am more… I am as much as I want, need or choose to be. I am everything all at once and almost nothing at the exact same time.
I am stubborn and angry. My temper boils fast and runs hot.
But I love big. Completely. With my everything.
“People say I’m too much but I’ve never felt like I’m enough.”
There’s an insatiable hole inside of me—always wanting just a little bit more. Never feeling like I quite belonged anywhere.
Always trying harder but never fitting in. Nothing is ever good enough—and I think it goes back to never feeling seen or heard at home. I had to make a spectacle and roar just to get a seat at the table.
The Emptiness No One talks About When You’re Healing from Childhood Trauma
I still feel ‘empty’ sometimes. Like something’s missing and I can’t name it.
I try to fill the emptiness with noise and things and too much of everything—but it’s never the thing I need. It’s never enough because it’s never full acceptance. Just the pretty edges and shiny bits.
No one’s ever listening because they’re too busy talking over me. Explaining to me what I’m supposed to think, feel, and be. They set the standard based on stereotypes they’ve made up, and I’ve spent my entire life—masking, shrinking, and contorting—trying to fit into a world that was never designed for people like me.
A world built for people who never really knew me. Never cared to.
And somehow, somewhere along the way, I handed them the power to make me feel like not enough.
“I gave them the power. Well, I’m taking it all back.”
What Reparenting Yourself Actually Looks Like From the Inside
The work of reparenting yourself isn’t pretty or easy. There’s no pastel journal for this. No aesthetic morning routine.
It looks like trauma bombs going off when you least expect it or being triggered because your daughter paces and it sends you into a panic. Because when you were just a little girl, your dad would tower over you when he came home drunk and angry at the world.
Reparenting yourself looks like sitting inside your own discomfort long enough to ask—whose voice is that? And then realizing, it was never yours to begin with.
It looks like being as loud or quiet as you want to be. Not performing for a single person in the room.
It looks like spectacling in all of your own spectacular glory with zero apology or shame.
The journey of reparenting yourself is the decision—and it is a decision—that you are the only one who gets to decide if you are enough.
Only you can love yourself back to you.
I forgot that.
For so long, I was so busy taking care of everyone else’s needs that I nearly completely disappeared from my own life. I’ve let myself shrink to fit. I quieted myself for other people’s comfort. I went invisible to stay safe.
No more.
Stop Shrinking Yourself: You Were Never Too Much
I am not too much.
I never was.
I am just enough because there is only one me—and however I choose to show up is exactly right.
No, I don’t fit your expectations or mold.
Fuck your mold! I broke that bitch.
You are the one and only you who will ever exist on this earth. You are the expert in you. You are the main character in your own story and, don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Write it down. Put it on your mirror. Tattoo it on the insides of your eyelids if you have to.
Reclaiming Your Power When the World Has Tried to Take It
Be who you want to be. Not who others expect you to be.
Their expectations are cinder blocks around our necks and we’re drowning fast under the weight.
Let it go. Let them think whatever they want.
This is what reparenting yourself comes down to, at the very end of everything: the radical, terrifying, liberating act of deciding that their version of you is not the final word.
You are enough.
You are more than enough.
You always have been.
“You never needed their permission to take up space. You only ever needed yours.”
You Found This Page for a Reason
If you are somewhere in the middle of your own reparenting yourself journey—the messy, nonlinear , “why is this taking so long” part—you are in exactly the right place.
The TRUTH about Motherhood is where we talk about the things nobody else will say out loud. Subscribe now and never miss a post.

2026/03/30
I Never Held You, But I’ll Always Love You
Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
Every year, I dread this day because I never know how I’m going to feel. Am I going to be functional? Am I going to be in the fetal position? Will I feel a certain type of way? Or Will I cry? Will I break shit? Will the day pass nonchalantly? I think that’s the one I fear more than even completely forgetting… being able to go on with my life like nothing’s missing. Existing while pushing down the miscarriage anniversary grief that is always just a hair away from bubbling to the surface.
Maybe it’s because the baby I lost would be turning 13 years old this year (and that’s a huge milestone)? Or maybe it’s because my youngest daughter is graduating from high school and turning 18 years old this month? Maybe it’s because my oldest daughter, my closest friend, is going away for college in the fall? Maybe it’s the state of the world? Or maybe it’s feeling helpless, hopeless and overwhelmed. Maybe it’s all the forced change and letting go with no way to stop it. No one asked me.
I just know that today, I feel like someone gashed open my scarred-over wound and left me bleeding and broken on the ground. It fucking hurts.
When will it stop hurting? How can anyone ever get over this kind of loss? It lingers with me daily; like a ghost of a memory that never fully existed in this world. It’s believing without ever truly knowing. It’s desperately missing what you never got to hold. How can I miss someone so heartbrokenly who I never even got to lay eyes on him beyond a sonogram?
It’s been 13 years since I heard those words, “ I’m sorry, I can’t find a heartbeat”. 13 years since my entire world imploded and changed me forever. It seems like yesterday ( the pain is still so fresh in my heart), but then again, it feels like it happened a lifetime ago, to someone else. But that’s only because the wound has long scarred over. The underlying pain, throbbing right beneath the surface, fickle and erratic, ready to go from 3 to 10 with the whisper of the wrong word or the thought of a memory that will never exist. How do you love someone so much and go on living without them? Is that even living?
Miscarriage anniversary grief is very real and seldom spoke of because everyone just wants to forget it happened.
But what about the mother’s with empty arms and overflowing hearts. What are we supposed to do with all of this love? Our grief is the proof that our children existed.
It is living, but it’s only a semblance of the life you were evolving into; the trauma and pain of losing your child changes you in ways that only another mother can comprehend because a mother’s love is unlike any other love in the world. A mother is the one person in this world who will love you no matter what. She will defend you with her life because without you, she is unwhole.
So here I sit, in my bed, still in my pajamas at 2:17 p.m. mourning and remembering a child that I loved more than myself but never had the privilege of holding in my arms. It may seem weird to hold so tight but sometimes it feels like he never existed. I have to be his legacy.
