The TRUTH About Motherhood

Category: Personal

Letting Go and Breaking Free in 2023

Estimated reading time: 7 minutes
Letting go and breaking free sounds like I’m jail breaking from my life but that’s not it at all. It’s more like I’ve made the conscious decision to give myself permission to live my authentic truth, regardless of anyone else’s thoughts, expectations or opinions. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been one to place my value in other people’s hands but I’m human and, on some level, like everyone else, I want to be celebrated for being me. Thus far, my only measure of me has been the world around me. That stops now.
Now, the only measure of me is me and the only person whose opinion counts on how I’m showing up for me is me. It’s finally clicked that caring what other people, more precisely strangers, think of me is absolutely ridiculous almost to the point of insanity. Aside from the Big Guy and my girls, I obviously want to be a good role model for them. But mostly, I just want to be seen…really seen and that starts by me showing up for me; listening to my own wants and needs. For the first time in a really long time (or maybe ever) treating myself with the unconditional love, respect, patience, forgiveness and tenderness that I give to the people I love.
This year, I’m not doing resolutions. I’m changing perspective and taking accountability. No more waiting for the universe to show up. It’s been there all along. I just wanted to be rescued. It’s time to save myself. I’ve decided that this is the year that I am letting go.
Honestly, I’m kind of being forced to let go on one level. Bella is graduating from high school and time is running out. While there is no expiration date on motherhood, it is always evolving and tomorrow will never be the same as today. Bella may not be going to magically disappear at the stroke of midnight on her 18th birthday but things are slightly and increasingly changing every single day. It is amazing to watch the baby they laid on my chest all those years ago, the one who made me mad with love (I laughed and cried simultaneously the moment I met her), grow into one of my favorite human beings and I’m not just saying that with mom goggles. She is truly a good human being. Sure, she can be a little difficult and she’s not for everyone but who is? Her heart is so big and devoted that those lucky enough to be loved by her will be blessed with complete and unconditional adoration. She’s fiercely loyal and kind to those she cares about. Letting go is not going to be easy for me, even now, in my self-proclaimed state of free-range mom of teen girls. My inner helicopter mom still sees their toddlers within and it’s making this round of evolution hit even harder.
When I say that “I’m letting go” I’m referring to every area of my life. I’m not giving up, that’s a foreign concept to me. I’m breaking free of my own self-inflicted shackles of expectation built upon a foundation of societal norms and parental inflicted trauma. I’m done trying to hold onto people and things that not only don’t serve me but actively waste my time and energy. I’m finally ready to be responsible for my own choices; consequences and all. I’m ready to begin living for me because I am enough to live for. I am complete. I always have been, even though sometimes I felt unwhole and broken.
Things like envy, worry and hatred I’m trading them in for pushing myself harder to chase those dreams, actively working towards health and happiness goals and forgiveness of others and myself. I’m no longer going to let other people’s actions ruin my day. I’m choosing happiness and I’m holding on with both hands.
I’m letting go of other people’s expectations of who I’m supposed to be. I’m not saying I’m going to bulldoze my way through life without considering other people’s feelings but I’m going to give myself the same permission I give everyone else in the world to live my truth and let others live theirs. I don’t judge others but I am highly critical of myself. I live in a constant state of suffering from imposter syndrome. I’ve always been a perfectionist; maybe it’s the bipolar or maybe it’s the ADHD or maybe it’s my secondary toxic trait right after my unrelenting optimism? I don’t know and I don’t even care. It is what it is. It’s me and it doesn’t work anymore. It isn’t healthy. No one is perfect and things don’t always work out. Nothing is perfect and I’m no exception so I need to forgive myself for my imperfections and be more grateful for the people, things and talents that I do have.
I’m letting go of holding on to one sided friendships of all kinds. It’s tiring and exhausting to try to read other people’s minds. People always seem to appreciate my acts of kindness and are surprised by my thoughtfulness but, surprisingly, seldom ever think to reciprocate or initiate. It’s a whole lot of taking.
Look, I know that no relationship is 50/50. It’s ever changing to meet the needs of the relationship but when it becomes me always giving and others always taking, that’s a red flag for me. I’m choosing to refuse to ignore it going forward. I’m not saying I’m going to cut you out of my life but if I’m doing all the heavy lifting, you’re going to notice that I’m going to start taking it easy and investing my time and love elsewhere into the places and people that acknowledge my efforts.
I’ve decided that I’m getting too old to relentlessly keep trying to make anyone like me and life’s too short anyways. Either we like each other or we don’t. Either we’re friends are we aren’t. I’m resolving to not take it too personally and I’m choosing to let that go. I’m not too narcissistic to realize that I’m not for everyone and that’s ok. Just be straight with me. Have enough respect for me to either be in or be out but don’t string me along in business or friendships. I promise I won’t fall apart if you tell me that you’re just not that into me, just be civil about it. After all, I am human.
I’m letting go of worrying about and overthinking every, single thing in my life. It is exhausting and changes nothing. Instead, I’m prioritizing and spending my time wisely where it matters most to me.
I’m letting go of chasing the perfect body and the perfect weight. There is no such thing. Instead, I’m looking for that healthy high. I have goals and they have nothing to do with the size of my ass or the pertness of my breasts. Like I said, my most important thing to keep in mind is that my girls are always watching so why would I ever put them on the crazy train of body dysmorphia and eating disorders? I’ve been there and I’m still battling this relationship with my body. But no more. Namaste body. I love you. I want to protect you and I want to worship this body and treat it with respect and love. This begins with letting go of what the world says that’s supposed to look like.
I’m releasing myself from feeling guilty for not having the same body I had when I was 25. I’m not feeling bad about myself or punishing my body for not being the same size or shape as the mom next to me and I’m definitely not comparing my seasoned body to a teenage super models. I’m not giving up but I’m giving myself over to new possibilities and reframing my own perspective and embracing realistic expectations. The goal is a healthy body not a skinny one.
My new outlook is going to be one fueled by gratitude for the things I have not envy for the things I don’t, appreciation for who I am today instead of anticipation of the person I want to become and a verve to live each day like it is the only day with less procrastination and less disappointment. Most of all, I’m going forward with an abundance of love for the world around me for what it actually is rather than withholding praise for special occasions. Going forward, I’m letting go of putting conditions on when I start to live to my fullest no more “if this than that” or “when I get here, I’ll do that”. I’m letting go of the fear of success, disappointment in others reactions to my actions and the shackles of the pursuit of perfection and I’m actively going to live every moment present without hesitation or overthinking. I’m letting go of the things I can’t change and embracing the things I can. It starts by believing I’m enough, right now.
