63,072,000

Have you ever closed your eyes while driving? I don’t recommend it if you’re planning on living a long life. But, if you’re a risk taking kind of gal like myself, you might have. It takes less than a second to make an irrational, reckless decision like that. I remember thinking how badly I just wanted to feel alive. I wanted to ride a rollercoaster with my arms up in the air screaming, “I CAN FINALLY FEEL MYSELF LIVING!” or “I’M GOING TO PUKE.” Either of those scenarios would pump adrenaline in my veins forcing my brain and body to snap into the present.

I wasn’t suicidal. I just wanted to feel something, anything, no matter what the risk. The big hole inside of me had spread. I was numb to everything- love, life, sadness, reality, happiness… all of it. It felt like I was being pulled down into the ground by branches and weeds. It felt like I was being covered with dirt and sand, unable to breathe or experience anything, but still hopelessly alive.

92CB02D3-1918-454B-BA2C-6CB396F05092I felt this way right after I got sober. I had already admitted to myself and every person in my life that I was an alcoholic. I cannot drink normally. I’m allergic to alcohol, it makes me break out in stupidity. Saying that kind of thing out loud didn’t really seem all that difficult for me. Yeah- hi, I’m Kate and I’m an alcoholic. Whoopdeedoo. It wasn’t rocket science. Everyone in my family had been walking on egg shells for years wondering when I was finally going to stop.

I stopped. Aren’t you happy with me now?

Aren’t I happy now?

No. Sobriety doesn’t come with a Groupon for instant satisfaction and joy in life. What it does deliver is a swift dose of reality and most of us are very startled by that. What do you mean I have to work on myself? I just gave up my best friend. Isn’t that enough? Are you seriously telling me that I have to show up at these meetings with you random, weird people and tell strangers about my life? What the hell is wrong with you people? I like to air my dirty laundry out on facebook, not face to face. That just sounds savage.

I’m was willing to kiss Pinot Grigio and PBR tall boys goodbye. Peace out alcohol, this relationship is over. I’m moving on to bigger and better things. I figured that first night that I would go to sleep an alcoholic and wake up to a happier version of myself.

That’s pretty typical of us alcoholics, right? We want what we want and we want it right now. If we can’t get what we want when we want it, we can become slightly…insane. I can’t even count how many tantrums I had when I ran out of wine.

It’s pretty clear that alcoholism is a symptom of something much harder to break. Our mind can be a weapon against ourselves. Our lives are full of self-destructive chaos. We slowly kill ourselves with substances to avoid situations and emotions that cause us stress.

Shortly after I decided to get sober I started to see the real world and it was FUCKING TERRIFYING. I had to tell myself, “Don’t worry, you stopped drinking, you don’t have to feel those things. Alcohol was the problem!”

HA. HA. HA.

Every table I sat at in the beginning was filled with people who had coping skills and they seemed pretty damn happy. I wanted what they had and this time I could get it. Ask and ye shall receive. They told me what to do. They told me I would have to work hard to achieve sobriety and start a better life. They told me to surrender. They told me to pray. They told me to breathe.

F238EE5C-D1F7-4900-8F56-A2BAD60F91E2Breathe. I have always been trying to catch my breath. Trying to run around and search for anything or anyone to fill the void. When that didn’t work I kept running in every other directions until I finally couldn’t.

Sobriety is simple. I have regularly found that I don’t exactly do *simple*. Breathing is also simple. But, I find myself holding my breath. I breathe in fear and let it settle into my core. Instead of living in the moment, I get stuck in the moment. I can’t control anyone or anything but myself. I hold my breath when I’m hurting, when I’m demoralized and beaten with words. I hold my breath as I watch my children grow and worry if they’ll make the same mistakes I have. I hold my breath when I think about the love I have lost and the love I’ll never have.

Sounds pretty sad right? I’ll invite you to my pity party. All of my fears dancing around me taunting me, pushing me, trying to break me into the shadow of my past.