The thing is I’m no quitter. I’ve never quit a thing in my life. It’s just not how I’m built but, honestly, I feel like my body failed my baby and I can never pay that debt. It lingers in my heart that maybe my uncertainty and hesitation about being a mom at 39, maybe it was some cosmic punishment for not being as enthusiastic at our unexpected blessing? I have grief from the loss mixed with guilt for my body failing my child. I’ll carry that weight until the day I die. I’ll always feel responsible for lacking.
But, that’s all I can do for atonement is live with guilt. I can’t do anything to bring my baby back and I never could. Sometimes things just don’t work out, for no reason at all; no matter how much you wanted it. No matter how much you loved it. No matter how scared or unsure you were. None of it mattered. It just wasn’t meant to be and I have to learn to live with that.
Miscarriage Anniversary Grief
It never goes away. No matter how I wish none of it were true and you, my sweet baby, were here with me. I never got the chance to hold you in my arms and read these lines to you, my sweet baby, but today…I feel it’s time to say the words I never could to you…
“ I’ll love you forever
I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be”
XOXO, Mommy
2025/05/01
Born Between 1957-1989? Your Measles Immunity Might Need a Boost
As a mom who’s constantly juggling appointments, school pickups, creating content, and keeping everyone healthy, I never expected to find myself rolling up my sleeve for a childhood vaccine again. But that’s exactly what I did last week – getting my second MMR vaccination as an adult. Yes, I got an adult measles booster shot! And, it stung like a son of a gun. Why? Because measles is making an alarming comeback across the country, and experts are warning that many of us who thought we were protected might not be fully immune. And, tbh, I can’t take the risk. Being a good human being is hard.
The Measles Comeback: Why It Matters to Your Family
Measles isn’t just another childhood illness. It’s incredibly contagious – capable of lingering in the air for hours after an infected person has left the room. One person with measles can infect up to 90% of unprotected people around them. And while most recover, the complications can be devastating – pneumonia, brain swelling (encephalitis), and even death.
According to Harvard Health Publishing, Dr. Michelle Chan, an infectious disease physician at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center, puts it clearly: “We worry about the outbreaks because measles is a highly contagious infection. Individuals who have not been immunized, children too young for the vaccine, and those who are immunocompromised can become very ill from measles.”
Are You in a Vulnerability Gap? Check Your Birth Year
Here’s the reality many of us missed: your childhood vaccines might not be giving you complete protection anymore. The CDC has identified several key groups who should check their immunity status immediately:
- Born between 1963-1967? You may have received an inactivated (killed) version of the measles vaccine that proved less effective. Medical records from this era are spotty at best, so if you were vaccinated during this window, doctors recommend getting one to two doses of the current MMR vaccine.
- Born between 1968-1989? You likely received just one dose of the MMR vaccine, as two doses didn’t become standard until 1989. One dose provides about 93% protection, but two doses boost that to 97%. That 4% difference might not sound huge until you consider how contagious measles is.
- Healthcare workers, international travelers, or those who have close contact with immunocompromised individuals should ensure complete vaccination regardless of age, as these positions put you at higher risk of exposure or transmission.
You may need an adult measles booster shot
What about those born before 1957? You’re generally considered immune because measles was so widespread during your childhood that you likely were exposed and developed natural immunity. However, if you’re in a high-risk profession or situation, testing or vaccination might still be recommended.
When Protection Isn’t Just Personal
I’ll be honest – I was frustrated about needing another MMR vaccine as an adult. As I told my doctor while rolling up my sleeve, “It’s ridiculous that I have to get an MMR as an adult, but I don’t want to catch measles and possibly die.”
But then I remembered: this isn’t just about me. It’s about community protection – what medical experts call “herd immunity.” Some people genuinely cannot receive vaccines for medical reasons – babies too young for vaccination, people undergoing cancer treatment, or those with certain immune disorders. My immunity helps protect them. I’m not a selfish person by nature and I definitely don’t want to be responsible for infecting someone else.
I believe in personal choice, but not when those choices put vulnerable people at risk. If parents choose not to vaccinate their children, they should at least keep unvaccinated children home when ill and inform others of potential exposure so families can make informed decisions.
Checking Your Immunity: Simpler Than You Think
The good news? Determining if you need a booster is simple:
1. Check your vaccination records if available
2. Talk to your doctor about your specific situation
3. Consider a blood test that can check your immunity levels
4. When in doubt, get vaccinated – receiving an additional MMR dose is completely safe even if you’re already immune
As Dr. Chan reassures patients, “If you are unsure, you can choose to take a dose of the vaccine. It is very safe and not harmful if you happen to receive an additional dose.”
My Family’s Protection Plan includes an adult measles booster shot
At the end of the day, I’m going to do what’s best to protect my family. For me, that meant getting my second MMR vaccine last week. For you, it might mean checking your records or scheduling an appointment with your doctor.
As parents, we make thousands of decisions for our families. This is one where the science is clear: ensuring proper measles immunity through vaccination isn’t just about protecting ourselves – it’s about protecting our entire community, especially those who can’t protect themselves.
As Dr. Chan emphasizes, “It all comes back to vaccines. This is our most effective method of preventing measles infection and resurgence.”
Have you checked your family’s measles immunity status lately? Did you discover you needed a booster? Share your experience in the comments below.
2025/04/30
The Cruel Reality: ICE Targeting Immigrant Children for Deportation Under the Guise of “Welfare”
Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
As the daughter of an immigrant and a mom, watching Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents conduct so-called “welfare checks” on unaccompanied immigrant children makes my blood boil. What’s presented as concern for child safety is revealed through internal documents to be something far more sinister: a coordinated effort to deport vulnerable children and criminalize the family members legally caring for them. ICE targeting immigrant children is wrong on every level. They’re children; regardless of color or race, it’s our responsibility to care for children.
The Truth Behind ICE’s “Welfare Checks”
Recent reports have confirmed that ICE is actively seeking out unaccompanied immigrant children in nationwide operations. While the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) claims these visits are benevolent “welfare checks” meant to “ensure that they are safe and not being exploited,” an internal ICE document obtained by the National Immigration Project tells a different story.