2023/01/03
Suicide an Insider’s Guide

Estimated reading time: 11 minutes
My feeds are full of the news of the sudden death by suicide of Stephen “tWitch” Boss. Everyone is shocked that he’s dead. It’s a travesty. Simultaneously, the world is knocked off its axis by the idea that a seemingly happy man/father/husband/celebrity who appeared to be living his “best life” with everything to look forward to, in fact, committed suicide.
But, I’m not shocked that anyone commits suicide anymore. Life is hard. Many of us contemplate it, some of us go as far as to meticulously plan it, still others attempt and too many succeed. As someone with Bipolar 1 disorder, I’ve become intimately aware of the statistics that 20-60% of all people diagnosed with bipolar will attempt suicide at least once in their life and 4-19% will succeed.
Depression does not discriminate. It gives no fucks about what you or anyone else thinks your life should feel like. Mental illness doesn’t care how wealthy you are or how charismatic you are. It strikes and it’s a cruel, clingy and unjust bitch. Once she has her greedy hold on you, she doesn’t want to let go. Wave after wave of sadness, grief and melancholy battering every inch or your heart, soul and body. It’s no wonder we start to drown in the seas of sadness. Survival is not guaranteed. Only by the grace of the universe, holding on for literal “dear life” determination and the support system to keep fighting through immeasurable pain, self-doubt, loathing and loneliness until the storm passes do we get to see another day.
To the outside world, Boss seemed like a man who had everything; a beautiful wife and 3 lovely children, a loving marriage and a career that was glowing up in all the best ways. He looked his happiest when he was with his family. He literally seemed to radiate from within. However, the truth is that we have no idea what was really going on in his heart and his head. He was beloved on the internet for his big personality, devotion to his family and all the good he brought to the online world. He was someone we needed; he was light. But even the most optimistic person has worries and weight. Most importantly, who did he see in the mirror? How did he feel in his own skin? Who was the real him to tWitch? The public is left bewildered and maybe even a little scared because if “it” could happen to him, it can happen to anyone, right? I feel this deeply because I’ve been on the precipice of eternal darkness before and it’s a terrifying and out-of-control place to be.
In my weakest moments as an adolescent, I spend many hours lying awake in the night, quietly full of despair silently sobbing into a pillow because I felt trapped in an inescapable hell, completely and utterly alone. Part of me wanted to disappear and another part of me wanted to be noticed and saved but that other part wanted to cease to exist and quietly float off into the ether. I wanted the peace that could only be found alone in the silence and darkness. These were my constant, ever-pervading thoughts throughout my early teens my early 20s.
But if you were to ask 99%of the people who knew me then, they would describe me with words like “nice,” “sweet”, “smart”, and “FUN” (yep, bipolar mania, professional and consummate compartmentalizer skills), and “funny”. I laugh a lot and I like to make others laugh even when inside, I’m falling apart. I’m one of those people who always holds it together; the deeper the pain, the quieter I get about it, and the less I scream and yell about it. I retreat into myself. I hide in plain sight. If you know, you certainly know what I’m talking about. Feeling sad sometimes feels shameful because where the hell do I get off feeling sorry for myself when so many others have it so much worse? That’s what I told myself.
In high school, I was the smart, quiet “girl next door”, the “most likely to succeed” type. I got up, went to school, did my best, and got through my days pretending to be happy and good-natured; friend to everyone. I was the type that teachers and other people’s parents loved. But my thoughts were dark. I was sad, scared, anxious and angry. No one knew what was going on at home. I never told them. I was ashamed. At home, I was the victim of physical and emotional abuse from an alcoholic father. Every moment, of every day was erratic and school was my solace. From 8-3 pm every day, I was safe. I was normal.
By the time I got to college, I had become comfortable with pretending. I was on my own for the first time in my life, I was away from my boyfriend and friends, everything was new and overwhelming. I felt out of control. In the beginning, I was scared and felt swallowed up whole by the experience but then I just let go or rather I broke under all the weight of bending. Let me explain, I pretended to be care-free. I pretended to be cool with a lot of things I wasn’t. I pretended that being completely alone in a new place, wasn’t scaring me to death. I pretended that waking up with a guy (I thought was a “friend”) on top of me, slithering off like a thief in the night while I slept…never happened. I pretended that I was tougher than I was. I pretended to be happy. I pretended to be the life of the party. None of that was true. It was quite the opposite.
What the world saw was not me. It was some version of me. She was the only reason I survived. She was the fake it until you make it Debi. Or maybe I was the push it til you break it Debi. Around this time, my eating disorders kicked into high gear. At one point it was so bad that I was consuming roughly 200-300 calories a day while purging (without the binging) sometimes up to as many as 10 times in any given 24-hour period. I felt trapped inside my own body and mind. Never free to be the real me. No. I couldn’t handle that rejection.
In those days, I survived on 3-5 hours of sleep a night, worked full-time, went to school full-time 1.5 hours away from where I lived and had to drive back and forth every day and still maintained a boyfriend and robust social life. I lived like a frat boy, drinking into the early hours of the morning, satiating my id and sleeping on the sofa at my best guy friend’s house. Pretending to be okay. No one met the real me then.
There was a Debi for school, one for work, another for the boyfriend, one who pretended to fearlessly sleep on the sofa of a house full of guys, and even one more Debi for nightlife. I felt like a little girl playing dress-up. I was not ready for any of this. The time I was the most myself was in the 3 hours I was in the car alone, blaring Alanis Morrisette and Mazzy Star, singing at the top of my lungs. No one knew me. I was a lot of people for a lot of people but I was almost never “me”.
I was tortured but when I was doing what I needed to do, when I was chin-upping it I could avoid reality and the reality was that I wanted to die. Living was too painful. Breathing was a chore. Slipping on and off personalities like comfortable coats was exhausting.
It felt like everyone wanted a piece of me but only the palatable pieces. No one wanted or cared enough to move past the “me” that they needed to really see the “Me” that I actually was. This explains how the body dysmorphia got so bad. My therapist once told me that my perception of myself is so skewed that I can never trust my own eyes to know what I really look like. So, the cost of the chameleon life I led, straddling reality and pretending to be everything to everyone is that I no longer get to see the real me. I’m gone, vanished from my own sight.
