It's silly to compare two things that are not equal. Yet, I do it all the time.
I look at my life and then I look at someone else's life. Their life seems so much better. They have more money, prettier hair, a bigger house, a nicer car, and the list goes on. I see these people and I ask myself so many questions. Why can't I have what they have? Why can't I be who they are?
We are not the same. We are not in the same place in life. We are not equal.
And that's okay.
Recently, I've been making plans and setting goals with Kyle. We want to be debt free, we want to buy a house, we want better cars... I could go on forever. I make these plans with Kyle, plans to get where we'd like to be and specific steps to take in order to get there. Even so, I wish we were already where we are going. I see my siblings or others who seem to have it all together. They have such big, nice homes, nice cars, and seem to be living the dream that I keep having. I wonder if it will ever be a reality for my small family and I get discouraged seeing everyone around me living out my dream.
I often forget that doing so is like comparing peaches to plums.
Both fruit, yes. Both sweet, sure. Both round, you bet! Yet they are not the same. Therefore it is silly to try to compare them to one another. Comparing two peaches would be better, you could go off of how ripe they are, if there are bruises or not, how sweet they taste. You may do the same with plums. However, when you start to compare the two, very different fruits, to each other, you'll only be disappointed.
When I look at other people who seem to have a better life than mine and start to discredit my life and my accomplishments, it's not fair to myself. I cannot compare Kyle and I and our 2 month old daughter to a family with a couple who has been married for 10 years and has 4 kids. We are the same in that we are both families but we are not the same in many other aspects. I cannot compare my life to the life of someone who's got 10 years on me, or 15 years, or even more. I just can't.
Sometimes it gets discouraging because I wish I could be in their shoes. I wish I had the big house. I wish I had the nice car. I wish I had no debt. I wish I was done with college already. I wish, I wish, I wish...
Those other couples that I see have been where I am now. They've had to learn and grow and progress just like I am doing right now. I can't expect to fast forward my life to match theirs.
This is such a hard concept for me to accept and to understand but I'm doing my best. When I was single, I couldn't wait to be married. When I got married, I couldn't wait to have kids. When I had a child, I couldn't wait to have more. Just as when I lived at my parent's house, I couldn't wait to have my own apartment. When I had my own apartment, I couldn't wait to have my own house. It seems like I just can't get to where I want to be because someone always has it better than I do.
It's true, someone will always be "better".
There will always be a bigger house. There will always be a newer car. There will always be a bigger bank account.
Does that rob me and my family of our happiness? Nope. I can't compare my happiness to someone else's. What makes me happy may not make someone else happy; and what makes them happy may not be enough for someone else.
Each of those people that have a bigger house, nicer car, more children, or more money have all been in my shoes at some point. I can't expect to equally compare myself to them when we're not the same.
What I have is good. What I have is great. It's exactly what I need and what our family needs right now. It will teach us so many things and help us to grow in so many ways.
Here is my resolve to enjoy more fully the fruits that I have been blessed with and stop envying the fruit of someone else. We will get to where we'd like to be as a family. I know we will. It will happen in time.
I look at my life and then I look at someone else's life. Their life seems so much better. They have more money, prettier hair, a bigger house, a nicer car, and the list goes on. I see these people and I ask myself so many questions. Why can't I have what they have? Why can't I be who they are?
We are not the same. We are not in the same place in life. We are not equal.
And that's okay.
Recently, I've been making plans and setting goals with Kyle. We want to be debt free, we want to buy a house, we want better cars... I could go on forever. I make these plans with Kyle, plans to get where we'd like to be and specific steps to take in order to get there. Even so, I wish we were already where we are going. I see my siblings or others who seem to have it all together. They have such big, nice homes, nice cars, and seem to be living the dream that I keep having. I wonder if it will ever be a reality for my small family and I get discouraged seeing everyone around me living out my dream.
I often forget that doing so is like comparing peaches to plums.
Both fruit, yes. Both sweet, sure. Both round, you bet! Yet they are not the same. Therefore it is silly to try to compare them to one another. Comparing two peaches would be better, you could go off of how ripe they are, if there are bruises or not, how sweet they taste. You may do the same with plums. However, when you start to compare the two, very different fruits, to each other, you'll only be disappointed.
When I look at other people who seem to have a better life than mine and start to discredit my life and my accomplishments, it's not fair to myself. I cannot compare Kyle and I and our 2 month old daughter to a family with a couple who has been married for 10 years and has 4 kids. We are the same in that we are both families but we are not the same in many other aspects. I cannot compare my life to the life of someone who's got 10 years on me, or 15 years, or even more. I just can't.
Sometimes it gets discouraging because I wish I could be in their shoes. I wish I had the big house. I wish I had the nice car. I wish I had no debt. I wish I was done with college already. I wish, I wish, I wish...
Those other couples that I see have been where I am now. They've had to learn and grow and progress just like I am doing right now. I can't expect to fast forward my life to match theirs.
This is such a hard concept for me to accept and to understand but I'm doing my best. When I was single, I couldn't wait to be married. When I got married, I couldn't wait to have kids. When I had a child, I couldn't wait to have more. Just as when I lived at my parent's house, I couldn't wait to have my own apartment. When I had my own apartment, I couldn't wait to have my own house. It seems like I just can't get to where I want to be because someone always has it better than I do.
It's true, someone will always be "better".
There will always be a bigger house. There will always be a newer car. There will always be a bigger bank account.
Does that rob me and my family of our happiness? Nope. I can't compare my happiness to someone else's. What makes me happy may not make someone else happy; and what makes them happy may not be enough for someone else.
Each of those people that have a bigger house, nicer car, more children, or more money have all been in my shoes at some point. I can't expect to equally compare myself to them when we're not the same.
What I have is good. What I have is great. It's exactly what I need and what our family needs right now. It will teach us so many things and help us to grow in so many ways.
Here is my resolve to enjoy more fully the fruits that I have been blessed with and stop envying the fruit of someone else. We will get to where we'd like to be as a family. I know we will. It will happen in time.
*** This post contains graphic material regarding real events. It may be a trigger to some who have gone through the same hardships. Reader discretion is advised. ***
I have been meaning to write about this for a long time now. I was always scared to put it in words. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. I worried about what others would think if they ever read it. I am in a better place now, much better, and I feel strong enough to write about what I have been through. After discussing it with Kyle and having his blessing, I am ready to use my writing as a catharsis for something that happened to me 5 years ago.
I used to be very outgoing. I used to have lots of friends and I wasn't afraid to introduce myself to strangers. I was open and happy to meet new people. Unfortunately, that was somewhat of a factor in what happened.
In August of 2011, I was raped.
It's a bit of a long story, but I believe it needs to be told. Not only for my own well being but maybe someone, somewhere needs to read what I have to say.
My friends and I often spent our summer days at a local water park. On one occasion, there was a good looking boy in the wave pool and I, with one of my friends, decided to introduce myself. We got his name and later that day looked him up on Facebook. His name was pretty common so I'm surprised we actually found the right account but we did. I messaged him back and forth for a while and before long, a few of his friends added me on Facebook, too. I talked to them as well and ended up really taking a liking to one of his friends in particular. For all intents and purposes, lets say his name was Bob. Bob and I started messaging one another back and forth and eventually moved to texting each other. We'd be communicating all day, getting to know one another and flirting like the teenagers we were. Bob lived about 15 minutes from me but we had not met in person.
After a few weeks of texting, Bob and I were eager to meet for the first time. Knowing my parents wouldn't approve of me going on a date with Bob (seeing as I was only 15 at the time) I decided to invite him to a Back-to-School church dance. Bob agreed to go and we were both excited to spend time together, finally.
I got a ride with some friends to the dance and knew that Bob was going to drive himself and meet me there. Bob was 18 at the time.
Bob texted me as soon as he had arrived at the dance. It was held outside in a park with a pavilion lit up. It was mostly dark but I went to where Bob said he had parked and we hugged and walked back to the dance together.
We stayed for about an hour and a half. We danced and had a good time together. I introduced him to a few of my friends there and I thought I had found my prince charming. After a while, though, I was ready to go someplace we could just talk and get to know each other better, in person. Bob offered to drive me home so I agreed. I found my friend that had given me a ride to the dance and let her know that I wouldn't be needing a ride home. She thanked me for letting her know and told us to have fun, then was back to the dance while Bob and I left.
When we got to my neighborhood, I realized I had a little while before I needed to be home for curfew which was 11 PM at the time. I suggested to Bob that we go and talk in a field across the street from my parent's house. He agreed and we walked from his car together toward a spot near a few trees.
I sat down and Bob sat next to me. We held hands (I liked him, after all, and he reciprocated the feelings) and started talking. It was innocent and only made me like him more.
Then, he kissed me.
Sure, it was great. The cute boy I liked had just kissed me. I thought it was everything I wanted.
Then, he kissed me some more.
He didn't stop and I wasn't sure how to tell him to. Somewhere along the line, he was getting undressed and undressing me as well. I went numb. This was not the way I envisioned the night going and it was not something I had ever planned on, not like this.
I can't remember much about what happened after that and before I was upstairs in my room, crying on my bed. The thing that I do remember, though, was the actual act of the rape. Prior to this day, I had no idea that intercourse actually meant intercourse. It shocked me both physically and emotionally.
After the rape, Bob walked me to his car with his arm around me. He said this would be our secret. I don't remember what I said, if anything. I was numb.
I walked inside my parent's house and walked upstairs to my room. I sat on my bed and cried. I cried and cried and cried. What had I done?
There was something leaking so I went to the restroom only to find that I was bleeding, somewhat heavily. I thought it was just my period starting but I still felt so broken. I felt worthless. I didn't know what had just happened and I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I was naked with a boy out of wedlock and that was a sin so I was a sinner. I was going to Hell.
I sat back on my bed and continued to cry after I changed into my pajamas. I cried and prayed and cried some more. I don't remember falling asleep that night but I remember all the tears that stained my pillow.
The next morning was a blur. I was still numb. I got ready to go to church and tried to act normal around my mom and dad. I remember sitting in Sacrament meeting, crying throughout it. My mom asked if I was alright and I told her I was fine, just overcome with emotion. She didn't think much of it, it wasn't abnormal for me to be moved by the speakers during Sacrament meeting so she probably assumed that's why I was crying.
I don't remember the rest of the day at church or the time I was at home. I cried. That's all I remember.
That night, around 11 PM, I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't keep it in and I needed to tell my mom. The problem was, though, that I didn't know how to say it. I didn't really know what happened so all I could say was "I was naked with a boy last night." Not knowing the circumstances or the full story, my mom was furious. She thought that I had done so willingly and that I had chosen to commit this sin. She went in to her room and told my dad who had already gone to sleep for the night. She came back out and told me how upset he was as well but that he couldn't handle it tonight. She was angry with me and told me to go to my room.