The document explicitly shows that ICE officials are gathering intelligence to determine whether these children are “flight risks” or “threats to public safety.” Evaluating deportation possibilities, and looking for ways to pursue criminal cases against both the children and their sponsors. This isn’t protection—it’s persecution.
Michelle Méndez, director of legal resources and training for the National Immigration Project, called it what it is: “backdoor family separation.” The government is weaponizing these children’s vulnerability to target entire immigrant communities.
ICE targeting immigrant children for deportation is fucking bullshit. People are not “illegal,” especially in a country stolen from the indigenous and built on the backs of brown and black people.
Let’s be crystal clear about what’s happening: this administration is deliberately traumatizing children who have already endured unimaginable hardships. Many of these kids fled violence, poverty, and persecution, traveling thousands of dangerous miles alone in search of safety. They’ve been processed through our immigration system. Placed with vetted sponsors (often family members), and are working through their legal cases as required by our laws.
Now, ICE agents are showing up at their homes, terrifying them with threats of deportation or criminal charges. A 16-year-old girl in Washington state was so frightened during one of these “welfare checks” that she desperately messaged her legal representative, afraid her life would be “flipped upside down.” This isn’t protecting children—it’s traumatizing them.
Systemic Attacks on Vulnerable Communities
These operations don’t exist in isolation. They’re part of a broader pattern of attacks on immigrant communities:
1. Legal services for unaccompanied minors have been slashed, despite court intervention
2. The Office of Refugee Resettlement (ORR) has resumed sharing sensitive data about children and their sponsors with ICE
3. The current acting director of ORR is Angie Salazar, a former ICE agent
4. Children with alleged “gang ties” are being targeted using flimsy evidence under the rarely-used 1798 Alien Enemies Act
The concept of “backdoor family separation” is just a way to use immigrant people’s love for their children to threaten them. No Latino is ever leaving their child behind. These are human beings, and the U.S. government is treating them like property, completely dehumanizing these parents and their children in order for fellow Americans to condone this mass deportation of brown people. It’s a crime against humanity. Americans, we need to do what’s right even when its hard.
The Human Impact
For families caring for these children, these operations create an atmosphere of constant fear. Sponsors who went through extensive background checks and vetting processes to legally care for these children now face potential arrest and deportation for doing exactly what the government asked them to do. WTF? It feels like a trap and serves as a threat to others; stand down or you too might get illegally deported.
Shaina Aber, executive director of the Acacia Center for Justice, expressed her distress: “The amount of trauma that this administration seems willing to put kids through is really upsetting.”
Samuel Smith, director of immigrant legal aid at Manzanita House, described the terrified 16-year-old girl who contacted him during an ICE visit: “Both the text messages sent and the tone of communication when talking on the phone, was of a child who was incredibly scared. She had no idea what was going on and was worried that her life would be flipped upside down.”
A Personal Perspective
As someone who grew up watching my immigrant parent navigate this country’s complicated and often hostile systems, I understand the constant fear that comes with being seen as “other.” The worry that a knock on the door might mean your family being torn apart. The vigilance required to survive in a system designed to exclude you. In this political climate, even when you’ve done everything right and are here with proper paperwork, you still carry with you that feeling of being vulnerable and scared.
These children have done nothing wrong. They are following the legal processes established by our own government. Their sponsors—often family members who simply want to provide a safe home—are being criminalized for acts of love.
There’s a particular cruelty in targeting children. They are the most vulnerable and the least able to advocate for themselves. They’re the most likely to suffer lasting trauma from these experiences. ICE is deliberately exploiting this vulnerability.
What This Really Means
Let’s be honest about what’s happening here ICE is targeting immigrant children. This isn’t about protecting children. If it were, we’d be investing in their legal representation and their education. We’d care about their mental health services, and their successful integration into communities.
Instead, this administration has cut legal services and appointed former ICE officials to lead the agency responsible for these children’s care. The intent is clear: to use fear as a deterrent. They want to make examples of these children. Advancing a political agenda that views certain immigrants as inherently undesirable.
As Americans, we must ask ourselves: Is this who we want to be? A nation that terrorizes children? That separates families? That punishes acts of love and compassion?
For the daughter of an immigrant watching this unfold, the answer is a resounding “hell no”. We must be and do better than this. These children deserve better than this. Our shared humanity demands it.
2025/04/29
As First Latin American Pope Dies, This Latina Mother Explains What His Humble Papacy Meant to Our Family
Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
A seemingly plain black and white rosary hangs from my rearview mirror, catching the light as I drive my daughters to school each morning. To most, it might look like a simple religious trinket, but to our family, it represents something profound – a connection to a man who showed my girls what it means to lead with humility and compassion. Today, that rosary carries an even deeper meaning as the first Latin American pope dies at the age of 88, leaving behind a legacy that forever changed how I explain faith to my daughters.
I remember gathering my girls around the television in 2013 when white smoke rose from the Sistine Chapel. As a Latina mother raising Catholic daughters in America, I held my breath, wondering who would step onto that balcony. When Jorge Mario Bergoglio emerged and began with a simple “Buonasera” (“Good evening”), something shifted. Here was a pope who spoke our language – not just Spanish, but the language of humility, accessibility, and genuine warmth.
“Mamá, he looks like abuelito,” my youngest whispered, noticing his gentle smile. I couldn’t help but tear up. After centuries of European pontiffs, the first Latin American pope had arrived, bringing with him cultural touchstones that felt intimately familiar – from his love of soccer to his direct, heartfelt manner of speaking.
The Pope Francis humble papacy began with his unprecedented decision to live in the modest Domus Santa Marta hotel rather than the palatial papal apartments.
He chose simple, practical shoes over red papal loafers, rode in compact cars instead of limousines, and carried his own luggage – choices that made explaining the concept of spiritual leadership tangible for my children.
“Why doesn’t he want to live in a castle if he can?” my daughter once asked.
“Because he believes Jesus wouldn’t have lived in a castle either,” I explained, grateful for such a clear example of living one’s values.
Monday morning at 7:35, the Pope Francis humble papacy came to an end as he “returned to the home of the Father,” according to Cardinal Kevin Farrell’s announcement.