As you may surmise from the previous paragraphs, I was chronically and acutely depressed with suicidal ideation and I had a plan. I even had the opportunity and motive. My point is that to the outside world and even to those closest to me, I seemed okay. Some people even called me the life of the party. I was good at hiding the darkness. I was great at pretending to be happy and go lucky when inside I was breaking. I compartmentalized my life in such a definitive way that I built a fortress around my innermost me that cut myself off from everyone and everything I loved. I lost my joy. Even when I was smiling, I was probably actively planning how, when, and where I was going to give myself over to that eternal quiet darkness that I was longing for. I was done but I couldn’t share that part of me with anyone. I didn’t want them to console or stop me. At the time, I felt like there was no way out and I was destined to a fate of pretending to be alternate versions of myself to be loved by others. The burden was too heavy but I wore it like a dress with pockets and no one seemed to notice the gravity of it all.
In the end, we see what we want to see. We choose to believe that some people have it better than others. It’s the lie we tell ourselves to help us make it through the days. To be fair, we only see what people allow us to see of themselves and they only see what we give them access to of ourselves. In a world built on flawless filters where people are so busy that they seldom look up from their screens to see a sunset, how can any of us be expected to check in on our friends who seem to be okay? Or worse the ones who seem to be good? And that, my friends, is the problem.
We live in a world where we don’t have the time or bandwidth to care about others the way that we’d like to believe we do. We’re a society saturated in our own woes and even when we want to, it can seem futile. But we put on our brave and happy faces and we soldier on until we can no longer endure.
I don’t know what happened Monday to trigger and escalate the situation for Boss. I don’t know what his “no longer can endure” breaking point but I know the pain it feels to be there in the thick of it. I know the sorrow and thick melancholy that makes it hard to breathe and even harder to live. My heart goes out to Boss and his family. It breaks my heart to think of how alone and desperate he must have felt in those final moments when no longer existing seemed the only option.
People always want to know how and why someone could do such a thing, especially when they seem to have it all. The thing is “having it all” is worthless when you feel completely alone and unworthy of your blessings; when you hurt so much that you can’t even find joy in the things that used to make you profoundly happy; you can’t function normally under the heaviness of the sadness. You begin to doubt the point of your existence and wonder if removing yourself might actually be better for your family and friends. I’ve been there and now; my daughter is there. Sometimes, I think I survived just for this moment. I’ve been on both sides of the darkness as someone’s child and now, as the parent of someone mired in the darkness and it’s worse than you can imagine.
If you or someone you know is feeling alone in the darkness, having suicidal ideation and/or making a plan, reach out for help. You are not alone. There are so many of us who have survived. There is no switch to turn or pill to take to be all better. It’s painful to survive BUT it’s worth it. Take it day by day, hour by hour or even minute by minute. The pain seems unbearable and the crisis unsurmountable when you look at the big picture, so look for the tiny moments to get you through to the next.
If you’re in the United States, you can call the suicide and crisis lifeline at 988, available in Spanish and English language, 24 hours a day. Someone is always there to listen. You are worth saving. You matter.
2022/12/16
3 Tips To Beat Your Food Addiction
Estimated reading time: 3 minutes
Food addiction can be much more harmful than many people think because, unlike other addictions, you can’t just stop food. It’s not just linked to obesity, but diabetes and other health conditions. If left unchecked, it could lead to premature death. Nobody wants that, but it’s a difficult addiction to overcome.
The good news is you shouldn’t need to go to an outpatient center to overcome it. It would be beneficial to consult your doctor and then a therapist to get to the root of what’s precipitating this behavior. It could be just a matter of understanding your addiction and getting professional guidance on how to beat it. While it’ll take time and effort, it could be relatively straightforward.
How To Beat Your Food Addiction
1. Know What Triggers Cravings
In many cases, there’s something that triggers your cravings and makes you want to overeat or eat something unhealthy. You’ll need to know what these triggers are so you can start managing them and beat your addiction. While these can take time to figure out, it’s a necessary part of figuring out how to beat your addiction.
Stress, low feelings, and similar triggers can be relatively common. Whatever your triggers are, take the time to understand and deal with them. Your addiction will become more manageable after that, and you’ll have fewer and fewer cravings in time.
2. Have A Distraction Tactic
Having cravings is relatively natural, especially when you’re still figuring out your triggers and how to overcome them. While you’re doing this, you’ll still want to find a way to manage and start beating your addiction. Having a distraction tactic is one of the more notable ways of doing this.
Instead of eating when you feel a craving, replace it with something else. A short walk, and even some music or a television show, can be great options for this. Focus on something that takes your mind off the impulse to overeat or engage in your addiction. In time, you’ll see your cravings fade away.
3. Explore Non-Food Rewards
Everyone likes to feel good, and eating can often be a quick and easy way to do this, especially with chocolate and similar foods. In many situations, your brain treats them as a reward and something to use to feel better about a specific situation. There are ways to overcome this.
Exploring non-food rewards can be an effective way of doing this. These still give you the satisfaction of rewarding yourself without harming your health. Even something as simple as rewarding yourself with a new book can be a great way to do this.
How To Beat Your Food Addiction: Wrapping Up
Figuring out how to beat your food addiction can seem like a complicated process. While it takes time and effort to understand and overcome, it could be simpler than you might expect. You’ll need to focus on the right areas when you’re doing so.
Exploring non-food rewards, knowing your triggers, and having a distraction tactic can all be recommended with it. They’ll help you understand your addiction and overcome it properly. Your food addiction will be in the rear-view mirror in no time.
2022/11/12
The Most Common Gym Injuries and How to Avoid Them
Estimated reading time: 3 minutes
Going to the gym and working out is always a good idea for your health but you need to know how to stay safe and avoid getting injured. Nothing slows down progress faster than an injury, especially when it comes to your body. Between faulty equipment, people who aren’t paying attention around you, and even over-exercising, there are plenty of ways to get hurt at the gym. This guide will help you understand the most common gym injuries, as well as how you can avoid them so that your workout doesn’t become an injury instead of progressing toward your fitness goals!
Lack of training
There are many different machines, tools, and equipment in a gym. If you don’t know how to use them properly, the risk of injury increases exponentially. If you’re new to the gym scene, take it slow and check with the staff about which machines and workouts would be good for beginners.
Once you know what equipment is available, ask your gym’s staff to show you how to correctly and effectively use the machines so that you can minimize the potential for getting injured.
Faulty equipment
When using any type of equipment in a gym or fitness class, it’s important to use it correctly. But, what’s even more important is to use equipment that is reliable. When the machine suddenly breaks unexpectedly, it could lead to severe injuries. This can be frequent for weight trainer gyms that fail to maintain their equipment. An injury sustained as a result of faulty gear can affect your fitness goals and health for a long time. Ideally, you should always check that the equipment is in good condition. You can also refer your case to a personal injury lawyer, who can help recover your medical bills and lost income in the event you’ve been hurt by damaged gym property.