I did. I cried myself to sleep once more.
My mom had a talk with me the following morning. She told me I was grounded until further notice and that I would need to talk to my father about this. Again, I felt worthless and told myself I was going to Hell. I was a sinner, wasn't I? That's what I thought.
Thankfully, I don't remember much of what happened the night I was raped and I don't remember much of the days that followed. I do remember, however, that it was a long time before I could talk to my dad. I had failed him as a daughter and I didn't know how I could ever regain his trust. Things stayed that way for a while.
Until my brother, Treis, came clean about some things.
He had been struggling with demons of his own and had finally been completely transparent with my mom and dad, telling them exactly what had happened with him. Seeing him have the strength to talk to my parents that way gave me strength too.
While we were sitting in her room one day, I told my mom I needed to talk to her. I explained to her that the boy I was naked with had forced me in to it. I didn't know what was going on and I didn't know what was happening to me. After giving her the details, my mom realized that I had been violated. It was not by my choice that this event occurred, she realized that I was raped.
In the following months, my mom and dad did all that they could to track down Bob and get me the help that I needed. I had to go see a social worker and re-live the rape all over again as I gave her details. I hated it. I didn't like having to tell someone what happened to me, let alone a stranger. I knew it needed to be done, though, so I did what I could.
The court approved funding for me to get counseling. I saw a counselor a few times but again, re-living the rape and feeling forced in to talking to her didn't help me at all. I haven't seen the counselor in over 3 years and I don't plan on going back to her. For me, talking about what happened did not make it better and imagining it definitely only made it worse.
Being raped changed me. When I started school again for my sophomore year, I didn't want to introduce myself to anyone. I didn't want to do my homework or study. I wasn't myself at all. I went from being a straight A student to getting C's and even failing classes. Honestly, I am so grateful for my mom. Without her, I probably wouldn't have graduated high school and I mean that. She is the one that encouraged me and went to bat for me over a silly .25 credit I needed to graduate. I couldn't have done it without her.
Since I wasn't myself, I didn't realize my self worth. I dated some stupid guys who didn't treat me as well as they should have. I didn't let people hug me or have any physical contact with me unless I was the one who decided it was okay. Even after being told it wasn't my fault, it still somehow felt like it was.
Was it what I wore that night? I wore jeans and a new blouse I had purchased for the upcoming school year. Sure, it had a design on the back and showed a little of my shoulders but nothing near revealing. It couldn't have been that. I must have just been an easy target since I had fallen for Bob so fast and followed his lead. He was older, after all, and I didn't know him very well despite talking quite often. It was the first time I had ever seen him in person and this happened to me.
Before I was raped, I thought it was ridiculous that rapes were even a "thing". How could someone not like what was happening to them? Wasn't sex supposed to be a pleasure? I didn't understand how anyone could ever let that happen. Wouldn't they just say no and leave? Wouldn't they stand up for themselves? As a survivor, I can tell you that in the moment of the rape, it's nearly impossible to move. Even if you can move or find the words to say, the perpetrator doesn't listen. Saying "No" or "Stop" doesn't help. A predator will chose it's prey wisely and never worry about them fighting back.
Looking back on it now, I ask myself and wonder why I didn't just get up and go home. I wonder why I didn't have the mental or physical capacity to leave. It all goes back to what I've been saying; I was numb. I couldn't have done those things. I was scared. I didn't know Bob very well. I didn't know if he would hurt me if I tried to leave. I didn't know what would happen if I fought back.
In the last 5 years, I have changed.
I opened back up a little bit. I got a Tinder account and that's ultimately how I met my husband, Kyle. I was very cautious using Tinder, though. When meeting anyone from the app, I drove myself to where we agreed to meet. I told my parents where I was going and when I would be home. I kept the GPS on my phone turned on so my parents could check on me. I picked public, well populated areas and only areas with plenty of light. I had my guard up for a good reason.
Kyle was different. Kyle asked permission to put his arm around me on our first date. That showed me how much of a gentleman he was and made me trust him a little bit more than I would trust the other Tinder guys. After spending lots of time together and building the trust even more, I felt comfortable and safe with Kyle. He never hurt me. He respected me and still does. I knew that I could trust him and after much prayer, I knew he was the man I was to marry.
Now, it's been about 2 years since I met Kyle. In that time, we got engaged, married, and had our first child together. We have a humble home and cars that run. We have a roof over our heads and food in the fridge. We have a beautiful daughter together.
Because of what happened to me, I am cautious around new people. I don't trust easily and if you break my trust, I can assure you it will be a long time until I ever trust you again, if at all. I'm anxious 99% of the time about a lot of different things. I prefer to go to self-checkouts at stores and I avoid eye contact. I don't usually introduce myself to new people and I hate going to parties or events by myself. I'm not the same happy, go-lucky girl I was prior to being raped.
Regardless, things get better. I promise they do. 5 years ago, I was raped. That doesn't define who I am or where my path will lead. I never would have thought that I would be where I am now, but I am. I have a husband who I love dearly and who loves and cherishes me. I have a daughter who smiles at me daily and is one of my many reasons to get out of bed each day. I have a well-paying job and an extended family that has always been there for me.
I have anxiety attacks and there are triggers that bring back the feelings from that day in August of 2011. I still have PTSD and I still have bouts of depression. That doesn't define me. That doesn't change the wonderful life that I have now.
My hope in sharing my story is that someone, somewhere, can trust me when I say that things get better. I promise, they do. Maybe not in one year, or five years, or ten years... but they will get better. I'm not the person I was before but I have so many good things in my life now. If I had given in to the voices in my head telling me I was worthless and tempting me to just end my life, I wouldn't have Kyle. I wouldn't have Ellen.
I have hard days but the good ones outweigh the bad. I will never forget what happened to me but I have moved on. I am not what happened to me. I am worth so much. I am a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a mother. I am a writer, a lover, and a creator. My guard is always up and I'm sure it will stay that way but I am not who I was 5 years ago.
If you're going through Hell, it can't last forever. Things do get better. Look ahead, better yourself, and get the help you need to be the best version of yourself that you can be.
A lot can happen in 5 years.
I have been meaning to write about this for a long time now. I was always scared to put it in words. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. I worried about what others would think if they ever read it. I am in a better place now, much better, and I feel strong enough to write about what I have been through. After discussing it with Kyle and having his blessing, I am ready to use my writing as a catharsis for something that happened to me 5 years ago.
I used to be very outgoing. I used to have lots of friends and I wasn't afraid to introduce myself to strangers. I was open and happy to meet new people. Unfortunately, that was somewhat of a factor in what happened.
In August of 2011, I was raped.
It's a bit of a long story, but I believe it needs to be told. Not only for my own well being but maybe someone, somewhere needs to read what I have to say.
My friends and I often spent our summer days at a local water park. On one occasion, there was a good looking boy in the wave pool and I, with one of my friends, decided to introduce myself. We got his name and later that day looked him up on Facebook. His name was pretty common so I'm surprised we actually found the right account but we did. I messaged him back and forth for a while and before long, a few of his friends added me on Facebook, too. I talked to them as well and ended up really taking a liking to one of his friends in particular. For all intents and purposes, lets say his name was Bob. Bob and I started messaging one another back and forth and eventually moved to texting each other. We'd be communicating all day, getting to know one another and flirting like the teenagers we were. Bob lived about 15 minutes from me but we had not met in person.
After a few weeks of texting, Bob and I were eager to meet for the first time. Knowing my parents wouldn't approve of me going on a date with Bob (seeing as I was only 15 at the time) I decided to invite him to a Back-to-School church dance. Bob agreed to go and we were both excited to spend time together, finally.
I got a ride with some friends to the dance and knew that Bob was going to drive himself and meet me there. Bob was 18 at the time.
Bob texted me as soon as he had arrived at the dance. It was held outside in a park with a pavilion lit up. It was mostly dark but I went to where Bob said he had parked and we hugged and walked back to the dance together.
We stayed for about an hour and a half. We danced and had a good time together. I introduced him to a few of my friends there and I thought I had found my prince charming. After a while, though, I was ready to go someplace we could just talk and get to know each other better, in person. Bob offered to drive me home so I agreed. I found my friend that had given me a ride to the dance and let her know that I wouldn't be needing a ride home. She thanked me for letting her know and told us to have fun, then was back to the dance while Bob and I left.
When we got to my neighborhood, I realized I had a little while before I needed to be home for curfew which was 11 PM at the time. I suggested to Bob that we go and talk in a field across the street from my parent's house. He agreed and we walked from his car together toward a spot near a few trees.
I sat down and Bob sat next to me. We held hands (I liked him, after all, and he reciprocated the feelings) and started talking. It was innocent and only made me like him more.
Then, he kissed me.
Sure, it was great. The cute boy I liked had just kissed me. I thought it was everything I wanted.
Then, he kissed me some more.
He didn't stop and I wasn't sure how to tell him to. Somewhere along the line, he was getting undressed and undressing me as well. I went numb. This was not the way I envisioned the night going and it was not something I had ever planned on, not like this.
I can't remember much about what happened after that and before I was upstairs in my room, crying on my bed. The thing that I do remember, though, was the actual act of the rape. Prior to this day, I had no idea that intercourse actually meant intercourse. It shocked me both physically and emotionally.
After the rape, Bob walked me to his car with his arm around me. He said this would be our secret. I don't remember what I said, if anything. I was numb.
I walked inside my parent's house and walked upstairs to my room. I sat on my bed and cried. I cried and cried and cried. What had I done?
There was something leaking so I went to the restroom only to find that I was bleeding, somewhat heavily. I thought it was just my period starting but I still felt so broken. I felt worthless. I didn't know what had just happened and I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I was naked with a boy out of wedlock and that was a sin so I was a sinner. I was going to Hell.
I sat back on my bed and continued to cry after I changed into my pajamas. I cried and prayed and cried some more. I don't remember falling asleep that night but I remember all the tears that stained my pillow.
The next morning was a blur. I was still numb. I got ready to go to church and tried to act normal around my mom and dad. I remember sitting in Sacrament meeting, crying throughout it. My mom asked if I was alright and I told her I was fine, just overcome with emotion. She didn't think much of it, it wasn't abnormal for me to be moved by the speakers during Sacrament meeting so she probably assumed that's why I was crying.
I don't remember the rest of the day at church or the time I was at home. I cried. That's all I remember.
That night, around 11 PM, I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't keep it in and I needed to tell my mom. The problem was, though, that I didn't know how to say it. I didn't really know what happened so all I could say was "I was naked with a boy last night." Not knowing the circumstances or the full story, my mom was furious. She thought that I had done so willingly and that I had chosen to commit this sin. She went in to her room and told my dad who had already gone to sleep for the night. She came back out and told me how upset he was as well but that he couldn't handle it tonight. She was angry with me and told me to go to my room.