Church bells rang from Buenos Aires to Manila as the world absorbed the news that the first Latin American pope dies after a 38-day hospitalization for double pneumonia. Just one day earlier, he had appeared at Easter celebrations, offering a final blessing to thousands in St. Peter’s Square.
Born to Italian immigrants in Buenos Aires on December 17, 1936, Francis brought his Argentine perspective to the global stage. His pontificate embraced “todos, todos, todos” (“everyone, everyone, everyone”) – a phrase I’ve found myself repeating in our home when my daughters ask difficult questions about who belongs in our church community.
Through 12 transformative years, the Pope Francis humble papacy redefined what Catholic leadership could look like.
He prioritized mercy over judgment, famously responding “Who am I to judge?” when asked about gay priests. He washed the feet of prisoners, embraced the disfigured, and constantly directed the church’s attention to refugees, the poor, and society’s outcasts.
For our family, these weren’t abstract theological positions but practical lessons in compassion. When my daughters noticed a homeless person outside our church, Francis’s example gave us a framework for discussion beyond simply saying “that’s sad.” We talked about human dignity and our responsibility to see Christ in every person – lessons straight from the Pope Francis humble papacy.
His pontificate wasn’t without controversies. Some conservatives considered him too progressive, while advocates for abuse victims felt he didn’t go far enough in addressing the church’s failures. After initially mishandling cases in Chile, Francis did something rare for a pope – he admitted his mistake, apologized, and worked to make amends. In the end, we are all just fallible humans trying to do the right thing.
That humility in acknowledging errors became another teaching moment in our home. “Even the pope makes mistakes,” I told my daughters. “What matters is how we respond when we’re wrong.”
As the first Latin American pope dies, I find myself reflecting on what his papacy meant specifically for Latina mothers like me. Francis validated our cultural expressions of faith – embracing popular piety, recognizing saints like Oscar Romero who spoke for our communities, and demonstrating that leadership doesn’t require European origins or aristocratic bearing.
He provided me with endless examples of faith in action that resonated with Latino values of family, community, and care for the vulnerable. When explaining complex church teachings, I could point to Francis kneeling to wash feet, embracing the marginalized, or living simply – making abstract concepts tangible through his example.
Now, as the church begins the solemn process of mourning and eventually selecting a new leader, I find myself wondering how to explain this transition to my daughters. The Pope Francis humble papacy has been the only one they’ve known – a pontificate defined by warmth, accessibility, and a focus on mercy. He embodied his papa title.
Perhaps the lesson is in the continuity of faith despite changes in leadership. That blessed rosary in my car will remain, carrying memories of a pope who showed my Latina daughters that their culture, their language, and their expressions of faith belong at the very heart of the church. As the first Latin American pope dies, his legacy of humility lives on in the countless families like ours who saw our values reflected in his leadership.
For that gift – making faith accessible, relatable, and deeply human – this Latina mother will be forever grateful.
RIP beloved Pope Francis!
2025/04/21
God Help America
Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
Life is about to get rough and strange and really f*cking weird but I was raised that through God all things are possible and if God brought me to it, God will bring me through it. Jesus H. Christ, I really hope so. God help America.
We’re living in times where no one is safe from accusation or above suspicion, not the innocent and not even an Episcopalian Bishop, Mariann Budde, who did nothing more than ask for mercy in a time when we are all feeling extremely vulnerable.
As an actual person of faith and spirituality, I’ve lived my life following 5 simple rules:
1. Treat others as you’d want to be treated …with respect, integrity, dignity and humanity. Our default setting as human beings should be kindness and we should behave accordingly as often as possible.
2. Never judge anyone because you never know what they’re going through, what they’ve been through or why they’re doing any of it. It is not our place to understand or approve of others or how they live their lives but rather to move through the world with compassion, empathy, love and understanding.
3. Respect all life and living things. Always strive to evolve to be the best version of yourself. Other people are not your competition.
4. Stand up for what you believe in. Speak up for those who have no voice and never give up on the people and things you believe in.
5. Do no harm. When you know better you do better so always ask yourself how would you feel if what you’re doing was happening to you instead of by you.
For me it’s always been very simple, do what’s right even when it’s not easy. Be your honest, authentic, true self even when it’s not popular. Because I’ve realized that life is very short; too short to live life filled with hate, fear, worry and judgement. And I can’t even pretend to be someone that I’m not.
I might be quite rough around the edges and most of the time, I’m a foul mouthed hooligan, but I am who I am and I’m always going to be the “who you see ( online) is who you’ll get (irl)” every day of the week. I just have never had it in me to want to be anyone other than who I am. I’ve been through it in my life and I’m not shrinking for anyone anymore. I’m finally in my “Me” era. I’ve worked too f*cking hard to love who I am to let other peoples opinions of me be any of my business.
All this, just to reintroduce you all to me.
As I said, times are weird and a lot of us have been feeling sad, confused, betrayed and even hopeless over the last few weeks. I know that my entire existence ( Latina woman) feels as if I’ve been abandoned and Judas Iscarioted. To be honest, most POCs and people of marginalized communities, we’re used to this being pushed aside, ignored and disrespected and though we were shocked the way some of our fellow “we the people” countrymen expelled their vitriol; we were never surprised.
Rest assured, it has still wounded us deeply this open and blatant “ we versus them” mentality when our beloved America was founded on the very principal of freedom from persecution and the promise of a better life for ourselves and our children. We are a country built upon the backs of slaves and immigrants, stolen land from the Indigenous people ( my people) and still the descendants of our first colonizers have the audacity to change the very virtues upon which this great nation was founded to serve all of “we the people”, not just the ones lacking melanin and weaponizing ignorance with untruths and unchecked deceit (all under the guise of love of country) when, in fact, it’s nothing more than the hatred of difference.
I don’t know about you but I quite love having the freedom to make good choices, to care and love all humanity. This goes beyond just those who look like me. I want to leave this world better for my children than I found it. My biggest privilege and honor in this life has been to raise good, kind, caring, empathetic human beings.