 

Woe is me.

 

Here’s why I haven’t suffocated yet- I drop to my knees and quietly ask God to take over, be my ventilator until I can inhale my serenity and exhale the rest. I reach out to others who have learned to breathe and ask them how. How do they do it? They just do it. They put the time, the effort, and the service to help others and themselves.2A62B932-A96B-4B41-B785-64080836D04B

I’ve been breathing my whole life. When did I complicate it? The answer doesn’t matter, the solution is sobriety. It’s trying to comprehend that this life has not been handed to me, I have to work for it. It’s taking those risks, opening my heart, opening my mind, and asking God to take over. It’s accepting that shitty people, places and things happen. It’s accepting that I have been shitty to people, places and things (… I’ve thrown a good amount of cell phones in my time.) but that doesn’t define me. I define me, and I identify myself as a sober mom just taking it all in day by day. Am I perfect? No (unless you ask my dog, of course). Am I trying? I am.

I’m taking life one day at a time. One minute at a time. One second at a time.

63,072,000 seconds to be precise and a lifetime more to go.

17247AE6-DFBA-46B1-B255-24D2CDDD6C24

 

 

A Womans Worth: A Letter to my Mama

Dear Mom,

I have been sitting on this topic for a few weeks. What worth do we as women have in this world? Do we acknowledge our worth, or do we let others diminish it?  Do we stay silent to hide our strength, because our strength is intimidating to others? A woman can’t be worthy in this world if she’s too much.

Too much or not enough.

Don’t appear too confident, too smart, too brave, too beautiful, too independent, or too successful if you really want to succeed in life and have a great husband.

0-2*Get it girl*

My dear Mama: you have raised me well. Some of the lessons I have learned from you have sat dormant in my mind for quite a while. I ran in the other direction. I made choices that kept me small. I firmly believed that a white picket fence would make me happy. It didn’t. I firmly believed that the only thing I could offer was giving birth to babies and emptying the dishwasher.

Don’t get me wrong- being a mom is the greatest honor I have ever experienced. I have the pleasure of watching these three wild, silly, strong-willed girls grow day by day and I get to be part of that. It’s amazing.

But is that the only thing I can be?

What about my dreams, my passions, my goals? It never occurred to me that I could do those things and still be the badass mom that I am today.

I let men silence me. I let society silence me. I let alcohol silence me. I let myself silence me. 

0

When I think about your life Mom, I hear symphonies instead of silence. You have spent your entire life pushing yourself to be better, wiser and stronger. You worked hard for your education, your job, and your home with a grateful heart.

0-1*

I know that as you are reading this, you are going to be flooded with emotions. I mean, if we’re being honest here, you kind of always have floods of emotion! That’s good. Gotta let it out.

I know that you have spent hours replaying different memories from my life where you wish you could have done things differently or wish you had been at one thing or another. You tell me over and over how sorry you are for missing stuff. I know that your heart broke when I went into labor and you weren’t there. I know that you still carry that guilt.

Let me tell you something. If you had been around, you would have been ushered out into the waiting room as I entered the OR for that damn emergency c-section. You wouldn’t have been allowed in. You dropped a heck of a lot of money to turn around and get on the next flight back to me. Everything was such a rush. The first baby. Total beautiful chaos.

0-13

I remember almost nothing about my c-section.

Do you know what I do remember? I remember you basically sprinting into the room several hours later. You dropped everything and made it back in record time. Maybe you don’t remember this, but by the time you arrived I was tired. More than tired. Emotionally drained and emotionally full.

 

What I’m trying to say here is that I needed a nap. I straight up just needed to sleep for a minute. You have no idea how deep the exhaustion is after birth until you’ve actually experienced it. You came in and walked right up to us. You picked up Fiona and held her to your heart. You sat down in the rocking chair and introduced yourself to her. I said something about being tired, and you told me to take a nap.

Nap.

Nap?

Moms are allowed to nap? I heard that was a myth.