I did. I cried myself to sleep once more.
My mom had a talk with me the following morning. She told me I was grounded until further notice and that I would need to talk to my father about this. Again, I felt worthless and told myself I was going to Hell. I was a sinner, wasn't I? That's what I thought.
Thankfully, I don't remember much of what happened the night I was raped and I don't remember much of the days that followed. I do remember, however, that it was a long time before I could talk to my dad. I had failed him as a daughter and I didn't know how I could ever regain his trust. Things stayed that way for a while.
Until my brother, Treis, came clean about some things.
He had been struggling with demons of his own and had finally been completely transparent with my mom and dad, telling them exactly what had happened with him. Seeing him have the strength to talk to my parents that way gave me strength too.
While we were sitting in her room one day, I told my mom I needed to talk to her. I explained to her that the boy I was naked with had forced me in to it. I didn't know what was going on and I didn't know what was happening to me. After giving her the details, my mom realized that I had been violated. It was not by my choice that this event occurred, she realized that I was raped.
In the following months, my mom and dad did all that they could to track down Bob and get me the help that I needed. I had to go see a social worker and re-live the rape all over again as I gave her details. I hated it. I didn't like having to tell someone what happened to me, let alone a stranger. I knew it needed to be done, though, so I did what I could.
The court approved funding for me to get counseling. I saw a counselor a few times but again, re-living the rape and feeling forced in to talking to her didn't help me at all. I haven't seen the counselor in over 3 years and I don't plan on going back to her. For me, talking about what happened did not make it better and imagining it definitely only made it worse.
Being raped changed me. When I started school again for my sophomore year, I didn't want to introduce myself to anyone. I didn't want to do my homework or study. I wasn't myself at all. I went from being a straight A student to getting C's and even failing classes. Honestly, I am so grateful for my mom. Without her, I probably wouldn't have graduated high school and I mean that. She is the one that encouraged me and went to bat for me over a silly .25 credit I needed to graduate. I couldn't have done it without her.
Since I wasn't myself, I didn't realize my self worth. I dated some stupid guys who didn't treat me as well as they should have. I didn't let people hug me or have any physical contact with me unless I was the one who decided it was okay. Even after being told it wasn't my fault, it still somehow felt like it was.
Was it what I wore that night? I wore jeans and a new blouse I had purchased for the upcoming school year. Sure, it had a design on the back and showed a little of my shoulders but nothing near revealing. It couldn't have been that. I must have just been an easy target since I had fallen for Bob so fast and followed his lead. He was older, after all, and I didn't know him very well despite talking quite often. It was the first time I had ever seen him in person and this happened to me.
Before I was raped, I thought it was ridiculous that rapes were even a "thing". How could someone not like what was happening to them? Wasn't sex supposed to be a pleasure? I didn't understand how anyone could ever let that happen. Wouldn't they just say no and leave? Wouldn't they stand up for themselves? As a survivor, I can tell you that in the moment of the rape, it's nearly impossible to move. Even if you can move or find the words to say, the perpetrator doesn't listen. Saying "No" or "Stop" doesn't help. A predator will chose it's prey wisely and never worry about them fighting back.
Looking back on it now, I ask myself and wonder why I didn't just get up and go home. I wonder why I didn't have the mental or physical capacity to leave. It all goes back to what I've been saying; I was numb. I couldn't have done those things. I was scared. I didn't know Bob very well. I didn't know if he would hurt me if I tried to leave. I didn't know what would happen if I fought back.
In the last 5 years, I have changed.
I opened back up a little bit. I got a Tinder account and that's ultimately how I met my husband, Kyle. I was very cautious using Tinder, though. When meeting anyone from the app, I drove myself to where we agreed to meet. I told my parents where I was going and when I would be home. I kept the GPS on my phone turned on so my parents could check on me. I picked public, well populated areas and only areas with plenty of light. I had my guard up for a good reason.
Kyle was different. Kyle asked permission to put his arm around me on our first date. That showed me how much of a gentleman he was and made me trust him a little bit more than I would trust the other Tinder guys. After spending lots of time together and building the trust even more, I felt comfortable and safe with Kyle. He never hurt me. He respected me and still does. I knew that I could trust him and after much prayer, I knew he was the man I was to marry.
Now, it's been about 2 years since I met Kyle. In that time, we got engaged, married, and had our first child together. We have a humble home and cars that run. We have a roof over our heads and food in the fridge. We have a beautiful daughter together.
Because of what happened to me, I am cautious around new people. I don't trust easily and if you break my trust, I can assure you it will be a long time until I ever trust you again, if at all. I'm anxious 99% of the time about a lot of different things. I prefer to go to self-checkouts at stores and I avoid eye contact. I don't usually introduce myself to new people and I hate going to parties or events by myself. I'm not the same happy, go-lucky girl I was prior to being raped.
Regardless, things get better. I promise they do. 5 years ago, I was raped. That doesn't define who I am or where my path will lead. I never would have thought that I would be where I am now, but I am. I have a husband who I love dearly and who loves and cherishes me. I have a daughter who smiles at me daily and is one of my many reasons to get out of bed each day. I have a well-paying job and an extended family that has always been there for me.
I have anxiety attacks and there are triggers that bring back the feelings from that day in August of 2011. I still have PTSD and I still have bouts of depression. That doesn't define me. That doesn't change the wonderful life that I have now.
My hope in sharing my story is that someone, somewhere, can trust me when I say that things get better. I promise, they do. Maybe not in one year, or five years, or ten years... but they will get better. I'm not the person I was before but I have so many good things in my life now. If I had given in to the voices in my head telling me I was worthless and tempting me to just end my life, I wouldn't have Kyle. I wouldn't have Ellen.
I have hard days but the good ones outweigh the bad. I will never forget what happened to me but I have moved on. I am not what happened to me. I am worth so much. I am a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a mother. I am a writer, a lover, and a creator. My guard is always up and I'm sure it will stay that way but I am not who I was 5 years ago.
If you're going through Hell, it can't last forever. Things do get better. Look ahead, better yourself, and get the help you need to be the best version of yourself that you can be.
A lot can happen in 5 years.
On September 28th, 2014, I met my now husband, Kyle. I thought for sure that that would be the last time I would meet someone new and love them so deeply. That's the day I thought that my life was complete and I would never love anyone as much as I love Kyle.
I was wrong.
On August 4th, 2016, I met a new love. I met my precious daughter, Ellen. I heard her cries and I saw her sweet face. I didn't get to hold her right away, but I knew I loved her and wanted to be near her as soon as I could.
After a long labor and a few complications, my doctor gave Kyle and I the option of a cesarean section. After weighing the pros and cons (for a very short minute) we decided that the C section was best and that we just wanted Ellen here safely. It was not at all in my plan but it was what needed to happen. Around 1 AM, I was wheeled in to the operating room and listened while the doctors counted their medical tools and prepared me for surgery. I don't remember much of what I thought about while they did so, but I know I was thinking of Ellen. It didn't seem real that I was about to meet my daughter, the baby girl I have been so eager to hold for the past 10 months. My mind immediately went to worrying about her, though. I wanted her to come out crying. I wanted her to be safe and healthy and strong. I wanted her to just be okay.
And she was. Well, mostly.
She needed to go the NICU. I didn't get to see my new love right away. Kyle went with her while the doctors stitched me back up. My baby, my new love had just come in to the world and I couldn't hold her. My first true love and my new love were in a room somewhere in the hospital, away from me, and I couldn't go be with them. It was hard. So, so hard.
Kyle came back to the labor and delivery room to give me an update on Ellen. She was doing okay but she needed to be on the C Pap machine to help with her breathing. I couldn't see her yet but I sent Kyle to check on her a few times. Before I went down to the Mother/Baby unit, my nurse wheeled me through the NICU to where baby Ellen was. I got to touch her hands and feet but I couldn't hold her. She was hooked up to a few machines and had a pacifier in her mouth. The nurse in the NICU was trying to explain some things but I didn't listen. I focused on Ellen. I watched her chest rise up and down, up and down. I needed that peace and assurance that she was okay. She was breathing. Yes, with the help of the machine, but that didn't bother me. I just wanted her to be okay.
After 7 long hours, I sent Kyle to the NICU to check on Ellen's progress. When he got there, they told him she was ready to come downstairs and be with me. My first love and my new love and I would finally all be in the same room together, unencumbered by machines and tubes.
I walked down to the nursery. Yes, I walked there. I didn't want a wheelchair. I wanted to walk. I used my IV stand as a support but I was determined to walk. When I got to the nursery, Kyle was there with Ellen and another nurse. I got to watch Ellen get her first bath. I got to pick out a bow for her hair. I got to hold her; my new love.
We stayed in the hospital for about 2 days before returning home. It's been almost 3 weeks now and my love for Ellen has more than tripled since I met her and got to hold her for the first time. She relies on Kyle and I completely and I couldn't be more happy and proud to be the one responsible for her.
I thought Kyle would be the last person I would snuggle with. I was wrong there too. I snuggle with Ellen every chance I get because I know she won't stay this little forever. She's a snuggle bug just like her mommy and daddy so we love every minute.
For the first week straight, I was a hormonal mess every day. I cried at the flip of a switch and still do, here and there. Most of the time I've cried over how absolutely perfect my little girl is and how much I love her. I cry because I want to be the best for her. I cry because I want to protect her the best way that I can. I never knew the intensity of a mother's love until now.
Yes, I have a new love. It's a different kind of love than the love I have for Kyle, but I wouldn't necessarily put one above the other. I am in love with Kyle and so grateful he is my partner for life and beyond. I love Ellen and I am so grateful that I was entrusted with this sweet spirit, to raise and to love and nurture as long as she needs me. Without Kyle, I wouldn't have Ellen. Without Ellen, life wouldn't be complete right now.
I feel so lucky to have my first love and my new love. They are my whole world.
I was wrong.
On August 4th, 2016, I met a new love. I met my precious daughter, Ellen. I heard her cries and I saw her sweet face. I didn't get to hold her right away, but I knew I loved her and wanted to be near her as soon as I could.
After a long labor and a few complications, my doctor gave Kyle and I the option of a cesarean section. After weighing the pros and cons (for a very short minute) we decided that the C section was best and that we just wanted Ellen here safely. It was not at all in my plan but it was what needed to happen. Around 1 AM, I was wheeled in to the operating room and listened while the doctors counted their medical tools and prepared me for surgery. I don't remember much of what I thought about while they did so, but I know I was thinking of Ellen. It didn't seem real that I was about to meet my daughter, the baby girl I have been so eager to hold for the past 10 months. My mind immediately went to worrying about her, though. I wanted her to come out crying. I wanted her to be safe and healthy and strong. I wanted her to just be okay.