This is the resistance; choosing to do the good and right thing especially when it’s not the popular thing. Let’s do better America. We’ve always been great and we’re greatest when we’re united. We are strongest when we care and protect our weakest. We are at our best when we work together to make life better for the collective and not the individual.
The pursuit of happiness does not only apply to those of us whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower. It applies to those of us who were indigenous, we who were brought over against our will in shackles, and those seeking asylum from wars and violence. It should also apply to those people seeking a better, safer life. At the end of the day, if we want a better America for our children… we need to be better Americans.
There is no “us’ and “them” there is just “we the people”. “We” includes every American, regardless of the color of their skin, their political party, race, religion, who they love or what lies between their legs.
If you really want America to be great again, we need to start by seeing everyone as equal. Unless they show you that they are lacking in humanity, decency and character. We need to care for our poor, elderly, disabled and marginalized peoples with the same care and respect as we would want to be cared for.
God help America. Help us stand for what’s right, protect the innocent and be good, decent people with morals and integrity.
God Help America
How can we be a a great nation when we abandon our morals and respect for human life in exchange for carte blanche hatred and fear mongering. We are better than this America.
What are you doing to help the most vulnerable of us?
2025/01/24
The Day My World Stopped: What Could Have Been
Estimated reading time: 0 minutes
Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day so, I want to share my story. I wanted to remember my Declan, who I never got to hold in my arms. I don’t get to celebrate his birthday or his milestones. Instead, I mark time by mourning what could have been on what should have been his due date and on the day we lost him. I know it sounds morbid but these two days are all that I have. I don’t even get to talk about him. I’ll never have a picture of him on my wall or get to hear him call me “mommy.” I was robbed of all of it, even though I desperately wanted him.
I lost my third child on May 1, 2012. That day is seared into my soul and the wound is still as fresh today as it was that morning as we drove to the hospital. I was sitting there in the car with my husband but I felt more alone than I’d ever felt before. That day changed everything for me; not just my perspective of the world but who I was and how I would move throughout that world for the rest of my life. I’m not the same woman I was before that moment I was told that my baby no longer had a heartbeat. It’s not an easy story to tell, but I think it’s important. Maybe you’ve been through something similar, or maybe you know someone who has. Either way, I hope sharing this helps in some small way.
The Day It All Fell Apart
It was a Monday morning. April 30, 2012. Just another day, right? Except it wasn’t. I was 10 weeks and 4 days pregnant, and I had a routine ultrasound appointment to confirm everything was okay because I had some slight spotting. No big deal, I thought. I’d done this before with my other pregnancies. But the moment I saw the tech’s face, I knew. You know that feeling when your heart just… drops? Yeah, that. I wanted to disappear and stop everything.
I didn’t want to hear whatever they were about to say. I knew. She didn’t even have to say the words. But she did anyway. “I’m so sorry, we couldn’t find your baby’s heartbeat.” And just like that, my world imploded.
The Aftermath
You know what’s weird? How the world just… keeps going. There I was, my entire existence shattered into a million pieces, and outside that window, people were still walking their dogs, grabbing coffee, living their lives. It felt so wrong. Nothing felt alright. I didn’t even recognize myself. The grief and sadness were primal.
I remember sitting in my car afterward, just… wailing. I’ve never cried like that before or since. It was this primal, gut-wrenching sound that I didn’t even recognize as my own voice. And then, because life is cruel sometimes, I had to pull myself together to pick up my daughter from preschool. Can you imagine? Pretending everything’s fine when your heart is breaking into pieces? Even speaking was nearly impossible, the lump in my throat was choking me. How was I supposed to survive this?
The Silence That Followed
We hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy yet. You know how it is – that fear of jinxing it. So when we lost the baby, it felt like this secret engulfing grief. Like I was carrying this enormous weight that no one could see.
I wanted to scream it from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know that my baby existed, that he mattered, that I loved him fiercely even if I never got to hold him. But instead, I was quiet. Because how do you even begin to explain that kind of loss to someone who hasn’t been through it?
But this was too big to keep from those who mattered; those who loved us and would want to help shoulder the pain. I sent a text to our family and my closest girlfriends and told them the news. I dropped this catastrophic bomb that had just blew up my entire life and asked them not to contact me because talking to anyone, forming words and making sound, was too big an ask for me in this state.
Breathing felt like a privilege that I didn’t deserve. How could I go on living when my child could not? You’ve not known survivors guilt to this magnitude until you’ve had to go on living in a world where your beloved child cannot exist.
The Physical Reality
Let’s talk about something that people often gloss over – the physical aspect of miscarriage. It’s not just emotional pain; it’s physical too. I remember begging my doctor, “Please, get him out of my body.” I know that sounds harsh, but the thought of carrying my baby, knowing he was gone, was more than I could mentally bear. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I was existing in feral and primal mode. I just wanted to disappear from everyone and everything I’d ever known.I felt shame for my body failing my child. I know, rationally, that it wasn’t my fault but when you are desperate for answers to why something so heinous happens, your mind can go to dark places.
The next morning, at 6 AM, May 1, 2012, I was at the hospital for a D&C. It felt so final. Like I was saying goodbye before I ever really got to say hello. My heart was broken wide open and I was hemorrhaging every rational thought that I had ever had. I was so detached and in so much mental anguish that I couldn’t even muster enough care to even ask my husband how he was feeling. I didn’t have the bandwidth to care about anyone; I was just trying to survive the most traumatic event of my life.
The Lingering Pain
Here’s the thing about losing a baby – it doesn’t just go away. Even now, 12 years later, I can feel that lump in my throat when I think about my Declan. That’s what we named him. He existed. He was real. He was loved. He was going to be Declan Wayne, carrying on his father’s name, as is the tradition in his family.
I still get angry sometimes. Why us? It’s not fair, and it’s okay to feel that way. Healing isn’t linear, you know? Some days are easier than others, but that dull ache? It’s always there. My arms are always just a little empty; my heart always holding space for our little boy. Every happiness is tinged with a little sadness because he should be here to celebrate with us. I don’t think there will ever be a day when I don’t feel this loss; this longing for something that’s missing.