Lack of attention
The gym is a place for physical activity, not a mental one. If you’re too busy thinking about work or school, that only distracts from your workout. The answer? Bring your phone in your pocket or handbag when you go to exercise but leave it there. Don’t take it out unless you need it for an emergency call or text. Once you start working out, concentrate on keeping your mind on what’s important—your workout goals! Also, I’ve found that when I’m working out, it’s a great way to destress and focus inward; be present for myself, which is something as a busy mom, I seldom get to do.
At the same time, good gym etiquette requires that you pay attention to the people around you. Many gym members use headphones to stay in the zone. They may not hear you approaching them or may not know you are next to them so keep that in mind when coming up behind someone.
Overtraining
Never let a day go by without exercising. This might seem like good advice, but it’s actually very bad. While working out several times a week is certainly better than not working out at all, an excess of exercise can lead to overtraining—a condition that occurs when you work out so much you break down your muscles and burn away your gains faster than you can replace them with new ones. The solution? Work out two or four times a week, allowing at least one full day of rest between each session.
Exercising is healthy. But it can include risks if you are not careful. That’s why it’s important to get familiar with the gym environment and your own body to always stay on the safe side of fitness.
2022/10/25
Day 1 of Year 50 the Midlife Awakening that Transformed Me

Estimated reading time: 3 minutes
I still feel 25 just with bad knees. How fast a half a century has gone by. The first 18 years felt slow as molasses for me but I know in retrospect, as a mom myself now, that only the first twelve months move in slow motion, sometimes even feeling like it’s moving in reverse. But every year after that goes at lightning speed. Too fast for me to notice in the thick of it but it was the burden of my parents to feel every bit of it. I had no idea. I do now on day 1 of year 50.
For the first 25 years, I lived recklessly because the burden to worry was my parents. I was afforded the luxury of living in a gilded cage that my young, inexperienced mind thought was an electrified prison. But in reality, I lived so selfishly that even those I thought were important to me were treated callously. Unintentionally, I was not malicious but I couldn’t see past myself.
The last 25 we’re about building a life outside of my birth family. It was the time when love found me, took hold of me and changed me for the better. That love opened my eyes and my heart. Soon, the pendulum swung too far in the opposite direction and the selfish, self absorbed girl I once was quietly and I in noticeably evolved into a selfless martyr who sacrificed everything for everyone. My body, my career, my wants and needs, the life I’d so meticulously planned and longed for.
But don’t feel sorry for me. In exchange I got so much more than I could have imagined. Not things but something I never had …. Stability which sounds mundane but not to someone whose entire life has been completely nuanced in tumultuous chaos. It hard for a bird to take flight with a chain and cinder lock around its neck. I got unconditional healthy love with no restrictions and ever replenishing. I got loved for who I was not in spite of it.I felt seen and heard so much so that I didn’t have to tirelessly fight to be understood. I felt peace and safe. Safe to be my most vulnerable self and still love remained. In return, I happily dedicated my life to nurturing those relationships. I built a life with my best friend whom I wholly adore as he does me. I raised amazing human beings who I’m
Proud to know and privileged to love. But pretty soon, they’ll be starting the next 25 years of life and I refuse to put the chain of guilt around their necks. Instead I will raise them up towards the heavens and encourage them to take flight.
My last 25 years have been about putting out fires. The next 25 years I will live my life with intention. It’s time for me to set life on fire. I am no longer going to white knuckle through life wishing and hoping things turn out alright. I’m letting go of things, people and other peoples expectations that no longer serve me. The time of mediocrity and sacrifice has passed.
I’ve loved the last 50 years. Honestly, I’ve got a lot of great memories and stories. I’ve gained invaluable memories and experience. I’ve gained something that you can only earn with age…wisdom. I’ve lived 10 lifetimes in the past 50 years..but this next part is going to be about me and reclaiming my relationship with the Big Guy.
No more getting by or doing what I’m supposed to do. If it’s not a hell yeah, it’s a hell no for me. Today’s the day, the first day of forever this is not a crisis it’s just the beginning. This is day 1 of year 50 and this is my midlife awakening. What would you do if you could do anything?
2022/09/26
Police Officers Stood Idly by as Parents Begged them to Save their Children from a Mass Shooter

Estimated reading time: 8 minutes
I’m really trying to wrap my brain around what happened in Uvalde, Texas at Robb Elementary. I saw the news when it happened and, like many parents, I was triggered. You know, my kids are the same age as the Sandy Hook Elementary kids. I never forgot. I will never forget. I couldn’t even if I tried. But the more I learn about what transpired on Tuesday in Uvalde, the more tragic it seems and the more preventable it appears. I want to lay some hard truths on you guys. Those 19 children and 2 adults did not have to die. Where were the heroes? Uvalde authorities stood by as parents begged them to save their children from a mass shooter, Salvador Ramos.
Yes, Salvador Ramos pulled the trigger but it is the fact that we live in a country that allows 18-year-old children to purchase assault rifles that got us where we are today. Why are we allowing teenagers, who are hormonal, moody, full of angst and whose brains will not be fully developed until they are 25-years-old, to buy guns? How was he so easily able to buy two assault rifles and 375 rounds of ammunition? How were there no red flags? Push that aside for a moment, if you are wondering how this happened? Why this happened? How it was able to transpire? How Ramos was able to make it into the building to barricade himself in the room with helpless little kids and 2 teachers and no one stopped him? So are the rest of us.
Uvalde authorities stood by as parents begged them to save their children from a mass shooter, Salvador Ramos.
He posted on social that he was going to shoot his grandmother.
This boy shot his grandmother. Authorities were alerted.
He posted after he shot his grandmother.
He wrecked his truck. Authorities were alerted.
He posted before he entered the building.
NO ONE STOPPED HIM.
He shot at people at the funeral home across the street from the school. Authorities were alerted.
He stood outside for 12 minutes and fired rounds. Authorities were alerted. Authorities were on the scene.
He is seen in a video walking into the building without anyone stopping him or trying to stop him or even in his line of sight.

NO ONE STOPPED HIM.
He was outside for 12 whole minutes, that’s a lifetime in an active shooter event. Maybe he wanted to be saved from himself. No one did anything.
He gets in the building. Barricades himself inside for 40 fucking minutes. The authorities are captured on video standing outside the gates waiting on I don’t know what the fuck to happen while he is inside shooting peoples children.