And she was. Well, mostly.
She needed to go the NICU. I didn't get to see my new love right away. Kyle went with her while the doctors stitched me back up. My baby, my new love had just come in to the world and I couldn't hold her. My first true love and my new love were in a room somewhere in the hospital, away from me, and I couldn't go be with them. It was hard. So, so hard.
Kyle came back to the labor and delivery room to give me an update on Ellen. She was doing okay but she needed to be on the C Pap machine to help with her breathing. I couldn't see her yet but I sent Kyle to check on her a few times. Before I went down to the Mother/Baby unit, my nurse wheeled me through the NICU to where baby Ellen was. I got to touch her hands and feet but I couldn't hold her. She was hooked up to a few machines and had a pacifier in her mouth. The nurse in the NICU was trying to explain some things but I didn't listen. I focused on Ellen. I watched her chest rise up and down, up and down. I needed that peace and assurance that she was okay. She was breathing. Yes, with the help of the machine, but that didn't bother me. I just wanted her to be okay.
After 7 long hours, I sent Kyle to the NICU to check on Ellen's progress. When he got there, they told him she was ready to come downstairs and be with me. My first love and my new love and I would finally all be in the same room together, unencumbered by machines and tubes.
I walked down to the nursery. Yes, I walked there. I didn't want a wheelchair. I wanted to walk. I used my IV stand as a support but I was determined to walk. When I got to the nursery, Kyle was there with Ellen and another nurse. I got to watch Ellen get her first bath. I got to pick out a bow for her hair. I got to hold her; my new love.
We stayed in the hospital for about 2 days before returning home. It's been almost 3 weeks now and my love for Ellen has more than tripled since I met her and got to hold her for the first time. She relies on Kyle and I completely and I couldn't be more happy and proud to be the one responsible for her.
I thought Kyle would be the last person I would snuggle with. I was wrong there too. I snuggle with Ellen every chance I get because I know she won't stay this little forever. She's a snuggle bug just like her mommy and daddy so we love every minute.
For the first week straight, I was a hormonal mess every day. I cried at the flip of a switch and still do, here and there. Most of the time I've cried over how absolutely perfect my little girl is and how much I love her. I cry because I want to be the best for her. I cry because I want to protect her the best way that I can. I never knew the intensity of a mother's love until now.
Yes, I have a new love. It's a different kind of love than the love I have for Kyle, but I wouldn't necessarily put one above the other. I am in love with Kyle and so grateful he is my partner for life and beyond. I love Ellen and I am so grateful that I was entrusted with this sweet spirit, to raise and to love and nurture as long as she needs me. Without Kyle, I wouldn't have Ellen. Without Ellen, life wouldn't be complete right now.
I feel so lucky to have my first love and my new love. They are my whole world.
In the past, I've mentioned how much I prefer a pen and paper over a keyboard and computer screen. I realize that times are changing and technology has come so far but I still find much more peace and comfort in the "old fashioned" way of things. Photographs should be taken often and with a purpose. I much prefer a printed photograph over one saved on my phone. I would take a hand-written letter over an email any day.
A few years ago, I was preparing to spend my last week as a young woman at Girl's Camp with my local church members. I went to Girl's Camp for one week each summer from the time I was 12 until I turned 17. Each year, there was something called a "Solo Hike". This was a hike, a walk, whatever you wanted it to be. The point of it was to find a spot in nature that you could be by yourself to ponder, pray, read scriptures, write in your journal, whatever you wanted to do. In addition to that, our leaders collected letters that our parents had written to us so that we could read them on our solo hike. Each year, my mom wrote me a letter and I always looked forward to them. For my last year, though, I requested that I get a letter from each of my siblings and my parents. I wanted to know what they wanted me to know but maybe hadn't had a chance to tell me. I put my dad in charge of gathering the letters and brought them all with me to my last year of camp.
At this time, in the summer of 2013, my brother, Treis, was in a rehabilitation facility. I still wanted a letter from him, though, so I reminded him about it on a few occasions that I went up to visit him. He assured me that he had not forgotten and I would have the letter before I went to camp. He even sent it early! I received it in the mail about 2 weeks before camp. Treis knew that I wouldn't be camping yet so on the outside of the envelope, he wrote a short message:
A few years ago, I was preparing to spend my last week as a young woman at Girl's Camp with my local church members. I went to Girl's Camp for one week each summer from the time I was 12 until I turned 17. Each year, there was something called a "Solo Hike". This was a hike, a walk, whatever you wanted it to be. The point of it was to find a spot in nature that you could be by yourself to ponder, pray, read scriptures, write in your journal, whatever you wanted to do. In addition to that, our leaders collected letters that our parents had written to us so that we could read them on our solo hike. Each year, my mom wrote me a letter and I always looked forward to them. For my last year, though, I requested that I get a letter from each of my siblings and my parents. I wanted to know what they wanted me to know but maybe hadn't had a chance to tell me. I put my dad in charge of gathering the letters and brought them all with me to my last year of camp.
At this time, in the summer of 2013, my brother, Treis, was in a rehabilitation facility. I still wanted a letter from him, though, so I reminded him about it on a few occasions that I went up to visit him. He assured me that he had not forgotten and I would have the letter before I went to camp. He even sent it early! I received it in the mail about 2 weeks before camp. Treis knew that I wouldn't be camping yet so on the outside of the envelope, he wrote a short message:
Although I was eager to see what was written, I resisted the temptation to open the letter early. I tucked it away safely until I got to camp.
Along with Treis' letter, I read the letters from my other siblings and my dad. Each of them gave me some sort of advice in regards to the world, our church, my testimony, and schooling. I remember crying over one thing or another in each of the letters as I realized just how much my family loves me and wanted the best for me. The letter from Treis was a little more poignant in my thoughts for the next few weeks. He told me I was his hero. He told me he would not hesitate to lay down his life for me. He told me how much he loved me and how proud of me he was. Me? His hero? I'm just his little sister. Still, he talked about how strong I was and how much he looked up to me.
In the year following, Treis had some struggles just as the rest of us do. I didn't see him as much as I would have liked to but I knew that he still meant everything that he said in that letter to me.
When I graduated in May of 2014, Treis was at my graduation ceremony. He, along with some of my siblings and parents, cheered as loud as they could when I walked across the stage to receive my diploma. Once the ceremony was over, we gathered outside to take pictures and I specifically asked my mom to take a picture of Treis, Owen (my nephew, Treis' son), and I.
At the time, I didn't know that this would be the last photo of Treis and I together.
Just a few weeks later, Treis was again doing his best to overcome his trials. He was being so strong and putting up with the withdrawals. I was a little bit oblivious, though. I had just graduated high school, I was dating this guy I thought was so great, and I didn't know just how much Treis was going through.
The guy I was dating stuck around for a whole 3 weeks after graduation and then he was history. The usual excuses were given and I went home crying. I tried to hide my tears when I went inside but my mom and Treis were still awake. I gave them the gist of what happened and Treis was upset. He had met this guy and got to know him a little bit, we all watched a movie or two together. When I told Treis that he had decided to date other people and whatever else, Treis' response was; "That dirtbag. Who does he think he is, just putting his arm around my sister like that? Acting like he cares about you and now he's done?"
Needless to say, Treis was protective of me. I honestly believe that he still is.
I moved on from the aforementioned guy and had been dating some other people, just getting to know them and enjoying the summer. Again, I was kind of in my own little world and I didn't know the seriousness of the situation when Treis got sick.
At first, he just wasn't feeling well. My mom took him to get checked out and after a short hospital stay one weekend, they came back home.
I remember that Sunday that he came home, I was sitting in the family room watching TV with my dad. Treis had come upstairs from his bedroom and asked if he could lay down on the couch I was sitting at. I didn't realize how ill he was and it annoyed me that I had to get up and move so that he could lay down, but I did it anyway. I decided to just go upstairs to my room and watch something by myself. Oh, how I wish I could have acted differently. I know that I can't go back in time and I know that Treis has forgiven me. I still wish I had been a little more patient with him. Yes, I was a teenager, barely 18 and I'll admit, self-centered. Regardless, I wish I had known that would be the last night he had at home.
On Monday morning, Treis' health took a turn for the worst. So much so that he had to be taken back to the hospital. My parents asked me to go to the store to get something for Treis before they left. Again, I was annoyed. I was planning on getting to work early so that I could leave sooner for the plans I had made with some friends. I was frustrated at the store and upset that I had to get this for him. Why couldn't they have stopped on their way? Looking back at how I acted that day, I can't believe myself. Yes, I still did what my parents asked but I wasn't happy about it. I should have been more patient and more understanding. I should have recognized the severity of the situation.
That following day, I came to my senses a little bit. My mom had been spending her time with Treis at the hospital and I wanted to visit them. Mom made me aware that Treis was in a medically-induced coma, though, so I could prepare myself.
When I got to the hospital, Treis still looked ill but at least he was resting. Mom explained some things that the doctors had said and I happened to be there when a nurse came in to do a quick check on Treis. The nurse held his hand for a minute, checking on his vitals or something of that sort. While doing so, Treis apparently squeezed her hand. She let us know and my mom and I smiled, knowing that he was still there with us. Before I left, my mom asked if I would like to hold his hand or give him a hug. I said no, that I wasn't sure I was ready for that. (Or something along those lines). Oh, how I wish I would have said yes. I should have just held his hand for a minute, maybe then he would have squeezed my hand too, like he had for the nurse. Instead, I said I had to get to work and I left.
Shortly after this, and more tests, it was determined that Treis needed open heart surgery. A staph infection had developed as the result of a small cut on Treis' face after stripping some wires. The tool had come back and caused a small cut which in turn did not heal correctly and resulted in the infection. Treis was transferred to a different hospital and the surgery was scheduled for the next day.
Upon coming home that night, after spending some time with friends, my brother, Talon, and his wife were still at my parent's house and both of my parents were still awake. It was shortly after midnight and they were all at the dining room table, looking solemn. I remember looking at the big clock on the wall and looking back to their faces. Something was wrong but they didn't say anything. My mom and I went outside to the porch swing and Talon followed. They both told me just how severe Treis' condition had become and how important it was that he get this surgery. Even so, they also informed me of the chance that Treis would not wake up from the surgery. I didn't want to believe them. Treis was going to be fine and be back home before we knew it. Deep down, though, I had a feeling that what they were saying was true and there was a definite possibility of Treis not coming back home.
The following morning, just before 5 AM, I woke up to my mom crying. I asked her what was wrong and she explained that she called the hospital and something had happened with Treis. I got dressed quickly and rode with her up to the hospital.
I stayed for hours that day. I don't remember how long but I do remember that I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be at work. I didn't want to be home, either, because my mom and Treis were at the hospital. I stayed with them. On the day of surgery, all of my siblings came to the hospital. We all waited together, anxious to get the phone call with updates throughout the surgery. It was a long day but we were together and that's what mattered.