Finding Light in the Darkness
I won’t lie to you – this journey is tough. There were days when getting out of bed felt like climbing Everest. But here’s what I’ve learned: we’re stronger than we know. Somehow, we keep going. We bend, but we don’t break.
You know what helps? Talking about it. Sharing our stories. That’s why I’m telling you mine. Because maybe, just maybe, it’ll help someone else feel less alone. And that’s something, isn’t it?
A Message for You
If you’re reading this and you’ve lost a baby, I want you to know something: Your baby mattered. Your grief is real. Your feelings are valid. And you are so, so strong.
It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to laugh and then feel guilty for laughing. All of it is okay. You’re navigating something incredibly difficult, and you’re doing it the best way you know how.
Moving Forward, Not Moving On
People talk about moving on, but I don’t think we ever really do. Instead, we move forward, carrying our babies in our hearts. We find ways to honor them, to keep their memory alive.
For me, writing helps. Sharing my story helps. And on October 15th, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, I’m lighting a candle. It’s a small thing, but it matters. It’s my way of saying, “You existed. You were loved. You are remembered.” Our Declan, he is at the top of my Dia de Los Muertos ofrenda. This is a sacred place of honor to me and when anyone comes to my house, they see his ultrasound scan. The one I insisted they take that morning before my D&C. The only tangible proof I have that he ever existed to the outside world.
A Final Thought
I know this is heavy stuff. But I’m glad you’re here, reading this. Because it means we’re in this together. We’re part of a club no one wants to join, but here we are. And you know what? We’re going to be okay. Not the same as before, but okay.
So, if you’re struggling, reach out. To me, to a friend, to a support group. Don’t carry this alone. And if you know someone who’s lost a baby, just be there. You don’t need to have the right words. Sometimes, just sitting in silence and acknowledging their pain is enough.
Remember, your story matters. Your baby matters. And you, my friend, you matter too.
Take care of yourself, okay? And know that you’re not alone in this. Not ever.
2024/10/15
348 Days Since the October 7th Massacre on Israel:
It’s been 348 days. 348 days of anguish, fear, and heartbreak. 348 days since Hamas terrorists shattered the peace of a beautiful Shabbat morning in Israel, unleashing a wave of brutality that shocked the world. The October 7th massacre remains a raw wound on the psyche of Israel and the Jewish people worldwide, a stark reminder of the fragility of peace and the depths of human cruelty. There are still Israeli hostages in captivity.
On that fateful day, Hamas militants broke through the Gaza-Israel barrier, embarking on a rampage that would leave over 1,200 people dead, mostly civilians, and more than 240 taken hostage.
The scenes that unfolded were reminiscent of the darkest chapters in human history – families torn apart, communities devastated, and lives forever altered. I can’t even begin to fathom what these families and the hostages are going through. The strength and will to keep fighting; to keep waiting and to keep hoping, must be a special kind of hell to those families directly affected. The weight of this atrocity bears heavily on me, it must be soul crushing to those whose family members are being held hostage and used as pawns of negotiation by the terrorist and the Israeli government. This is precious life we are talking about, not inanimate bargaining chips. The hostages have people who love and care for them; who are waiting for them to return home.
Imagine, for a moment, that it was your family.
Your daughter, calling from a music festival, her voice trembling as she whispers that she’s been shot and is hiding in a bomb shelter. The line goes dead, and you’re left with the horrifying knowledge that you may never see her again. Or your elderly parents, peacefully enjoying their retirement in a kibbutz, suddenly ripped from their home and dragged across the border into Gaza. These aren’t just stories – they’re the reality for hundreds of Israeli families who have been living this nightmare for 348 agonizing days.
The brutality of the October 7th attacks cannot be overstated.
Hamas terrorists didn’t just kill – they reveled in their cruelty. They beheaded infants, burned families alive in their homes, and paraded naked, bloodied bodies through the streets of Gaza. The joy they took in the degradation of Jewish lives is a chilling echo of humanity’s darkest moments. It’s a stark reminder that the evil that fueled the Holocaust still exists in our world today.
As we mark this somber milestone, it’s crucial to remember that hostages are still being held by Hamas. According to Israeli information as of September 2024, Hamas holds 66 hostages believed to be alive and 35 bodies. For 348 days, their families have been living in a state of suspended animation, clinging to hope while fearing the worst. Every day is a battle against despair, every night a struggle against nightmares. The world may have moved on to the next headline, but for these families, time stopped on October 7th.
The plight of the hostages is a humanitarian crisis that transcends politics.
These are not bargaining chips or political leverage – they are human beings, with families who love them and futures that have been cruelly interrupted. Children who should be in school, young adults whose lives were just beginning, elderly individuals who deserve peace in their golden years – all are being held in conditions we can scarcely imagine.
As we grapple with the ongoing conflict, it’s important to acknowledge the complexity of the situation. The loss of innocent Palestinian lives in Gaza is a tragedy that cannot be ignored. Every civilian death, whether Israeli or Palestinian, is a loss for humanity. However, we must be clear: Hamas, not the Palestinian people, is the enemy. Hamas’s actions on October 7th and their continued use of human shields in Gaza demonstrate their utter disregard for human life – Palestinian and Israeli alike.
The international community must unite in condemning Hamas and demanding the immediate and unconditional release of all hostages. This is not a matter of politics – it’s a matter of basic human rights and dignity. We cannot allow the world to forget, to become complacent, or to accept this situation as the new normal.
As individuals, we have a responsibility to keep the memory of October 7th alive and to advocate for the hostages’ release. Contact your elected officials, share the stories of the hostages on social media, and participate in rallies and events to show your support. Let the families of the hostages know that they are not alone, that the world has not forgotten their loved ones.
To the families of the hostages:
Your strength and resilience in the face of unimaginable pain is an inspiration to us all. We stand with you, we grieve with you, and we will not rest until your loved ones are brought home.
To the hostages themselves, if by some miracle these words reach you:
The world has not forgotten you. We are fighting for you every day. Stay strong, hold onto hope, and know that you are in our hearts and prayers always.