Why did no one stop him??? Why?
There is video of parents begging the police to save their children. Pleading with authorities to serve and protect the most precious part of them. When their cries of desperation fell on deaf ears some of the parents were overcome with frustration and anger and lashed out…while they were listening to gunfire and knew their children were locked in Robb Elementary with a gunman while the authorities were safely outside awaiting what? Divine intervention.

Some of those parents were pushed away, handcuffed, arrested, threatened and forced to bear witness to the screams of fear from within not knowing if that was their child or if they would ever get to see their child again. They were made to stand still while their children were murdered. If you ask me, that was as cruel if not more so than what Ramos did.
There is no doubt that Ramos did an evil thing. But he was an individual who had suffered cruelty the entirety of his short life. He was a product of a system that failed him too. But he chose to inflict the same pain he felt onto the world.
But what if the authorities had acted sooner? What if those kids mattered to those officers as much as they mattered to their loved ones crying outside and listening to the wailing of the terrified children inside.
It makes me wonder, what if this was a Caucasian neighborhood? What if this was an elite private school? What if these kids’ parents were influential and wealthy? What if they had power? What if they weren’t poor, humble migrant people? Would these kids’ lives have mattered more to the police if they weren’t brown?
So maybe you’re saying, fuck Debi why are you making this about race. I’m making it about race because everything is about race. If you don’t see color, then it’s more than likely that you are privileged. I grew up in an urban ghetto in a time when everyone had police scanners. They called my neighborhood LA (Little Africa), the white neighborhood where the poor kids lived was called ( Little Waco) and where the Mexicans lived ( Little Mexico), if you lived in those neighborhoods and something happened and you needed the police…they came when they were ready. It made no difference that the police station was literally 3 blocks from my house.
I come from immigrants. My grandfather was a rancher. My father grew up on a farm. He came to the United States and worked in fields and factories. Mexican people are vibrant, passionate, loyal, loving, family-orientated people and we are humble. Even though we are loud, we are humble. We are hard workers, friendly and respectful. My dad loves the United States more than anyone I know and it’s been something I’ve had a hard time reconciling myself with because I’ve seen this country treat my dad like garbage. I’ve seen the people of this country treat my dad like he was stupid because his skin is brown and he has an accent. I’ve seen my proud father be dismissed because he didn’t look or sound like the person he was talking to. I know, firsthand, the disregard with which police officers treat brown and black boys and girls’ lives.
Honestly, I pray that I’m wrong but I’m not sure that I am. Why did no one rush in to save those babies? Even the ones who survived will never return to who they were before they saw their friends and, in some cases, family massacred in front of their eyes, before they had to play dead to survive before they had to cover themselves in their classmate’s blood to stay alive.
These beautiful brown babies have been failed by our government which they trusted to keep them safe. These parents have been failed by the very country they left their homes for. I know people want to be able to protect their homes from intruders, I get it, I told you I’m from ranchers. But no one without a fully developed brain, under the age of 25, or anyone not trying to mass murder humans needs an assault rifle unless they are in the military. We need to do something, we can’t just keep letting our children be mowed down in a spray of gunfire because the people we elect care more about NRA money than the lives of our children.
2022/05/27
Another Day in America but What Happens Tomorrow

19 second, third and fourth graders and two adults at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas were gunned down by an armed mass shooter, 18-year-old, Salvador Ramos a student at Uvalde High School. The massacre happened at Robb Elementary School, where children between the ages of 7 and 10 study, occurred at around 11:37 local time, this morning. Ramos was killed at the scene by police.
Uvalde is a small, close-knit community where moms typically walk their children to school. In a town filled with humble, hard-working people with a population of 16,000 residents, nearly 80% of the population is Hispanic.
Ramos bought two assault rifles just days ago when he turned 18. This morning, he shot his grandmother before his massacre at Robb Elementary. While he fled after shooting his grandmother, he got into a car wreck near Robb elementary and then ran into the school and started shooting.
His grandmother is still alive and receiving treatment in San Antonio.
Again, I am sitting here alone with my thoughts on a day when 19 children were gunned down in a Texas elementary school. Why? How? How do we allow this to keep happening? This morning, 21 families sent their loved ones to school and they will never see those sweet faces again. They will never feel the pull of those little outstretched arms around their necks. Never hear their laughter ring out at something silly. Never get to tuck them in and say good night ever again. Those parents will never get to watch their children grow up and become who they were meant to be because some asshole was able to easily get his hands on guns, walk into a school and snuff out those precious lives. We are all responsible. How many more children have to die? How many parents have to lose the most precious thing on this earth to them before we say no more?
Xavier Lopez
What makes me the most upset and angry is that 10 years ago ( and many times since) I found myself crying over other people’s children. I send my girls to school every morning since Sandy Hook afraid and praying that when I return to pick them up, they’re still alive. What the fuck kind of country do we live in? A country where Republicans care more in theory about unborn babies than they do about the safety of those children already living? A country where we believe it’s a political decision what women can and can’t do with their bodies, where we don’t respect a woman’s right to govern her own body but we believe it’s more important to coddle those who don’t understand the constitution and believe that every person is entitled to the right to bear assault weapons and callously and randomly murder our living, breathing children?

America, what are we going to do to protect our children? What are you willing to sacrifice to keep your child safe? I don’t know about you but there is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for mine. Our children go to school every day knowing that an active shooter is just as possible as a tornado. They have drills for both. Our children live in a world where they know that just existing puts them in peril and they know that some of you are willing to make that sacrifice, as long as you can keep your right to bear arms. What about my right to hold my child in my arms? What about every parent’s expectation to live their life loving their child and watching them grow up as we grow old?
My eyes are burning from crying. I held it in all day until my girls went to bed because I can’t let them see how terrified I am. How broken and raw the thought of losing them makes me. How my heart is shattered for the moms and dads who are going to bed tonight knowing that from this day on, their life will never be the same. From this moment on, they will be changed. There will be a hole in their life and a void in their hearts that will ache every minute of every day for the rest of their days. It will never get better. My heart breaks knowing that nothing will change and in a few days, there will be another shooting and someone else’s child will not be coming home and it will go on and on because we let it. Many Robb Elementary parents are still waiting to find out if their children are alive or dead.
No parent should have to lose their child in such a way and we have the power to stop it. We just need to prioritize our children’s lives above a right ( ironically, that was written into the constitution at a time in history when civilians needed to be at the ready to protect their families from enemies domestic and foreign because there was not a big enough army) to bear arms. We are no longer lacking sufficient armed forces. What we are lacking is humanity and general respect for the lives of others.