0-12

You rocked that little smooshy face for almost two hours while I zoned in and out of an unusual sleep. You never sleep the same after a human being exits you. You have to be on call 24/7. I remember the wave of calm that came over me when you walked in there and I closed my eyes. I had spent the past several hours absolutely terrified when my *natural* birth plan didn’t work out. I felt guilt, as if my body had failed her. I don’t know how, but your presence helped calm those emotions.

You’re my mom. You knew I needed to sleep. Moms know everything.

Let me repeat that: Moms know everything.

You would have missed her birth if you had been one mile away or across the country. You would have had to sit and wait outside for who knows how long. I was ok. I did it. I had a baby. I needed you, but not right there at that moment. I needed you to come in like Wonder Woman, sweeping the sleeping baby out of my arms and into yours. I felt my shoulders relax. I felt my eyes getting heavy.

You were there when I needed you. I didn’t need you in the OR, I needed you right then and there in my hospital room. That’s what I remember. Not that you left, but that you came in at just the right time. 

We joke around a lot calling you a *workaholic*. You work. You work really hard. It’s easy for me to sit here on this couch and say you do too much. But I wouldn’t have the damn couch if you hadn’t worked so hard to make sure that we all have always had everything we’ve needed.  You work your ass off even when it seems impossible.

0-9

Being a mom is much like walking on a tightrope. It’s hard and almost impossible. People constantly ask, “How do you do it?” And the answer is simple: the love that we have for our children gives us no other choice. If we have to move a mountain, we will move a mountain. Moms are incredible.

0-5

The past year I have heard you say a lot of things about divorce. Your own and mine. At times you seem to believe that if you raised me differently, that perhaps my marriage wouldn’t have ended. You also seem to believe that you have some kind of control over this situation.

Let me tell you right now-You, your life, your family, your everything…not one single part of your past makes you responsible for what I’m going through, or what my kids are going through.

This isn’t your fault. 

You have brought me back from the ledge of the bridge too many times this past year. You have picked up every phone call. You’ve read every text. You’ve let me go on and on about superficial things while you are mourning the loss of your father. You put me first.

A few months back my marriage ended. I didn’t know what to do, who to turn to, how to make it through one more hour of the misery I was consumed with. A few days later you flew out. Dropped everything, got on a plane, and came out to give me a break. My house was flooded with sewage water. It smelled like a porta potty. You took care of everything. EVERYTHING. You changed your flight home, because you knew I needed more time with you.

You put your own exhaustion aside and sat by me when I needed you the most.

We lost Grampie. You lost your Dad. You had to be the one to call me that morning. Your voice didn’t even tremble. You knew you had to be strong for me in that moment.

I hope I can be strong for you too someday. 

Even when circumstances have been less than ideal, you still do what you need to do for us. You don’t give up. You push. You push into the right direction as much as you can.

0-7

I have spent my entire life watching you soar. You aren’t just a mom. You aren’t just a successful business woman. You aren’t just a loving and kind Grammie. You aren’t just the shoulder your daughters cry on. You aren’t just the mom who has pulled her daughter out of financial and emotional ruin. You aren’t just a devoted daughter. You aren’t just a beloved sibling, leader of the pack. You aren’t just a woman who has a deep love of twizzlers and diet pepsi. You aren’t just the mom who has sacrificed sanity to drive across the country with my three screaming kids in the back. You aren’t just the big promotion. You aren’t just the woman who has helped your daughter stay sober. You aren’t just the woman with a new car or a new house. You aren’t just a hallmark movie watching junkie.

You are Susan. 

You don’t have to be anyone or anything else, just being who you are makes your worth in this world and in my heart immeasurable.

You are enough. You are worthy. You are loved.

 

Happy Birthday Mom. I love you.

0-3

On the eve of three.