The details of how it all played out escape me, but I remember being told that the surgery was successful. The heart surgery, yes, but what about the rest of Treis' body? Was he healing like he should? After a few days full of questions and more tests than I care to count, it was determined that Treis had passed away. On that night that I came home and looked at the clock, then to my brother and parents, expecting them to say something, Treis had a seizure at the hospital. From what I've been told, it was around 15 minutes long and is more than likely the point at which Treis returned to his Heavenly home. My parents were in close contact with the doctors as they ran tests to see if Treis could breathe on his own without the help of life support but he was already gone. The decision was made that we would let Treis go, let him be free from the struggles and the illness that he endured here.
July 19th, 2014. My siblings and I all had a chance to say our goodbyes, giving Treis a hug or holding his hand before everyone gathered in the room and the doctor came in. Looking around the room, so many of my siblings had tear stained cheeks as we stood around Treis while he took his last breaths. I stayed as long as I could until it became too much. My big bro, my basketball coach, my buddy was gone.
I left the hospital and was walking out to my car when Talon called my name. He wanted to make sure I was okay and gave me a hug, assuring me that we could still play Halo and always remember Treis; that he was better now and that this is what needed to happen.
A few days passed, then a few weeks. It didn't seem real that he had moved on. I missed him.
I don't remember the circumstances, but I was going through some of my things one day and I found the letter that Treis had written me the year prior for girls camp. I read through it again and could not even get through the first few lines without crying. So much of what he wrote to me was applicable now; "I love you sis, and hope to see you real soon." "You ARE your older brother's hero." "I love and miss you."
I will cherish this letter forever.
It's been 2 years now that Treis has been gone. I miss him so much and I wish he was still here. I wish he could have met Kyle. I wish he would have been at my wedding. I wish he was here to play basketball with us and go get Dr Pepper from 7 Eleven. Instead, he's where he is supposed to be. He is taking good care of Baby E for us until she joins us on earth. I know that Treis watches over me and is one of my guardian angels. I know that he loves me and misses me and wants the best for me. I know he forgives me for my shortcomings and misunderstandings in the last weeks of his life on earth. I love him and I am so grateful to be his little sister.
Although it is a little intense, this is why letters matter so much to me. This is why I take pictures so often. They're small tokens of memories. It doesn't take long to write someone a note, letting them know you love them and appreciate them. With the technology we have these days, taking a photo is literally instantaneous and printing the photo is easier than it's ever been. I miss Treis but he has taught me so much. Not only in the time we had together on earth, but even in the past 2 years. I know that he is happy and healthy where he is. I know that I will see him again.
Until that day, I am so grateful I have this picture and this letter.
I hate to be yet another person posting their thoughts and feelings on everything going on in the media right now, but I have had a while to take it all in and decide where I stand.
What media coverage am I talking about? The shootings, the racial issues, the law enforcement targets, gay marriage, LGBTQ groups, abortion, the upcoming presidential election, the presidential candidates, and the list goes on. So much of this has been in the forefront of media coverage for quite some time and it's all becoming a bit overwhelming. It almost seems like unless you pick a side and made a definitive stance with feet planted firm, your opinion is invalid. You can't possibly agree with both sides or support them simultaneously. My thoughts are drawn to the scene in Little Rascals when Alfalfa is having the nightmare about his friends and Darla. "Choose or Die!" they chant and Alfalfa just can't seem to do it. Why does he have to choose? Why do any of us have to choose?
Agency is a great gift that all of us have been blessed with. We make choices every day and deal with the outcomes of those choices, good or bad. That being said, the gift of agency doesn't force us in to choosing a side as a sort of ultimatum. With all of the topics I listed above, there are opposing sides and varying points of view. Regardless, I don't have to choose a side. I don't have to get on my soap box about this or that, trying to convince those around me to agree with me. My choice is to not pick a side, not completely, anyway.
There have been a lot of shootings recently. I do not agree with them whatsoever, nor do I agree with greater gun control or abolishing the 2nd amendment. Taking away the gun does not heal the broken person who chose to take the lives of others. The gun is not the issue. They could have used a sword, a bomb, even a pencil and still taken lives. We don't see a crackdown on yellow #2 writing utensils now, do we? It is not the means by which the event occurred, it's more about the thoughts and feelings that lead someone to commit such an act. Unfortunately, there's no way we could possibly heal everyone with these mental illnesses so the blame gets put on the weapon of choice which has prominently been firearms. I know in my heart that there is great value in concealed carry permits and healthy, mature men and women owning firearms. Whether it's for their own personal protection and peace of mind or to be used as a safe, controlled pass-time, they should be available to the public. Not to every Tom, Dick, and Harry, but to those who have proven themselves capable of safely owning and operating these guns. Proper storage, proper documentation, and proper care when in use. Just like we can't heal everybody, we can't always determine who is fit to have these privileges. Anyone could put on an act and get their permit as well as purchase a firearm. Not only that, but there are people who gain access to guns by illegal means. In this case, just ensuring that proper steps are taken won't shut down the black market nor out the wolves in sheep's clothing. For this reason, it's hard for me to pick a side. I can't say that we should just allow the "good ones" to own guns because how will we ever determine who's good? I can't say that we should make the purchase of firearms harder because how could we make sure they're only being sold in reputable locations? I definitely can't say that we need more strict gun control laws because guns are not the problem. A gun does not pull it's own trigger. I believe in the advantages of safe gun ownership and control. I don't excuse those who commit crimes with these guns.
I don't think that racial issues and biases will ever become a thing of the past. In history, it's everywhere. Today, it's everywhere. I wish this wasn't the case but it's reality. It saddens me that these prejudices are so apparent, even in 2016. I thought that things would have changed by now. Unfortunately, they haven't and don't look to be changing any time soon. Most recently, a black man was shot by a white police officer. It's happened before and the reaction seems to always be the same. "Black Lives Matter" and "Shame on the Police for racial profiling!". I just don't even know what to think, let alone say. Hence the title of this post; Quiet.
I haven't said much. I've been thinking over it and figuring out for myself what my feelings are. First and foremost, yes, black lives matter. So do white lives. So do Asian lives. So does every single life on the face of this earth. I don't care if you're Red, Blue, Green, Brown, 4-legged, 2-legged, or with no limbs. Every life matters. That's what should be posted. That's what should be heard in the streets. I am not in the shoes of the police officer that shot the man, nor am I in the shoes of the man who's life was taken. Was it wrong? I believe so. I don't think there was any valid reason for the man to be killed in this manner. It was a routine traffic stop. If there was a concern or threat that the police officer picked up on, that's okay. It is is job. He needs to serve and protect the community. That doesn't necessarily mean shooting the man he just pulled over. It's a tough situation. It's hard to say what caused this act to come to pass. As an outsider and a bystander, I can say that I feel for both sides. It didn't have to happen that way. It shouldn't happen that way in the future. Were the roles reversed, who knows what would have happened. If it was a black police officer pulling over a white family or any other race, would the outcome have been the same? Many say no, because it's a direct target on black lives. I honestly don't know what the outcome would be. I'm not in the situation and I don't have any first hand knowledge. I have no way to say what would happen. Again, all lives matter. It's not about one race or another, it's not about "white privilege". People are people. Period.
Abortion is something I don't think I could ever fully understand. Before I was pregnant, I had the same views that I do now and they are that every life matters. From the point of conception, that little baby deserves to live. It's not just a group of cells. It's a living being. In high school, I had no idea what it was like to be pregnant or be faced with the decision of what to do following a positive pregnancy test. There are women who get pregnant as a result of rape. In that case, I understand how hard it could be. I understand the fear and the utter despair they may feel because of what happened to them and the result of it. I do not, however, think that constitutes a valid reason for aborting the child. It would be a hard pregnancy, I know. It would be an every-day reminder of what happened to that woman, I know. In the end, she could keep the child if she so chooses or she could put the child up for adoption. Either option, in my eyes, is better than aborting the child. Every woman has a right to choose for her own body. I just wish more women would realize that their choice impacts that little baby. The baby that cannot speak for itself or make their choice known. Now that I am nearing the end of my first pregnancy, I have firsthand experience that I didn't have as a high school student writing an argumentative essay on abortion. When I got my positive pregnancy test, I didn't feel any movements in my tummy. In fact, I didn't feel Baby E move until a few months later. I didn't see more than a small, perfect little blob on the first 2 ultrasounds we had done but I knew that was my baby. I heard her heartbeat for the first time when I was 10 weeks along then again countless times at home, thanks to the fetal Doppler we bought. Then, at 15 weeks, we got an elective ultrasound to find out the gender of our baby. Since it had been a while since the last time I saw our baby on an ultrasound machine, I was pleasantly surprised to see just how much she grew in a few weeks.
No longer a little blob, she was now very obviously resembling a little baby. Her head, her body, her arms and legs, her little profile... My heart began to swell. That was my baby on the screen. My baby. Soon after that visit, I began feeling the early "flutters" and felt her first kicks and punches. She has been so active this entire pregnancy and I am so grateful for that. Now, my experience is different. I am married to a man I love and this pregnancy was planned and welcome. A little sooner than we thought, yes, but welcome nonetheless. That being said, my circumstance is not the same as it would be for someone who had different events leading up to the conception of a child. I brought up the case of a baby as a result of rape because I believe that's the only situation that abortion would be slightly okay. By slightly, I mean I agree with it .00000001%. In other cases, I don't think there is a valid reason to abort a baby. In every other case, the events leading up to the conception of the child were the direct choice of the 2 participants. Therefore, their choices have consequences and they must deal with those consequences. See, this agency thing is pretty universal, isn't it? I don't agree with abortion. All lives matter, including that "group of cells".
Politics are a touchy subject. I've heard stories of people losing friends over seemingly innocent discussions on politics. Because of this, I don't often like to talk about my views. In the case of the whole Trump vs. Clinton debacle, I haven't said much other than I don't think I would vote for either. Not because Clinton is a woman or because Trump is the business man that he is, simply because I don't see how either of them could make America better. That's what matters to me. I want my children to grow up in the kind of country that America was always intended to be; a land of opportunity and a place where dreams come true. In a lot of ways, The United States of America is a country that is still much better off than many other countries in the world and for that I am grateful. The ability to write my thoughts and feelings on all of these subjects is just one of the many freedoms that we have in America. I love this country. I am so grateful to live here and to be a citizen of this country that has so much promise. What worries me is that, with the wrong leader, America could take a turn for the worst. I hope and pray that whatever the outcome may be, the new President will make the right decisions. I pray that they will do what is best for this country and all of the people in it. I can't be the one to determine who our new leader will be but I can certainly hope and pray for this country that I love. Whatever happens is going to happen. I do believe that this nation is a nation under God, and God will not forsake us.