We don’t need to bear arms we need to raise better humans with fewer guns and more kindness and compassion. We need to condemn hatred and bigotry. We need to care more about people and less about being right or getting our way. We need to love more and be more tolerant of things, people and cultures we don’t understand. We need to destigmatize mental health and make it the norm to seek support. Most importantly, we need to protect our innocent children from being murdered while doing nothing other than existing.
I am angry because this was senseless and preventable. Yes, we could have stopped this. It’s the guns. The guns are readily available to anyone over the age of 18-years-old who wants one and can afford it. You say don’t give guns to the mentally ill. Do you think mentally ill people disclose they are mentally ill when trying to purchase a gun? No, in fact, since we live in a country that stigmatizes mental illness they simply avoid seeking help. That’s the protection plan. They don’t disclose. If the guns were not so easily accessible if it were more difficult to access firearms maybe the children of Sandy Hook would be going into their senior year next year. Maybe the babies at Robb Elementary would be heading off to summer vacations and camps and all the other things that little kids do in the summertime. Instead, 22 families will be planning funerals. 22 families will be crying themselves to sleep. 22 families have been broken like so many countless others at the hands of a man with a gun.
Who shoots little kids? What have they ever done to anyone? What is so wrong in your head to make a person want to shoot up random strangers (helpless children) because whatever is going on in their own lives isn’t easy? Most of us don’t have it easy. Life is hard and made exponentially harder when we have to constantly worry that something tragic and potentially dangerous can happen to any of us at any time, especially in a world that values getting their way over doing the right thing.
So please keep your thoughts and prayers, they won’t bring those babies back and they are of no comfort to those grieving parents. If you want to do something to change the narrative, lay down your guns. Implore your representatives to push for common-sense gun control. No one is hunting with an assault rifle. No one needs an arsenal of weapons at the ready. A child’s brain is not fully developed until 25-years-old, why are we allowing teenagers to buy assault rifles? Unless, an 18-year-old is in the armed forces, being taught how to properly use a weapon to protect his country, there is no reason he needs a gun. And in no world is owning a gun more important than children getting to live and grow up.
2022/05/24
A No Good, Very Bad Weekend

Well, it’s been a hell of a last few days. Of course, it’s May so what else did I expect? If the universe is not trying to break me, is it even May? Thursday, I fell down my stairs. Hello, sciatica, not so happy to see you again. My fall was dramatic like a full-on telenovela or someone threw me down our stairs (though it feels like it) but more accurately, our new, gigantic French Mastiff excitedly came down the stairs while I was heading down to refill my water bottle in the middle of the night. Well, if you’ve been here long, you know that at night or in inclement weather I walk like a f*cking pirate thanks to the hardware situation in my leg from the broken leg situation in 2015. Yep, it’s the f*cking gift that just keeps on giving.
My point is that I’m already unstable as it is and when an unexpected bull in a China shop comes running behind you in the dark, I’m more than likely going to end up on my ass and I did.
Disclosure: I was provided the Boppy® Multi-use Slipcovered Total Body Pillow for review purposes but my true love and opinion of this pillow are all my own.
Anyways, it was only about 4 stairs but my life did flash before my eyes because this is not the first time I’ve fallen and, more often than expected, I’ve ended up in the ER. I didn’t this time but, of course, it was no regular fall. In my desperation not to break more bones, I forgot my own “go limp b*tch” protocol and stiffened my entire body up. What happened you asked?
My feet were capoeira style swept out from beneath me thanks to aforementioned adorable, silent but deadly dogue de Bordeaux (big ass dog) and thanks to the carpet on the stairs, I lost my balance. I stiffened my arms trying to catch myself (as if I remember nothing from the 2020 broken toe/concussion situation) and at the same time, I broke my fall into the banister with my ribs while stiffening my legs, arm and entire right side of my body. I thought I escaped with minimal damage until the next day. I woke up pretty sore.
Oh no, bad timing. I had a second job interview at noon with the owner of a company that could prove to be a super exciting opportunity for me. I pulled on my big girl panties, a really cute outfit and sucked up any pain I was feeling. Did I mention the in –person interview went from being 2 people to 7-9, depending when you checked? Did I mention I haven’t had an in-person interview in 17 years?
The unconventional interview lasted 5 hours (that’s a post for another day) but I wasn’t actually surprised because the first one lasted 6 hours. But for the 5 hours, I was sitting in a typical office chair, super uncomfortable. About hour 3 I started using my left hand as a chin rest because I was actually trying to feign interest in someone else’s interview that I ended up a part of. I think I must have kept it there for about 2 hours. After 5 hours, I tried to stand up and my sciatica said, “F*ck you, Debi. Sit your ass back down!” But I had to go because it had been a long, weird day and I had eaten nothing all day so I was ready to eat the face off of the next person who looked at me.
I got in my car and as I drove, I knew the damage had been extensive and the weekend was going to be for recuperating. As soon as I got in my car, I realized that my left hand that was supporting my face for 2 hours, had tingling in my pinky and ring finger. OMG, did I have a stroke during my interview? I figured it just fell asleep under the weight of my chunky face and double chin. Only the pins and needles gave way to numbness.
By the time, I reached home, I could barely get out of my SUV because my sciatica nerve pain was so intense. I slowly grandpa walked into the house and barked at my poor husband to get us some dinner, as I put the heating pad on my back and prayed the damage wasn’t permanent. I felt about 100 years old. I started to get worried because the funky feeling in my fingers was not getting any better.
Well, it’s been three days. The feeling just came back in my fingers today. It’s an ulnar nerve injury from when I dislocated my elbow trying to do some manual labor in my yard that is acting up. It’s basically a pinched nerve that shows up occasionally t keep my humble.
However, my lower back sciatica pain that started when I was pregnant with the girls has its own plans. I’m currently trying to find a way to position myself to not want to kill myself from the pain. The only thing that seems to work is the Boppy® Multi-use Slipcovered Total Body Pillow it’s a one-piece pregnancy pillow that can be used in multiple ways ( well beyond pregnancy, as I am almost 15 years postpartum) to make you and your growing baby bump ( or your regular mom belly) more comfortable. Its unique contoured design supports your body head-to-toe. That boppy has been my saving grace these last few nights. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.
Well, that was my weekend. How was yours? Did you enjoy every moment of it or was it too short and filled with obligations?