In the quiet of the night, I sneak into your room. You’re the only one who lets me hold you as you sleep. Sometimes, I feel like the mom in the ” Love You Forever” book. I will love you forever. You were the biggest surprise of my life. I wish I could tell you how overjoyed I was when I saw those two pink lines at 10:20 am on a tuesday morning in May. I felt terror. I felt panic. I felt hopeless. I was deep, deep in the depths of post-partum depression and spiriling into a full blown alcoholic. If I’m being honest with myself, I was mostly upset that I would have to stop drinking again. Maeve was only nine months old. I had done a terrific job of swimming and then drowing in a sea of white wine since her birth.

47E44152-0CF7-43E8-A96C-11986719BD4AAs my belly grew, I would beg for you to kick. Just some sort of acknowledgement that you were there. We were there. We were going to do this together. Forge willfully into the future, whatever that was. I held your sisters as I wept. I didn’t think I was a good mom. I was a mom who would plan naptime and bedtime around how much wine I could consume without getting sloppy with the kids. I didn’t want to play with them. I didn’t want to take walks with them. I just wanted every day to end quickly so I could drink myself into some sort of dreamy oblivion where I was thin, smart, happy and at peace with myself. I never had those dreams. I had nightmares. And panic. I would bolt out of bed hyperventilating. It only worsened as you took up residency inside of me.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. No one cares. No one cares. No one cares. I’m a bad mom. I’m a bad mom. I’m a bad mom. Help. Help. Help.

I can’t breathe.

I tried to talk about it. I mostly talked about how I was sure that if I could drink wine throughout my pregnancy that I would never have to experience a panic attack ever again. I counted the days. Nine months. Two-hundred seventy-three days. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Somehwere, buried deep down under my selfishness, there was a little flicker. A little butterfly. The kind of feeling that makes you get goosebumps, but in a good day.

 

I’m here Mama. I’m here.

 

I bounced on that damn exercise ball for hours in labor. Reciting a name over and over. You were a boy. I was so sure of it. It never even crossed my mind that you would be a girl. My girl. You came fairly punctual like your sisters. On your due date. You entered the world confused and screaming, but no one was more confused than me.

Until I took a deep breath, looked down at you and said, ” Hi Lucille. You’re here.”

Your sisters and you are amazing. You all love each other so much. Even when you’re terrorizing each other, I always hear the belly laughs a few minutes later.

4912D1C6-2647-439A-8441-1B2831DC4AC2

Your big sister decided that we were going to call ourselves the Giggle Girl Gang. Mommy and the three of you. You guys did a lot of giggling. I tried my best, but I rarely giggled. I did a lot of drinking. Chug, chug, chug.

And then the biggest miracle of all happened-

I got sober. I started to see past the fog of insecurity and depression. I saw my daughters. I saw so much I had never seen before. Meanwhile. the three of you will never have  to see me drink ever again. Eightteen months of sobriety later and by the grace of God, I’m still here with you. Sober. I’m not a perfect mom. You weren’t born into a perfect, happy family. You were born into a tornado of us.

But you know what? I wouldn’t change a thing. Those experiences happened for a reason. The reason being that I will always remember what it was like, how awful it felt. Without all of that I wouldn’t have gotten sober. You would have a drunk mom. A dead mom.

9D736614-07FD-48BA-91FA-D189AED90E5FIn sobriety I really got to know you and your two partners in crime. Your goofy dance in the kitchen while we’re blasting Taylor Swift. The sound of your laughter as Maeve and you jump from bed to bed. The way you melt into my shoulder as I carry you from the car to your bed. Your squeaky little voice singing, ” LUCY IN THE SKY WITH DIAMONDS…” over and over and over and over and over again. The way you wake up every morning and demand to know where your sisters are (still asleep, but that’s not going to stop you) because you are ready to play and start the day. You love horses and you watch Spirit on Netflix 80,000,000 times a day. I can recite every episode. Go ahead. Ask me. I”ll do it.E4BF5C6B-D12D-483F-AD8F-39CBA3BF4E0A

I love the super long conversations to yourself and others that makes zero sense, because we have NO clue what you’re saying. I constantly had to ask your sisters to translate for me, because I didn’t speak Lucie. It’s more complicated than French or Spanish. You can’t take a class and learn it.