In times of trouble, many people question God and question where He has been or why He allows certain things to happen. God has not forgotten us. He's fully aware of everything that I have touched on today. He knows that there are opposing sides and hard times. He allows it to happen. God is in ultimate control and has the power to move mountains. That's what I trust in; Him. His plan. I don't do so in a naive way. I don't pray for riches but never work. I don't ask for patience without finding ways to improve it. God can only do so much for us. We must act. We must be actively engaged in doing the work. Faith without works is dead. You bet I'll be praying for our country. Praying for the victims of shootings. Praying for our leaders, both local and in government capacities. Praying for those around me facing hard choices and questioning themselves. Praying for our country. It may seem like I have been quiet on these topics until now. That's only because I was looking inside to see where I stand and then praying to understand more fully the views of others. Quiet prayers and quiet hopes that things can be different.
All lives matter. This country matters. Our choices are ours to make and ours alone. Sometimes, it all becomes too much and I just need some quiet time to myself to take it all in.
What media coverage am I talking about? The shootings, the racial issues, the law enforcement targets, gay marriage, LGBTQ groups, abortion, the upcoming presidential election, the presidential candidates, and the list goes on. So much of this has been in the forefront of media coverage for quite some time and it's all becoming a bit overwhelming. It almost seems like unless you pick a side and made a definitive stance with feet planted firm, your opinion is invalid. You can't possibly agree with both sides or support them simultaneously. My thoughts are drawn to the scene in Little Rascals when Alfalfa is having the nightmare about his friends and Darla. "Choose or Die!" they chant and Alfalfa just can't seem to do it. Why does he have to choose? Why do any of us have to choose?
Agency is a great gift that all of us have been blessed with. We make choices every day and deal with the outcomes of those choices, good or bad. That being said, the gift of agency doesn't force us in to choosing a side as a sort of ultimatum. With all of the topics I listed above, there are opposing sides and varying points of view. Regardless, I don't have to choose a side. I don't have to get on my soap box about this or that, trying to convince those around me to agree with me. My choice is to not pick a side, not completely, anyway.
There have been a lot of shootings recently. I do not agree with them whatsoever, nor do I agree with greater gun control or abolishing the 2nd amendment. Taking away the gun does not heal the broken person who chose to take the lives of others. The gun is not the issue. They could have used a sword, a bomb, even a pencil and still taken lives. We don't see a crackdown on yellow #2 writing utensils now, do we? It is not the means by which the event occurred, it's more about the thoughts and feelings that lead someone to commit such an act. Unfortunately, there's no way we could possibly heal everyone with these mental illnesses so the blame gets put on the weapon of choice which has prominently been firearms. I know in my heart that there is great value in concealed carry permits and healthy, mature men and women owning firearms. Whether it's for their own personal protection and peace of mind or to be used as a safe, controlled pass-time, they should be available to the public. Not to every Tom, Dick, and Harry, but to those who have proven themselves capable of safely owning and operating these guns. Proper storage, proper documentation, and proper care when in use. Just like we can't heal everybody, we can't always determine who is fit to have these privileges. Anyone could put on an act and get their permit as well as purchase a firearm. Not only that, but there are people who gain access to guns by illegal means. In this case, just ensuring that proper steps are taken won't shut down the black market nor out the wolves in sheep's clothing. For this reason, it's hard for me to pick a side. I can't say that we should just allow the "good ones" to own guns because how will we ever determine who's good? I can't say that we should make the purchase of firearms harder because how could we make sure they're only being sold in reputable locations? I definitely can't say that we need more strict gun control laws because guns are not the problem. A gun does not pull it's own trigger. I believe in the advantages of safe gun ownership and control. I don't excuse those who commit crimes with these guns.
I don't think that racial issues and biases will ever become a thing of the past. In history, it's everywhere. Today, it's everywhere. I wish this wasn't the case but it's reality. It saddens me that these prejudices are so apparent, even in 2016. I thought that things would have changed by now. Unfortunately, they haven't and don't look to be changing any time soon. Most recently, a black man was shot by a white police officer. It's happened before and the reaction seems to always be the same. "Black Lives Matter" and "Shame on the Police for racial profiling!". I just don't even know what to think, let alone say. Hence the title of this post; Quiet.
I haven't said much. I've been thinking over it and figuring out for myself what my feelings are. First and foremost, yes, black lives matter. So do white lives. So do Asian lives. So does every single life on the face of this earth. I don't care if you're Red, Blue, Green, Brown, 4-legged, 2-legged, or with no limbs. Every life matters. That's what should be posted. That's what should be heard in the streets. I am not in the shoes of the police officer that shot the man, nor am I in the shoes of the man who's life was taken. Was it wrong? I believe so. I don't think there was any valid reason for the man to be killed in this manner. It was a routine traffic stop. If there was a concern or threat that the police officer picked up on, that's okay. It is is job. He needs to serve and protect the community. That doesn't necessarily mean shooting the man he just pulled over. It's a tough situation. It's hard to say what caused this act to come to pass. As an outsider and a bystander, I can say that I feel for both sides. It didn't have to happen that way. It shouldn't happen that way in the future. Were the roles reversed, who knows what would have happened. If it was a black police officer pulling over a white family or any other race, would the outcome have been the same? Many say no, because it's a direct target on black lives. I honestly don't know what the outcome would be. I'm not in the situation and I don't have any first hand knowledge. I have no way to say what would happen. Again, all lives matter. It's not about one race or another, it's not about "white privilege". People are people. Period.
Abortion is something I don't think I could ever fully understand. Before I was pregnant, I had the same views that I do now and they are that every life matters. From the point of conception, that little baby deserves to live. It's not just a group of cells. It's a living being. In high school, I had no idea what it was like to be pregnant or be faced with the decision of what to do following a positive pregnancy test. There are women who get pregnant as a result of rape. In that case, I understand how hard it could be. I understand the fear and the utter despair they may feel because of what happened to them and the result of it. I do not, however, think that constitutes a valid reason for aborting the child. It would be a hard pregnancy, I know. It would be an every-day reminder of what happened to that woman, I know. In the end, she could keep the child if she so chooses or she could put the child up for adoption. Either option, in my eyes, is better than aborting the child. Every woman has a right to choose for her own body. I just wish more women would realize that their choice impacts that little baby. The baby that cannot speak for itself or make their choice known. Now that I am nearing the end of my first pregnancy, I have firsthand experience that I didn't have as a high school student writing an argumentative essay on abortion. When I got my positive pregnancy test, I didn't feel any movements in my tummy. In fact, I didn't feel Baby E move until a few months later. I didn't see more than a small, perfect little blob on the first 2 ultrasounds we had done but I knew that was my baby. I heard her heartbeat for the first time when I was 10 weeks along then again countless times at home, thanks to the fetal Doppler we bought. Then, at 15 weeks, we got an elective ultrasound to find out the gender of our baby. Since it had been a while since the last time I saw our baby on an ultrasound machine, I was pleasantly surprised to see just how much she grew in a few weeks.
No longer a little blob, she was now very obviously resembling a little baby. Her head, her body, her arms and legs, her little profile... My heart began to swell. That was my baby on the screen. My baby. Soon after that visit, I began feeling the early "flutters" and felt her first kicks and punches. She has been so active this entire pregnancy and I am so grateful for that. Now, my experience is different. I am married to a man I love and this pregnancy was planned and welcome. A little sooner than we thought, yes, but welcome nonetheless. That being said, my circumstance is not the same as it would be for someone who had different events leading up to the conception of a child. I brought up the case of a baby as a result of rape because I believe that's the only situation that abortion would be slightly okay. By slightly, I mean I agree with it .00000001%. In other cases, I don't think there is a valid reason to abort a baby. In every other case, the events leading up to the conception of the child were the direct choice of the 2 participants. Therefore, their choices have consequences and they must deal with those consequences. See, this agency thing is pretty universal, isn't it? I don't agree with abortion. All lives matter, including that "group of cells".
Politics are a touchy subject. I've heard stories of people losing friends over seemingly innocent discussions on politics. Because of this, I don't often like to talk about my views. In the case of the whole Trump vs. Clinton debacle, I haven't said much other than I don't think I would vote for either. Not because Clinton is a woman or because Trump is the business man that he is, simply because I don't see how either of them could make America better. That's what matters to me. I want my children to grow up in the kind of country that America was always intended to be; a land of opportunity and a place where dreams come true. In a lot of ways, The United States of America is a country that is still much better off than many other countries in the world and for that I am grateful. The ability to write my thoughts and feelings on all of these subjects is just one of the many freedoms that we have in America. I love this country. I am so grateful to live here and to be a citizen of this country that has so much promise. What worries me is that, with the wrong leader, America could take a turn for the worst. I hope and pray that whatever the outcome may be, the new President will make the right decisions. I pray that they will do what is best for this country and all of the people in it. I can't be the one to determine who our new leader will be but I can certainly hope and pray for this country that I love. Whatever happens is going to happen. I do believe that this nation is a nation under God, and God will not forsake us.
In times of trouble, many people question God and question where He has been or why He allows certain things to happen. God has not forgotten us. He's fully aware of everything that I have touched on today. He knows that there are opposing sides and hard times. He allows it to happen. God is in ultimate control and has the power to move mountains. That's what I trust in; Him. His plan. I don't do so in a naive way. I don't pray for riches but never work. I don't ask for patience without finding ways to improve it. God can only do so much for us. We must act. We must be actively engaged in doing the work. Faith without works is dead. You bet I'll be praying for our country. Praying for the victims of shootings. Praying for our leaders, both local and in government capacities. Praying for those around me facing hard choices and questioning themselves. Praying for our country. It may seem like I have been quiet on these topics until now. That's only because I was looking inside to see where I stand and then praying to understand more fully the views of others. Quiet prayers and quiet hopes that things can be different.
All lives matter. This country matters. Our choices are ours to make and ours alone. Sometimes, it all becomes too much and I just need some quiet time to myself to take it all in.
You read that right.
Not "Gold Digger" but Goal Digger. That's me.
I like lists. I like writing things down and taking notes. No, not electronically. I prefer the old fashioned way. Just ask Kyle, I'd gladly take a pen and piece of paper over any type of electronic record. There's something about being able to freehand my thoughts and ideas that just doesn't have the same feeling if I were to type it in. Yes, I have a blog. I also have a journal. That way, I can jot down my personal feelings in a private place but use this blog as an outlet and a more public way of writing about our family and things that I need to let out.
With my love of writing things down comes a love of setting goals. Whether I scribble it on to a sticky note or I get a fresh sheet of lined paper, I like to set goals and come up with plans to accomplish those goals. I'll admit that there have been many times that I write down goals and they fall by the wayside. No matter how set I am on getting to work on them, I lose momentum and hope in myself. Regardless, I make new goals. I write up new plans. I don't give up forever, I just take a temporary break or two to reevaluate and ponder on the best path to take toward the finish line.