2022/05/16
How to Keep Your Shit Together
Estimated reading time: 7 minutes
These past few weeks of motherhood have been thus far some of the hardest ever. Shit has happened that no one teaches you about in the parenting books. I’ve studied the whole of the DSM and I still couldn’t have been prepared, as a mother, for the kind of emotional toll that has been taken on me. That’s why I’m realizing how to protect your mental health while taking care of everyone else is so important for parents.
You know there are things you expect, in the back of your head, in the bottom of your heart and right there in the pit of your stomach. Things that you know can happen, like all those terrible side effects they warn you of when you are taking the drugs that will save your life. You take them anyways because living is more important than having the shakes. Well, my friends, this shit was not on the warning label when I got pregnant. Or maybe it was and I chose not to believe it.
I have been struggling with mental illness since the teen years. There is a whole list of disorders and illnesses that I can speak of at length and in-depth. That should have been a red flag to me that maybe I needed to be a little more prepared for what could happen if the girls got triggered. But, I thought, I’ve got this. I found my way out of the darkness. It’ll be fine. And it was until it wasn’t anymore.
In my teen years, my mind was held hostage in a dark abyss. I couldn’t find my way out or at least it felt like I couldn’t but, true to Debi fashion, one step at a time, one moment at a time, I survived. Barely. Even though there were days when it was so painful to be alive that I prayed something or someone would kill me because I couldn’t do it myself and hurt my mom. She was my savior and she had no idea of the dark thoughts that were infiltrating my brain. It’s probably better that way. But I know.
In those days, it hurt to breathe because it felt counterintuitive and I cried more tears than I thought were even possible. But, my childhood was tumultuous to put it nicely. A lot of bad shit happened to me and when you’re a kid, you can only take so much before you break. Or so I thought. I’m more resilient than I ever imagined because I never actually broke, I just bent as far as my child mind and body could.
I promised myself that I would never allow that to be my daughters’ stories. They would live a “normal” life. As if I even know what that looks like. I promised myself they would never be triggered and I thought I could protect them from my same fate. But I was wrong. There are some things we can’t actually stop from happening, no matter how hard we try or how ‘good’ we are at this parenting thing. Maybe this is why I feel like such a fraud when people compliment me. I know the truth. There are simply some things that are beyond our control. That’s a hard and bitter pill for this recovering smother mother to swallow.
How to protect your mental health while taking care of everyone else is a hard, but imperative, balance to find
Today, I took my daughter to her first adolescent group therapy session. Never expected that to be a milestone. She almost cried when I left her. I almost cried when I left her in a room full of strange kids in their own turmoil. Is this a good idea? Is she going to get ideas or learn bad habits? But isn’t this supposed to help her live? All that matters is that she makes it through, by any means possible. She is the most important thing in my life. She and her sister are truly my entire reason why.
A couple of weeks ago, her depressive episode got so bad that I could see her slipping into that same dark abyss that I used to live in. I lived there for years. I honestly thought I’d never escape. I resigned myself to living there alone with my pain until it killed me. For me, it started at 12-years-old with body dysmorphia, then the major depression and suicidal ideations started around freshman year of high school, onto eating disorders beginning around 17 ( bulimia then anorexia with extreme exercising), and ultimately a diagnosis of bipolar 1 when I spent most of my college years and my mid 20’s manic AF. I didn’t have my first panic attack until I was 35-years-old but according to my psychiatrist, anxiety was there first.
As a child, I was prone to terrible stomach aches that landed me in the emergency room on more than one occasion. That’s how little Debi’s anxiety from living with an abusive, alcoholic father first manifested. But I learned quickly, around 7-years-old, how to develop my coping mechanisms. I’m a counter. It worked for years until my husband lost his job when I was 35. #mommysfirstpanicattack Yep, if I’m anxious and talking to people (pushing through my anxiety) I’m probably counting every word you are saying and all the letters in the words. I know I’m an extrovert but I also have my limits. I didn’t even realize I counted or what it meant until about a year into my therapy. Did I mention now ADHD is on the table? Aye aye aye. Like seriously, what the actual fuck?
Anyways, most if not all of these things are in control ( save for a little mania that gets triggered when I’m under duress…you know like when you’re dealing with the guilt and pressure of passing along your fucked up brain chemistry to your children). You have not had mom guilt of this level if you haven’t genetically fucked your kids up. It is a special kind of hell because it is in fact my fault. I’ve been crying about this a lot lately.
Right now, I’m trying to keep my shit together while putting out a seemingly unlimited amount of mental health trash fires over here daily. It’s a lot. I’m overwhelmed. I’m triggered and I’m trying my best to do what’s best for everyone, especially my girls. I thought I was holding it together. I mean I know that on the inside, I’m falling apart but I thought on the outside, I was taking care of business. I think I am for the most part but I’m neglecting myself. I know this because the other days while I was sobbing about my daughter’s mental health crisis, I could hear my pressured speech and feel my pressured thoughts machine-gunning out of my head and my husband gave me a hug and said, “But Debi, you haven’t looked happy for a while.” And he’s not wrong. I’m too overwhelmed and exhausted and scared to be happy because what right do I have when my children are in pain?
That’s how I know that I need to step back, take inventory and do whatever I need to do to get my own mental health in order. Because skipping myself isn’t doing any favors for my children or my husband. In fact, I’m adding to the pile of neverending trash fires currently going on. Look, I’m not complaining. This is me processing. I write, that’s how I survive.
If you’ve ever wondered why my feeds are not perfectly curated, it’s not because I don’t know that it’s what people want its because I refuse to live a lie. My battle with eating disorders made me a liar for about 8 solid years. You have to lie to hide the fact that you are slowly killing yourself from the people who love you. If not, they will stop you from your slow suicide. And I preferred to exile myself from everyone than to let them know how truly vulnerable and pathetic I was.
I spent so many years striving for perfection and I’m still a fucking relentless overachiever. It’s just who I am. If I stop moving I die. But now, with years of therapy and doing the work to not only understand my disease but myself, I will never silently suffer again and I don’t want that for my daughters either. I never want them to feel that alone and afraid to live.
So how do I protect my mental health while taking care of everyone else? I have to be vigilant that I take care of myself first or I won’t be able to take care of anyone else. I know from a mom’s perspective, it sounds very selfish but it’s not. It is giving myself permission to heal so that I can help the people I love the most heal and get the help they need with my full support.
Give Yourself a Time-Out (But Actually Take It)
We’re all great at putting the kids in time-out when they need a breather, but how often do we do that for ourselves? Next time you feel the storm brewing – whether it’s a panic attack on the horizon or just a gnawing sense that you’re about to lose your sh*t – actually take a damn time-out for yourself. Lock yourself in the bathroom if you have to. Light a scented candle, hydrate, breathe deeply, and reconnect with yourself for a few sacred minutes.