You’re my daughter. You never stop talking. I’m sure its payback. My own mother used to put the phone down and walk away as I was talking to her on the phone. I talked so much I didn’t even realize. You and I both could talk anyone’s ear off.

When things get crazy and the three of you are demaning my attention, you always run up to me and say, ” MOMMY I TALK TO YOU.” “Fine, I won’t talk to you, relax Goosie Girl.” “ NO. I WANNA TALK TO YOU. I WANNA TALK TO YOU NOW.”

” MOMMY. MAEVE HIT ME. I HIT HER BACK.”

” MOMMY BERRIES. I WANT A BOWL OF BERRIES. NOW. NOW. NOW!”

CBFD46D3-CDB7-4A89-945E-082FEA2EB86D

A few days ago you were out like a light in the car after we picked up Maeve. I had gotten her one of those weird Kinder Egg things. Maeve tried to crack it open and before she could speak another word, there you were, wide awake…” DID SOMEBODY SAY KINDER EGG?”

You used to swear a lot. Thank God we worked on that before you start preschool. I imagine we would be getting several complaints about the three year old exclaiming,” HOLY SHIT.” all day long.

You like to lick the shopping carts in Target. I tried to stop you once. It didn’t go well.

D6786A90-55E5-4776-9F38-C92C6F52DF07Once, when you were two, we were at the pediatrician for your well visit. You were wearing just a diaper. I tried hard, but I couldn’t get you to stop rolling around, half naked, on the linoleum floor. The Dr walked in, her first response was, ” Oh sweetie, you don’t want to do that. There’s germs. That’s yucky.” She told me I should make you stop. I laughed. There’s no stopping you little Luce. I bent down to pick you up and you ninja kicked my torso. The dr looked at me and said, ” Oh. I see. She’s pretty wild, huh?” I said, “ Yeah- so you want to give it a try? Good luck Doc.”

 

Wild. Silly. Loud. Confident. Loving. Determined. Smart. Snuggly. Adventerous. Independent. Immaginative.

So many wonderful things.

You radiate happiness. You have left such a joyous imprint on my heart. So much so that when you’re with your dad, it feels like I’m missing a limb until you come home. You’ve  taught me so much about my own heart and my role as a mother. You won’t grow up with memories of drunk mommy. You will grow up remembering running in the yard with the dog, You will remember all the secret hiding spots you and your sisters have found when playing hide and seek. You will remember swimming with your cousins and jumping on trampolines. You’ll remember Mommy showing up, being present- loving you inside and out.C80D2E70-A427-4CB5-AA56-CAF1602A2FA7

Last night you fell asleep in my bed. When I was done wrapping your presents, I came in quietly. As soon as I pulled the blanket up, your eyes opened and you said, “Mommy, I hold you.”.

i will hold you forever, my little one.

Happy 3rd Birthday Lucie.

 

0A9577C7-2286-4EAC-BC42-B2B4E813EDA5

I know you are but what am I?

There seems to be an identity crisis going on here. I don’t know if crisis is the right word to use but, I’m trying to figure some shit out. Some days, I look at myself and the familiarity is comforting. Other times, I yearn for a map to lead me to where I need to be. Where I should be going. A guide out of my own personal hell of self pity and addiction.

Before.

Prior to sobriety I had always hated my body. I’d change my clothes 30 times every morning to try to find an outfit that would make me look skinny. I didn’t have confidence in myself. I thought that it was my job to keep my family and friends happy. If I failed I was devastated. As I got older those things started to haunt me day after day. I hated those feelings. They hurt too much. Fuck that. I wanted to be numb and feel absolutely nothing.

Someone introduced me to alcohol and the rest is history. Alcohol was the solution for everything. I didn’t start off drinking like a fish, that would come later. But the door had started to open and my brain invited addiction in like it was a long lost love seeking shelter.