As we mark 348 days since the October 7th massacre, let us renew our commitment to justice, peace, and the sanctity of human life. Let us work towards a future where such atrocities are unthinkable, where hatred gives way to understanding, and where all people can live in safety and dignity.
We must not lose hope. For the sake of the hostages, for the memory of those lost on October 7th, and for the future of Israelis and all mankind, we must continue to fight for justice, peace, and the triumph of humanity over hatred.
Bring them home. Every single innocent life is precious.
What you can do to help:
1. Contact your elected officials today. Demand that they prioritize the release of the Israeli hostages and condemn Hamas’s actions. Your voice matters.
2. Share the stories of the hostages on social media using the hashtags #BringThemHomeNow and #October7Massacre. Keep their names and faces in the public consciousness.
3. Participate in local rallies and events supporting Israel and the hostages. Show the world that we have not forgotten.
4. Donate to reputable organizations working to support the families of the hostages and victims of the October 7th attacks.
5. Educate yourself and others about the ongoing situation. Combat misinformation and promote understanding.
Remember, silence is complicity. Speak up, act now, and be part of the effort to bring the hostages home and prevent such atrocities from ever happening again.
2024/09/18
TRIGGER WARNING
Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
Last Wednesday, I went in for my routine mammogram and annual visit to my gynecologist. These exams have become a box to check off, since my hysterectomy. In fact, I know many women who get a hysterectomy and think they’re done. They think they’re safe. I thought I had passed the days of gynecological surprises. I thought the days of impromptu biopsies, year long periods, in office D & Es and miscarriages were over. However, last Thursday, I was informed that my mammogram warranted a call back and further testing.
“We found asymmetry in the tissue of your right breast.”
That’s all that I heard. I’ve never wanted to rewind time and unhear anything so much in my life since 2012. I’m in shock, I’m sad, I’m mad but mostly, I’m scared. I don’t usually do “scared”. I’ve spent a lifetime fighting through and overcoming hard things. I know it sounds selfish and simple but I don’t want to have to do this.
I’ve done research and mostly everything I’ve read says it’s probably nothing but until I get my follow up mammogram and ultrasound, I won’t know. I’m doing that this morning. In fact, this post will go live while I’m getting it done. The Big Guy and our girls insisted on going with me. I told them no but then I remembered being alone and getting that news in 2012 and I accepted their support but then part of me feels guilty because what if it is bad news and I can’t shield them from it? I won’t be able to hide my breakdown. I know my bandwidth, I won’t be able to protect them from the hurt and that is devastating to me.
I’m so scared and I don’t know how to process any of this so I’m writing it all here.
I’m more scared than I’ve been in a long time. The last time I was this scared was when I was spotting while pregnant with my third child. Spotting just like I’d done with both pregnancies before. I went in to see my Ob/Gyn as a formality, just to be sure. I was positive that they’d tell me everything was fine and send me on my way. I went to the appointment alone. Instead, I was told that my baby no longer had a heartbeat. Since then, I take nothing for granted and I know that nothing is guaranteed.
I’m so scared.
I’ve spent the entire weekend experiencing a gamut of emotions.I’ve cried. Sobbed in the shower. I’ve been angry. I’ve been terrified. I’ve slept a lot because being scared is exhausting. I flashed forward and looked backward. I’ve taken an inventory of my life and all the things I’ve done and all the things I still want to do. There is so much more life I want to live.
I’m scared.
I want to comfort my husband and my daughters because they’re scared too ( even though each of them has put on a brave face and told me everything is going to be fine), but I’ve realized something about myself, I can’t give from an emotionally overflowing with fear or sadness cup. When I’m this scared, I shut down out of sheer self-preservation. I can only turn inward to keep my composure. If I think too much or talk about it too much, my thoughts go to dark places and my emotions will run wild. I can’t afford to let that happen right now. I need to stay strong if I need to fight.
I’m scared because the last time I thought everything was going to be alright, everything went all wrong.
There is nothing I can do but follow up and face my truth. I’m praying it’s nothing. I’m praying for it to be benign. But I’m more scared than I can put into words and this fear has me bursting at the seams. I keep telling everyone I love that I’ll be okay but the truth is that I don’t know if I will be. If you are the praying kind, or just someone who knows and loves me, I welcome all of your thoughts and good healing and healthy vibes.
I’m trying my hardest to be strong but I am triggered and terrified in ways that I never imagined.
I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. But I wanted to take this opportunity to encourage you all to please take care of yourselves. Go in for your well-visits. Get your mammograms. Do all the things you need to do to be and stay healthy.
2024/07/23
How to Know if You have ADHD
Estimated reading time: 7 minutes
As many of you are aware, I recently discovered I’m not a scatterbrained mom – I’m a full-fledged, card-carrying member of the ADHD club- neuro spicy women’s chapter. And let me tell you, it’s been a wild ride of self-discovery. If you’ve ever found yourself wondering whether your constant forgetfulness is just “mom brain” or something more, you’re in the right place. We’re about to dive into the wonderfully chaotic world of adult ADHD, and trust me, it’s more common than you might think. But how to know if you have ADHD or mommy brain?
The ADHD Revelation: It’s Not Just for Kids
Here’s the thing: ADHD doesn’t care about your age, your gender, or how many tiny humans you’re responsible for. In fact, many women don’t get diagnosed until adulthood, often after becoming moms. Why? Because we’re masters of masking our symptoms, and society has conditioned us to believe that being scattered and overwhelmed is just part of the mom gig.
But let me tell you, there’s a difference between normal mom stress and ADHD. So, let’s break down some signs that your brain might be more “ADHD” than just “mom tired.”
How to Know if you have ADHD
Sign #1: Your To-Do List is More Like a Wish List
You know that to-do list you made with the best intentions? The one that’s now buried under a pile of unfolded laundry and half-eaten goldfish crackers? If your to-do list feels more like a mockery of your productivity than an actual plan, you might be dealing with ADHD.