Shamelessly Indulge in Your Vices Within reason, of course.
We all need small reprieves that are entirely our own – tiny pit stops of peace along this relentless race of motherhood. Maybe it’s those cigarettes you promised you’d quit, or a generous pour of red wine after the kids are in bed. Maybe it’s zoning out to trashy reality TV or snacking on the kids’ hidden stash of Halloween candy. Whatever your vice may be, indulge in it shamelessly and without guilt. You’re doing important work. You’ve earned it.
Outsource Your Overwhelm
Listen, you superwoman – there’s no award for doing it all yourself. Our villages have disbanded and the weight of everything has fallen on our overburdened mom-shoulders. So pay someone to clean your house for a few hours every week. Order meal delivery kits. Hire a college kid to mow the lawn. Get a damn robot vacuum, for Christ’s sake. Shed. That. Overwhelm. You’re a mom, not a martyr.
Reclaim Your Identity
When you became a mom, you were first reborn. Now it’s time to rediscover the human behind the caretaker. Schedule monthly mani/pedis or weekend trips with your girlfriends. Sign up for a painting or dance class for absolutely no reason other than you think it might be fun. Read books unrelated to parenting. Reminding yourself of the person you were before babies can be a balm for the soul.
Schedule Some “Me Time”
When you’re taking care of everyone and everything else, this can definitely seem like a long shot, right? But at the end of the day, you’re living your life, and that means you still have to take care of yourself. Something that might even mean putting everyone and everything else on the back burner for a bit so you can take care of yourself. After all, if you can’t take care of yourself, how can you take care of others?
But self-care means taking time to do what you want, Me Time- the time that moms almost never seem to get. Honestly, it can be whatever you want at whatever pace you want to. For example, if you want something intense like tennis, go for it; if you want something more relaxing like a digital crossword puzzle, then by all means, go for that!
You deserve to define your ‘me time” however you want. But you can’t neglect this either. You can only get yourself together if you let yourself have a break, your body and your mind needs this.
And a final word to all you fierce mamas out there: Put on your own oxygen mask first. Your mental health is precious cargo – without it, you can’t fully show up for those you love most. So prioritize your self-care. I’ll say it louder for the martyr moms in the back: You must prioritize your self-care! This isn’t just a friendly reminder, it’s an order from your resident Truth-Telling Mom. Now, share the hell out of this thing and tag a few mom friends who need to hear it!
2022/05/12
10 Years Ago Today, I Died

Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
Today is May 1^st and it’s the day I dread all year long. This year particularly because it’s been a rough year, month, week and day. 10 years ago today, I lost the baby who would have been our third child. It’s weird because on that day, a part of me did die. I am not the same woman I was the day before. I have been broken beyond repair and put back together with existential gorilla glue or maybe just sheer mother’s love because if it weren’t for my 2 living daughters, I’m pretty sure I would have just given up which is saying a lot considering that giving up has never been in my wheelhouse.
I’m sure that anyone who has never survived a miscarriage or loss of a child thinks I’m being overly dramatic but I assure you, when my baby died, I wanted to follow suit. I was shattered and felt betrayed by my body, by the world and even by God. God, is the one thing, I have always had an unshakable faith in but in those moments after hearing that my child no longer had a heartbeat, I wasn’t so sure what I believed anymore. I was angry, sad and felt like I had been completely blind-sighted by the events that were unfolding at an alarming rate. I felt vulnerable and helpless and worthless simultaneously and I hated myself and everyone else for that. Why couldn’t I make this better? Why didn’t I stop this? How could I have prevented this? Why me?
Why me, indeed. You know, I used to think that child and pregnancy loss was something that only happened to other people. I didn’t think I was better. I just thought that it didn’t happen that often and I was probably safe. There was no genetic history of miscarriages happening on either side of my family. For some reason, I thought I was exempt from the possibility even though rationally, I knew horrible things happen to everyone and I’m not special but maybe on some level I thought I was. I’ve survived a lot of tumultuous shit in my lifetime, maybe I just thought I deserved a break.
But when it happened and I was falling apart in every way possible, an invisible community of women who most I had never even met or spoken to previous to this catastrophic moment in my life, rallied beneath me and lifted me up in compassion, understanding and love. From the nurses who wheeled me back to my D & E, to the other moms who read this website and I’ve come to know and love over the years, to my IRL friends who comfortingly disclosed their own losses and even strangers who read my post, these women across the world swooped in like superheroes and saved me from myself. How could I give up when so many stoic women who had gone through this same thing were holding their hands out to me to give me the strength to carry on? How could I give up when I looked into the teary eyes of my little girls who knew but could not comprehend what was going on with their mommy? They needed me and I needed them to be my reason why and they were.
You know, I was so devastated on that day that I became the most selfish version of myself, I had to in order to live. I still feel really guilty about this but in my soul-crushing pain, I never once asked the Big Guy how he felt. I couldn’t even face him. He was the one person who I felt the most that my loss had let down. I’ll never forget in the minutes after finding out that our baby had died, my Obstetrician, Nina (yeah we’ve become close like that after the gynecological tragedies we’ve shared), made me call my husband and tell him so that he could take care of me. She saw me disintegrating before her eyes. She knew a total collapse was imminent.
He knew I was seeing the gynecologist and he answered the phone with his usual jovial, kind, caring voice, “How’s our baby?” I’m crying right now just remembering. When I told him, when I tried to say the words I felt as if I was going to choke to death. I tried to swallow them down and rewind time. Nothing made sense and everything was hazy. I felt like I had betrayed him in a way that I can never undo and that somehow made it all worse. My husband is my best friend and the one person I love and respect more than anyone else in this world. We’ve built a life together, we made an unspoken deal when we got married to always be there for one another and I feel like I didn’t keep up my end of the bargain.
But today has been 10 years since I lost our baby and it still hurts as much as it did on that day, even if I sometimes feel like I am the only one who remembers or commemorates the day. But how could I pretend that today is like any other day when I so vividly remember the devastation that I felt on that day 10 years ago?
Even though I feel completely alone in my loss, I know that I’m not. My husband gives me space and my beautiful, sweet, kind, compassionate girls are extra tender with me every May 1st because they know. They’re only 14 and 17 but they feel the love that I have for them on a daily basis and they sense the gravity of my loss; the void in my heart, the heaviness of the emptiness of my arms that tinges my life every day with sadness that grows just a bit heavier every May 1st. 10 years ago today, I died a little bit.
2022/05/01