Beer. Vodka. Tequila. Wine. My new besties.

148118_662222628867_5249277_n

*Hey, check out those DEAD eyes… knock, knock! No one’s there. Also, no clue who that blonde was, but she seems to be having a good time* 

 

Alcohol made me feel pretty. My insecurities washed away in a shot glass of whiskey. I felt confident. I flirted with disaster and bad boys. I laughed loud and passed out quick. I took shots of vodka from my water bottle during third period on a Monday. It wasn’t an everyday thing, but the more I drank the better I felt. I invited friends over and raid the alcohol cabinet again and again. I was also pretty dumb, because I decided to replace in the freezer with water. Water freezes. I told my parents it must have been the men outside gardening. They must have come into the kitchen and pounded it all without a chaser.

I used my fake ID daily during my freshman year of college. It was totally normal. I’d start pre-gaming house before the bar or party. I’d put my makeup on while drinking old style. I felt beautiful. I’d dance with strangers and take the shots they offered me.

21370849_10102229351533937_7585698918920757950_n* I’d like to call this my faux mug shot. I’ve never been arrested (Thank you sweet baby Jesus), but I imagine this is kind of what it would be like. There’s nothing behind those eyes*

One night I was talking to my friend and she asked me what I was doing. I replied that I was in my dorm room drinking. She said that drinking alone is the start of something bad.

I stopped telling people what I was doing. I became a masterful drunk. I’d tell my friends how happy I was to be out and drinking beer with them. I’d leave out the part where I had already drank four glasses of wine and two beers. There was also a strong chance that I had popped some random pills too.

Whatever. Didn’t care. I felt wanted, smart, clever, funny and talented. If it meant killing my liver in the process, so be it.

 

The next morning those euphoric feelings disappeared. They were replaced with shame, guilt, confusion, pain, heartbreak and a slew of other horrible feelings. I’d cope with all of that by drinking more. Meanwhile, my self hatred grew and grew. Alcohol fed the beast inside of me.

After becoming a mother my drinking started to spiral. I believed whole heartedly that alcohol made me a better mom. Want to color? Sure! Want to do a puzzle? Sure! Want to bake cookies? Absolutely! In bed at night I’d tear myself down piece by piece. What kind of shitty person drinks to hang out with their kids? Only a piece of shit. I was a piece of shit. I didn’t deserve happiness. I deserved a difficult life (all by my own doings). I accepted that I would never find peace.

17553882_10101959875815437_9215602668637248072_n*Oh, wow look at you, you little emo/moody wino. Still with the dead eyes.*

In the back of my mind I knew that I was an alcoholic. I knew that without a solution that my alcoholism would be fatal. I fully intended to drink my life away until death. I thought my family would be better off without me. I was terrified of messing up my kids. When those emotions crept in I would pick up the bottle again and again.

 

What a hot ass mess.

 

Present

I wake up and fall to my knees. I pray to a God that I had long dismissed as a myth. I ask my God to help me stay sober today and help me follow His will, not mine. I don’t know what His will for me is, but every single day tiny miracles happen in my life. I don’t fear being alone anymore. I just get on my knees and repeat over and over again. I cook my daughters breakfast and we laugh over silly stuff the baby did. I’m slowly learning to love myself. I’m present. I see myself in pictures and I see the face of a girl who finally knows her worth. I know that I deserve happiness, peace and joy. None of that would be possible if I was still pounding drinks every day.

46836961_10102749939970537_4338203563537727488_n*I didn’t get sober for my girls. They inspired me to get sober, but I got sober for me so that they could have the mom they deserve*

All of that shit is awesome, right? Yeah. It’s amazing. I work so damn hard everyday to maintain the serenity I so badly need in my life.