ADHD brains struggle with executive function, which is fancy science talk for “getting stuff done.” We have trouble prioritizing tasks (everything is equally urgent to us), managing time (we easily go down rabbit holes and get time blindness), and staying focused ( it’s not that we’re not focused, it’s that we are focused on several things all at the same time so nothing gets our full attention). It’s not that we don’t want to be productive; our brains just have a different operating system. So while neurotypical moms might forget to buy milk occasionally, ADHD moms might forget they have kids. (Kidding! …mostly.)
Sign #2: You’re the Queen of “Ooh, Shiny!”
Does your attention span resemble that of a goldfish on espresso? Do you start cleaning the kitchen, then suddenly find yourself reorganizing your sock drawer, only to end up googling “Do penguins have knees?” three hours later? Congratulations, you might be experiencing the joy of ADHD-induced distractibility!
Our ADHD brains are like channel-surfing toddlers with the remote control. Everything is urgent and there are so many thoughts to be had. How can we be expected to just choose one? We jump from task to task, idea to idea, faster than you can say “Oh look, a squirrel!” It’s not that we don’t want to focus; our brains just have other plans. It’s not a lack of interest or motivation; it’s just how our brains are wired.
Sign #3: Emotional Rollercoaster? More Like Emotional Tilt-a-Whirl
If your emotions change faster than your toddler’s favorite color, you might be experiencing what the ADHD world calls “emotional dysregulation.” One minute you’re on top of the world, the next you’re crying because you can’t find matching socks. (Pro tip: mismatched socks are a fashion statement. You’re welcome.) Also, in retrospect, it is no wonder they first misdiagnosed me with Bipolar. The emotional dysregulation is hard core.
ADHD brains feel emotions more intensely and have trouble regulating them. It’s like having an emotional volume knob stuck on maximum.This isn’t just mood swings; it’s a core feature of ADHD that can make everyday life feel like an emotional obstacle course. So if you find yourself going from zero to “Hulk smash” in 2.5 seconds, it might not just be sleep deprivation talking.
Sign #4: You’re a World-Class Procrastinator (But Also a Last-Minute Superhero)
Do you put off tasks until the absolute last minute, then suddenly transform into a productivity goddess fueled by panic and caffeine? This is the ADHD procrastination-hyperfocus cycle in action.
ADHD brains often need that adrenaline rush of a looming deadline to kick into high gear. We’re like productivity werewolves – dormant until the full moon of impending doom rises, then BAM! Suddenly we’re cranking out work like nobody’s business. It’s not laziness; it’s a quirk of our neurochemistry. The downside? This cycle can be incredibly stressful and hard on our mental health.
Sign #5: Your Memory is Like a Sieve (But Only for Boring Stuff)
Can’t remember where you put your keys, but can recite every line from that one episode of Friends you saw 15 years ago? That’s ADHD memory for you! Our brains are great at remembering things we find interesting or emotionally significant, but terrible at recalling mundane details.
So while you might forget to pick up your kid from soccer practice (hypothetically speaking, of course), you can probably remember every detail of that embarrassing thing you did in third grade. Thanks, brain! This isn’t just forgetfulness; it’s a reflection of how ADHD brains process and prioritize information. It can be frustrating, but it’s also why many people with ADHD excel in creative fields or become walking encyclopedias on their favorite topics.
Sign #6: You’re the Master of Lost Things
If your house resembles a black hole where objects mysteriously disappear, never to be seen again, you might be dealing with ADHD. We have a special talent for putting things in “safe places” that are so safe, even we can’t find them again. This isn’t just clumsiness or carelessness; it’s a result of inattention and difficulty with working memory. It can be maddening, but it’s a common ADHD trait.
Pro tip: If you ever need to find something important, just sit down to do another task or back track ( you will surely stumble back onto the thought that led you down the path where you misplaced that important thing). Guaranteed, the lost item will magically appear the moment you’re too busy to deal with it.
So, What Now?
The Road to Diagnosis and Beyond
Now that you can recognize these symptoms in. yourself, you can start to differentiate whether you have ADHD or “mom brain”. If you’re nodding along to these signs, thinking, “Oh my god, this is me!” don’t panic. Here’s what you can do:
1. Get evaluated: Find a professional who specializes in adult ADHD. The evaluation process can be long and detailed, but it’s worth it. Knowledge is power, and understanding your brain is the first step to working with it instead of against it.
2. Embrace your ADHD traits: Sure, ADHD can be challenging, but it also comes with some pretty awesome characteristics. Creativity, resilience, the ability to hyperfocus on things we love – these can be our secret weapons when properly channeled.
3. Find your tribe: Connect with other ADHD moms. There’s nothing quite like the relief of realizing you’re not alone in this wild ride. Online communities, support groups, or even just talking to friends can be incredibly validating and helpful.
4. Develop coping strategies: Whether it’s setting a million reminders on your phone, using color-coded systems, or breaking tasks into smaller, manageable chunks, find what works for you. ADHD management is all about playing to your strengths and working around your challenges.
5. Be kind to yourself: Remember, your ADHD brain isn’t a defect; it’s just differently wired. Treat yourself with the same compassion you’d show a friend. Negative self-talk only makes things harder.
Living with ADHD as a mom isn’t always easy, but it can be an adventure. It’s about learning to work with your brain instead of constantly fighting against it. So the next time you find yourself standing in a room wondering why you’re there, or starting yet another project at midnight, just remember: your brain might be chaos, but it’s beautiful chaos.
And let’s be real – our ADHD quirks often make us the fun, spontaneous, creative moms who come up with the wildest ideas for family adventures. And hey, if nothing else, at least you’ll always be the fun mom who comes up with the craziest ideas for family game night. Silver linings, right?
My ADHD diagnosis was both a shock and a relief. It explained so much about my life, my struggles, and my strengths. It’s been a journey of self-discovery, frustration, and ultimately, acceptance. And you know what? I wouldn’t trade my ADHD brain for anything.
So, if you’re suspecting you might have ADHD, don’t be afraid to seek answers. Understanding your brain is the first step to embracing your unique, beautiful, chaotic self. And remember, whether you have ADHD or not, you’re doing an amazing job, mama. Stay fabulous!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find my keys. Or my phone. Or my sanity. Whichever I come across first.
2024/06/24