Some goals are a lot easier than others. For example, setting a goal to run for 10 minutes each day is fairly simple while setting a goal to run a marathon will take a lot longer to accomplish. It's not to say that one is better than the other, I'm just trying to point out that there are varying aspects of every goal, whatever it may be.
In previous posts, I've mentioned some goals that we have made as a couple. Things like when we'd like to purchase our first home, trips we'd like to go on, financial stability goals, and the list goes on. Although making a goal is a great first step, the work is incomplete until you create realistic steps to accomplishing that goal in a timely manner.
I've been taught that goals must be S.M.A.R.T. Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic, and Timely. Going from being a couch potato to running a marathon in one week is not realistic nor attainable or timely. Instead, you should write out a game plan. If you run this much every day and increase by this much each week, then in this much time you can run a marathon. Until you accomplish each step and make sure your goal is SMART, the goal will never be accomplished. It will leave you discouraged and upset, feeling like a failure and a loser. That's not how goals are supposed to make you feel! Goals are meant to make you take a good look at your situation and get you motivated and excited to get from where you are now to where you want to be.
Today, after finishing up with work, I looked up at my white board. I try to write down a quick to do list for the day so I know the things that need to get done. Next to that, I have a sign I found at Hobby Lobby a few weeks ago.
Having it right there above my work space reminds me of my worth. I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. I'm a goal digger! With a surge of motivation, I decided to write out some goals for our family. I put them in to 3 categories; Financial, Travel, and Looking Ahead. Each category has a few ideas of things we'd like to accomplish or be better at. Me being me, I had to use cute fonts and bullet point everything so it looks fresh and clean.
Having it right there above my work space reminds me of my worth. I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. I'm a goal digger! With a surge of motivation, I decided to write out some goals for our family. I put them in to 3 categories; Financial, Travel, and Looking Ahead. Each category has a few ideas of things we'd like to accomplish or be better at. Me being me, I had to use cute fonts and bullet point everything so it looks fresh and clean.
Now, our goals are some place I will see them daily. Not only me, but Kyle too! It's a visual reminder for us of what we have set our minds to.
A lot of the goals we have set are not going to be accomplished easily or quickly. The plans we have will take us months to complete, if not a year or two. That's okay. What matters is that we are starting now so that in 5 years, we can look back and say "Look at how much we were able to accomplish just by setting goals and sticking to them!".
The biggest factor in whether or not these dreams will become a reality is just our own motivation and self discipline. We want to be the best that we can possibly be. Not only for ourselves, but for each other and for Baby E and her siblings to come. We want to be the best individuals, best couple, and best parents. Perfect? Definitely not. Improving and doing the best that we can with what we have? You better believe it.
Yes, I'm a goal digger. I love setting goals. It's more than just making a list, though. I want to be someone who accomplishes them, too.
"The Best is Yet to Come" is a very popular saying. For some, it is encouragement to keep on keepin' on. For others, it is discouraging because it means hard work and perseverance that they aren't willing to accomplish. Regardless, it's popular. It's well known. It's something I'm sure all of us have heard at one time or another.
Baby E is due in 29 days. 29 days! Over the past 9 months, I've thought so much about how our life will change. As soon as we got that positive pregnancy test on November 16th of last year, I knew that change was coming. The encouragement I kept getting from family and friends was that we would love being a family of 3. Having a baby is such a joy and such a blessing. Although life was pretty darn good as newlyweds, life would only get better when we add this baby to our family.
After my initial excitement and joy of seeing the test say "Pregnant" and running to tell Kyle, the fear started to set in a little bit. I remember asking Kyle over and over if he was happy, if he was ready for this, if he knew what it meant. He assured me that he was excited and so happy for us to be adding a child to our family. I, however, started to worry. I started to think of all the things that would be different, everything that would change because of this little one. Going on dates would take more planning. Going on trips would mean packing for 3 people. Even things like our spontaneous 7 Eleven runs will not happen as often.
Over the past few weeks, I've thought even more seriously about all of the changes that are heading our way. In the beginning we were just decorating a nursery. Now, we've got our hospital bags packed and the car seat installed, ready to go whenever Baby E decides to make her arrival. I've felt her movements for the past few months, but they are stronger now. My stomach is growing every day and it's really sinking in that in one month or less, we will be bringing home our daughter and experiencing a whole new part of life as a family of 3.
Recently, I've decided to do a weekly quote in our home as a sort of countdown to Baby E. One quote per week tends to make the weeks pass quicker while I am pondering on the quote and applying it to our family life.
This week's quote is as follows;
"There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind."
So what will we leave behind when we leave our home as we are on our way to the hospital to meet our daughter?
Late mornings and sleeping in. Freedom to come and go as we please. Date nights out that happen as often as we want. The ability to drop everything and go on a trip. Extra money. Money spent on whatever we think we need. Selfishness.
What will we be bringing home?
A beautiful, wonderful, perfect little girl.
I've had a silly mindset of "the world is ending" as soon as I deliver this baby. I'm worrying so much about things that I think Kyle and I "can't" do after she's here when in reality, her birth will open so many doors of things we can do!
We can still have late mornings. If Baby E is sleeping in, we could sure try to sleep in too! We can still come and go, it will just take a little more planning and Baby E will get to go with us. Date nights out will not become a thing of the past, it will just become something we have to plan on and in turn, they will be more special to Kyle and I. We are looking forward to going on trips as a family! When E is young, we won't be traveling as much but you better believe that we're already planning some fun vacations we're looking forward to taking as soon as she's a little older. Extra money tends to be spent on frivolous things anyway, so we're okay will having to spend money on diapers and other needs for baby girl. Not only that, but putting away a portion of our savings into a special account we'll set up just for her. We won't be spending as much on fast food or other extra items that we haven't budgeted for or planned on, and that's okay.
Baby E has made me more selfless. I care so much about her already and making sure that she's safe and well in my womb. Kyle always asks "How are my girls?" when he's at work and will often kiss and talk to my belly, saying that he loves her. We are thinking of ourselves less and more about her as her due date rapidly approaches. It has taught us a greater love than we ever knew before.
Although life changes are coming, we will still take care of ourselves individually as well as nurture our relationship as husband and wife. By so doing, we will be stronger and more able to care for our first daughter and her siblings to come. I am so passionate about this because there have been times in my life that I put others before myself. In fact, I do it far too often. There's nothing wrong with doing service and helping others, but I can't make someone else whole if I, myself, am broken. It's like what they say in the airplane safety presentation; in the event of loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop down. Secure it on yourself before helping others around you.
Being a mom means that I'm going to want to run myself ragged making sure that the kids are alright and that Kyle is good, too. I need to put myself first. I need to make sure that I'm okay and my needs are met before I can meet the needs of others. That's not to say that I'm going to only focus on myself or put my husband and children on the back burner. Instead, it means that in order to be the best wife and mother I can be, I need to be mentally, emotionally, and physically confident and happy. Then, I can be a better partner to my husband and a better example to my children. I haven't always been very good at this concept in the past but I am planning on focusing on it more. If I start now, I know for a fact that my best self is yet to come.
Yes, having a baby means that life will never be the same again. It means that we will make adjustments and improvements where we need to. That's okay, I think we are ready.
After all, there are far better things ahead than any we leave behind.
Baby E is due in 29 days. 29 days! Over the past 9 months, I've thought so much about how our life will change. As soon as we got that positive pregnancy test on November 16th of last year, I knew that change was coming. The encouragement I kept getting from family and friends was that we would love being a family of 3. Having a baby is such a joy and such a blessing. Although life was pretty darn good as newlyweds, life would only get better when we add this baby to our family.
After my initial excitement and joy of seeing the test say "Pregnant" and running to tell Kyle, the fear started to set in a little bit. I remember asking Kyle over and over if he was happy, if he was ready for this, if he knew what it meant. He assured me that he was excited and so happy for us to be adding a child to our family. I, however, started to worry. I started to think of all the things that would be different, everything that would change because of this little one. Going on dates would take more planning. Going on trips would mean packing for 3 people. Even things like our spontaneous 7 Eleven runs will not happen as often.
Over the past few weeks, I've thought even more seriously about all of the changes that are heading our way. In the beginning we were just decorating a nursery. Now, we've got our hospital bags packed and the car seat installed, ready to go whenever Baby E decides to make her arrival. I've felt her movements for the past few months, but they are stronger now. My stomach is growing every day and it's really sinking in that in one month or less, we will be bringing home our daughter and experiencing a whole new part of life as a family of 3.
Recently, I've decided to do a weekly quote in our home as a sort of countdown to Baby E. One quote per week tends to make the weeks pass quicker while I am pondering on the quote and applying it to our family life.
This week's quote is as follows;
"There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind."
So what will we leave behind when we leave our home as we are on our way to the hospital to meet our daughter?
Late mornings and sleeping in. Freedom to come and go as we please. Date nights out that happen as often as we want. The ability to drop everything and go on a trip. Extra money. Money spent on whatever we think we need. Selfishness.
What will we be bringing home?
A beautiful, wonderful, perfect little girl.
I've had a silly mindset of "the world is ending" as soon as I deliver this baby. I'm worrying so much about things that I think Kyle and I "can't" do after she's here when in reality, her birth will open so many doors of things we can do!
We can still have late mornings. If Baby E is sleeping in, we could sure try to sleep in too! We can still come and go, it will just take a little more planning and Baby E will get to go with us. Date nights out will not become a thing of the past, it will just become something we have to plan on and in turn, they will be more special to Kyle and I. We are looking forward to going on trips as a family! When E is young, we won't be traveling as much but you better believe that we're already planning some fun vacations we're looking forward to taking as soon as she's a little older. Extra money tends to be spent on frivolous things anyway, so we're okay will having to spend money on diapers and other needs for baby girl. Not only that, but putting away a portion of our savings into a special account we'll set up just for her. We won't be spending as much on fast food or other extra items that we haven't budgeted for or planned on, and that's okay.
Baby E has made me more selfless. I care so much about her already and making sure that she's safe and well in my womb. Kyle always asks "How are my girls?" when he's at work and will often kiss and talk to my belly, saying that he loves her. We are thinking of ourselves less and more about her as her due date rapidly approaches. It has taught us a greater love than we ever knew before.
Although life changes are coming, we will still take care of ourselves individually as well as nurture our relationship as husband and wife. By so doing, we will be stronger and more able to care for our first daughter and her siblings to come. I am so passionate about this because there have been times in my life that I put others before myself. In fact, I do it far too often. There's nothing wrong with doing service and helping others, but I can't make someone else whole if I, myself, am broken. It's like what they say in the airplane safety presentation; in the event of loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop down. Secure it on yourself before helping others around you.