But it’s kinda weird too. I have moments where I miss being a miserable drunk. I know that’s crazy, but getting drunk means I won’t have to feel anything. I’m a lazy ass person. Super lazy. It’s challenging to have to work on myself twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Drunk Kate didn’t have to do anything but sit on the damn couch and watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Sober Kate has to pray, read, call my sponsor, embrace the fellowship of others, use healthy coping skills, be present and be accountable. I share my sober story through this blog, because I need to be honest and transparent with others in my life. No more secrets. I mean, I’m probably going to lie to you if you ask me if I’m wearing the same pants that I’ve been sleeping in for four days while at kindergarten drop off.

 

Of course these aren’t the same pants. I’m super mom. I do 70,000 loads of laundry every morning. With a smile on my face. ***** ALL LIES *****

The pants are comfy man, so lay off.

 

I haven’t been sober for years and years. I’m still learning how to navigate life without wine, sometimes I’m pretty good at it, sometimes I suck at it. It’s progress, not perfection. One day at a time. ONE. Not the next 90 years of my life. Just today. This one day.  We’ll see what tomorrow brings, but I do know this…

Every single moment of every day it gets better and better. Every feeling, good or bad, brings me closer and closer to peace. Just by feeling them, staring them in the face, instead of ignoring them with a PBR tall boy.

I still yell at my kids. I still have road rage (bc no one in Michigan knows how to drive apparently…). I’m still selfish and loud. I’m still jerk to the most important people in my life- but you know what? I’m sober. It’s only through sobriety that I can grow and learn to forgive and accept forgivness for my actions and those of others. I pray for complete strangers and I feel Gods presence in the quiet moments of the day.

 

If the old me read this, I would probably laugh. A life without alcohol was not a possiblity. I couldn’t even imagine it.

 

I am so grateful to be able to share this journey with others as I grow and learn to love the new me. We don’t do it alone.

 

One day at a time.

 

46853629_10102750615506757_2530707130097336320_n* OMG THERE’S LIFE BEHIND MY EYES*

Raising my daughters in the era of #metoo

I wasn’t shocked when the Harvy Weinstein scandal first opened up. Men in Hollywood and every other hood, abuse their previliges and power. They look at women as dissmisive and easy to use. I figured this was a normal kind of thing to go on in the media. Whatever. I’m thirty-one and I live in Michigan, this didn’t affect me at all.

 

Until it did.

 

I remember first hearing about the #metoo movement on the news. I sat down to watch and started to realize this was bigger than me. Bigger than you. So many brave, strong women moved out of their comfort zone and spoke up. They spoke up about verbal, emotional, and sexual assault. Suddenly, the Weinstein started to mean something to me.

I saw my friends facebook and twitter write their own #metoo story and I felt shameful for ever dismissing this epidemic. It reaches women here and there and everywhere. I can’t count the amount of #metoos I saw before I realized this might have happened to #metoo.

I had an experience during my freshman year of college. When I thought about it, it made me feel disgusting. I just pushed it back until I basically stopped thinking about it. I went to a party, I drank some alcohol, and a kind  gentlemen offered to walk me back to my dorm. I had been puking from the party and I was touched that someone cared enough to make sure I made it back ok. He didn’t just walk me back to my dorm, he entered my dorm, uninvited, and tucked me in. Looking back, he did all of those nice things so it would be easier to take advantage of me. He forced his lips onto my lips, and I remember thinking, ” This is not what I want, I’m trapped. I’m trapped.”

He kept pushing and pushing, and eventually I just ran out into the bathroom and violently puked. Puking probably saved me from an extreme sexual trauma, but luckily my body took over. It didn’t go very far, but it still made me feel dirty. I also felt guilty, because I had been drinking at a party. I should have been smarter. We always blame ourselves.

Although my story is very small compared to the stories of rape and abuse, I posted #metoo on facebook.

 

I lay awake at night wondering if my daughters will someday post #metoo. I’m terrified that at some point in their life, they will be hurt or abused. It churns in my stomach, it clenches my fists.

Raising children is the single, most difficult task for many of us. I want to raise them to be strong, smart and kind. I would blame myself if they found themselves in a similar situation. It would break my heart.

I’m doing my best to talk to them about their bodies and their minds. I tell them no one, not even mommy or daddy, is allowed to touch them if they don’t want anyone to. I tell them that they are strong before I tell them their beautiful. I them to value their strength above their beauty. I am trying to arm them with enough self-worth to make it in this sad, scary world that we live in.

But, I can’t protect them forever. They will have to make their own way someday. All I can do is repeat over and over again how much value they are in this world, and that no man or woman can take that away from them.

 

#metoo unites us all in recognizing a problem that stretches over women, chidren and even men. No change has ever happened over night, but we have to keep pushing and educating our children. We have to.

 

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I took a deep breath.

” I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart; I am I am I am” -Sylvia Plath

 

I am blissful. I am beautiful. I am bountiful. I am alive. I am a warrior. I am brave. I am strong. I am loyal. I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a daughter.  I am a sister.

 

I am worthy of all the gifts the world has to offer. I am.IMG_2554*I got this tattoo for my 31st birthday to remind myself of all of these things*

 

I am. I am. I am.

 

Struggle.

When I started this blog, I thought I would fill it with funny stuff. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of that. As I continue finding my voice through writing, I find myself leaning towards wanting to share the beauty of motherhood. It’s not always beautiful. Sometimes, it’s scary, it’s ugly, it’s hurtful, it’s lonely, its desperate, it feels like it will break you. It’s also magic. It’s unbelievable. It brought my soul to life. (That’s some really sappy BS, but I’m serious.)

 

My three strong willed daughters test me to my limit every single day. Sometimes, they smack me. Sometimes they poop on me (or in that DAMN BACK PACK). Sometimes, they frustrate me. How freaking hard is it to put on shoes, a coat, and your backpack? It takes 75,000 million hours to try to get to preschool on time. We’re always late. Whatever. Sometimes, they take the entire box of goldfish crackers, dump them on the floor and stomp on them like they’re Lucy and Ethel stomping on those grapes in the wine barrel. Sometimes, they pull each others hair and throw punches. Sometimes, they run down the street half naked trying to follow their Dad’s car to work at 6 am on a Tuesday morning. Sometimes, scream so loud that I’m POSITIVE my neighbors think we are running an insane asylum. (Which, is pretty accurate.)

That’s kid shit though. That’s what they do.

 

My strong willed daughters also shower me with unconditional love. I spent my entire life needed that. Craving that. Searching for that. I know my parents love me. Sometimes, I think maybe my husband loves me. But, this is a different love. My favorite is when Fiona snuggles up with me and says, ” I know you told me, but I want to tell you too that I made you a mommy.”

 

… I melt into a pool of emotions when she says this.

 

When I’ve been out for a few hours talking to my Drs about my crazy ass PPD/PPA, my Maeve girl comes CHARGING through the house to hug me, as if I’ve been gone for a decade.

When Lucille wakes up in the morning the first thing she does is smile, reaches up for you to pick her up, and then nuzzles her sweet face into your neck and gives the BEST HUG EVER. I mean she’s almost nine months old and her hug game is STRONG.

 

All of these things are great, but what prompted me to write this is that the past couple days and weeks have been a little hard over here. Life stuff, you know? There’s always life stuff. But, this morning I felt Fiona crawl into bed with me, she put her arm around my chest, put her nose to my nose, and woke me up with nose kisses.

 

MY FOUR YEAR OLD WAKES ME UP WITH NOSE KISSES.

 

It is the absolute best way to wake up.

 

I”ve been doing a lot of yelling. I’m stressed. It has nothing to do with them and yet all I do is take it out on them. I’m struggling with the anxiety hard core right now. I hate it. It’s all consuming. But, my precious daughter wakes me up with nose kisses and that’s what keeps me going.

 

These kids are alright, you know? They’re worth every minute of it, the good and the bad.

 

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