Being a mom means that I'm going to want to run myself ragged making sure that the kids are alright and that Kyle is good, too. I need to put myself first. I need to make sure that I'm okay and my needs are met before I can meet the needs of others. That's not to say that I'm going to only focus on myself or put my husband and children on the back burner. Instead, it means that in order to be the best wife and mother I can be, I need to be mentally, emotionally, and physically confident and happy. Then, I can be a better partner to my husband and a better example to my children. I haven't always been very good at this concept in the past but I am planning on focusing on it more. If I start now, I know for a fact that my best self is yet to come.
Yes, having a baby means that life will never be the same again. It means that we will make adjustments and improvements where we need to. That's okay, I think we are ready.
After all, there are far better things ahead than any we leave behind.
It's often been said that "Life is a journey, not a destination". I fully agree with this statement. It's not about the end goal, the ultimate outcome, or the big finish line. Life is about figuring things out along the way. It's about choosing paths and making adjustments when the route is leading to a dead end. It's about knowing that no matter how hard the travels, the destination will be worth it. No matter the hurdles, the heartache, or the let downs, they're all necessary parts of the path.
Although I know this to be true and I believe it, there are times I complain and grumble and wish that my path wasn't so hard. I see others who live seemingly perfect lives while our little family struggles and has to navigate through some deep waters at times. I don't understand why we have the trials that we do, but I know that there's got to be a reason. No matter how high the mountain is on our uphill battle, we will make it to the top.
I had a very real life experience of this principle over Memorial Day Weekend. Kyle and I went down to Moab where we met up with 9 of my siblings and a couple dozen of our nieces and nephews. It was fun to have so many of us together to spend time with one another and enjoy a long weekend. This is the first time all of my living siblings have been together in one place for about 2 years, so I insisted that we gather for a picture. Mom had to work this weekend, but Dad came down so we had him in the picture as well.
When Kyle and I arrived, my older sister told us that most everyone was planning on hiking to Delicate Arch the next morning. Although we hadn't really packed for a hike, Kyle and I wanted to go along and join our family for the hike.
Despite the heat and long jeans I was wearing, the hike started out easy. It was more of a leisurely walk until you got farther in to the trail. Up ahead, I looked at the mountain and saw, what looked like, ants climbing up the slick rock. It looked pretty far away, but if the arch was at the top, it wouldn't be so bad.
We continued on the trail, taking breaks and switching kids around and making sure everyone was having enough water. Then, we'd start walking again. At points, the incline was pretty intense. I could feel my calves burning as we went up. Baby E kept moving around and causing cramps here and there, so I'd take breaks for a minute or two before continuing.
When we got to the point that those "ants" were at earlier, I looked up and only saw a large hill that seemed too high and too hard to climb. My legs hurt, I was hot, baby E was making me uncomfortable, and I didn't want to keep going. The 1.5 mile hike seemed like 5 miles at this point, even though we were only about half way there.
At this point, my oldest sister saw me walking up to the point she was at. I was breathing a little heavily and she could tell it was hard. She told me to just take it slow and I responded with something along the lines of "It's too hard, I want to be done" to which she replied "Just enjoy the journey". Now, did I suddenly become positive and energized, ready to finish the hike? Nope, I assure you I did not. In fact, I think I was annoyed with that comment and didn't want to think about the journey. I just wanted to get to the dang arch so that I could say I had been there.
Kyle checked on me every time I stopped for a break, asking if I needed water and if I was feeling okay. I was honest with him and told him about how I was hurting and ready to be done. He, also, encouraged me and told me that we could do it. He kept reminding me how great I was doing and that it would be worth it.
By this time, we were approaching the top of the slick rock. I assumed that the arch must be right over the hill, we were almost there.
I was wrong.
Yes, we were almost there. No, it was not right over the hill. In fact, we still had a few more inclines, a few drops down, some sand patches, and a cliff-edge incline before getting to Delicate Arch. In this time, I took lots of breaks, taking advantage of the shade from a few trees or the rocks near the end of the trail. I wanted to be done. I just wanted to be done. Where was this stinkin' arch that I saw from the bottom of the trail? Where did all those people go that went ahead of us? I wanted to be where they were. Not here, who knows how far away, and still miserable.
It was then, rounding the last mountain, that I got the little oomph that I needed to finish this hike. I knew the arch had to be close and by golly I was going to make it. While taking the last few steps before seeing my family, some of my nieces and nephews started to cheer me on. They had been in one of the groups ahead of Kyle and I and others, so they were waiting for us at the top. Their little voices saying "Woo! Good job aunt Tessa!" and "You did it!" were just what I needed.
I did it. Yes, I sure did. I did it with my sweet husband by my side and while being 32 weeks pregnant. We went over and got in line to take a photo by the arch, where I probably did end up complaining a little more about being hot, wanting colder water, and who knows what else. But I did it.
Not everyone came down for the closer picture, but we did a small group photo of those who did. My dad, brother in law, sister, a few nephews and nieces, and Kyle and I.
Then, Kyle and I got a few photos of just our immediate family. It will be fun to get to show baby E what Mommy and Daddy did when she was still in Mommy's tummy.
Walking back down, Kyle and I were with my dad. We just made small talk and kept ourselves entertained until we got back to the parking lot. Breaks were still included and we kept drinking our water. This time, though, with the knowledge that we could do it and we did! We hiked all the way there and were close to being all the way back to the cars.
I wouldn't personally want to do this hike again while pregant, but I wouldn't mind doing it again someday. I know it wasn't easy and it took time and energy. I know that I could do it again if I so choose.
This is how life has been for Kyle and I lately. Others seem to have life all figured out. They're so happy and living life to its fullest while we struggle and wonder what we are doing wrong. Between me quitting my previous receptionist job last December and getting this amazing at-home job that I got in April, it was hard. Kyle has a great job but we also have bills and living expenses, most of which we could cover with his paycheck but not all. We felt like we were in an uphill battle that would never end. We would never be ahead of our expenses and we would always have to live paycheck to paycheck.
That's not true.
Blessings do come. Do they come easy? Not always. In fact, most of the time the blessings come after trials and hardships. Still, they come. Kyle and I have seen so many blessings in our married life, as well as in our personal lives before we knew each other. We know that we are being watched over.
Blessings take work, though. Just like getting to see this amazing piece of art that nature created took a lot of effort, we have to work toward our goals. We can't expect to be handed everything in this life. We have to prove that we can attain whatever we put our minds to. No matter the budget, the strength capacity, the mental capacity, or the emotional theshold, we can do it. The easiest way to run a mile is one step at a time. The quickest way to the top is with frequent breaks and reevaluations along the way.
Our little family is on the journey of a lifetime and we are learning to keep the destination in mind while focusing our energy on the path.
Although I know this to be true and I believe it, there are times I complain and grumble and wish that my path wasn't so hard. I see others who live seemingly perfect lives while our little family struggles and has to navigate through some deep waters at times. I don't understand why we have the trials that we do, but I know that there's got to be a reason. No matter how high the mountain is on our uphill battle, we will make it to the top.
I had a very real life experience of this principle over Memorial Day Weekend. Kyle and I went down to Moab where we met up with 9 of my siblings and a couple dozen of our nieces and nephews. It was fun to have so many of us together to spend time with one another and enjoy a long weekend. This is the first time all of my living siblings have been together in one place for about 2 years, so I insisted that we gather for a picture. Mom had to work this weekend, but Dad came down so we had him in the picture as well.
When Kyle and I arrived, my older sister told us that most everyone was planning on hiking to Delicate Arch the next morning. Although we hadn't really packed for a hike, Kyle and I wanted to go along and join our family for the hike.
Despite the heat and long jeans I was wearing, the hike started out easy. It was more of a leisurely walk until you got farther in to the trail. Up ahead, I looked at the mountain and saw, what looked like, ants climbing up the slick rock. It looked pretty far away, but if the arch was at the top, it wouldn't be so bad.
We continued on the trail, taking breaks and switching kids around and making sure everyone was having enough water. Then, we'd start walking again. At points, the incline was pretty intense. I could feel my calves burning as we went up. Baby E kept moving around and causing cramps here and there, so I'd take breaks for a minute or two before continuing.
When we got to the point that those "ants" were at earlier, I looked up and only saw a large hill that seemed too high and too hard to climb. My legs hurt, I was hot, baby E was making me uncomfortable, and I didn't want to keep going. The 1.5 mile hike seemed like 5 miles at this point, even though we were only about half way there.
At this point, my oldest sister saw me walking up to the point she was at. I was breathing a little heavily and she could tell it was hard. She told me to just take it slow and I responded with something along the lines of "It's too hard, I want to be done" to which she replied "Just enjoy the journey". Now, did I suddenly become positive and energized, ready to finish the hike? Nope, I assure you I did not. In fact, I think I was annoyed with that comment and didn't want to think about the journey. I just wanted to get to the dang arch so that I could say I had been there.
Kyle checked on me every time I stopped for a break, asking if I needed water and if I was feeling okay. I was honest with him and told him about how I was hurting and ready to be done. He, also, encouraged me and told me that we could do it. He kept reminding me how great I was doing and that it would be worth it.
By this time, we were approaching the top of the slick rock. I assumed that the arch must be right over the hill, we were almost there.
I was wrong.
Yes, we were almost there. No, it was not right over the hill. In fact, we still had a few more inclines, a few drops down, some sand patches, and a cliff-edge incline before getting to Delicate Arch. In this time, I took lots of breaks, taking advantage of the shade from a few trees or the rocks near the end of the trail. I wanted to be done. I just wanted to be done. Where was this stinkin' arch that I saw from the bottom of the trail? Where did all those people go that went ahead of us? I wanted to be where they were. Not here, who knows how far away, and still miserable.
It was then, rounding the last mountain, that I got the little oomph that I needed to finish this hike. I knew the arch had to be close and by golly I was going to make it. While taking the last few steps before seeing my family, some of my nieces and nephews started to cheer me on. They had been in one of the groups ahead of Kyle and I and others, so they were waiting for us at the top. Their little voices saying "Woo! Good job aunt Tessa!" and "You did it!" were just what I needed.
I did it. Yes, I sure did. I did it with my sweet husband by my side and while being 32 weeks pregnant. We went over and got in line to take a photo by the arch, where I probably did end up complaining a little more about being hot, wanting colder water, and who knows what else. But I did it.
Then, Kyle and I got a few photos of just our immediate family. It will be fun to get to show baby E what Mommy and Daddy did when she was still in Mommy's tummy.
Walking back down, Kyle and I were with my dad. We just made small talk and kept ourselves entertained until we got back to the parking lot. Breaks were still included and we kept drinking our water. This time, though, with the knowledge that we could do it and we did! We hiked all the way there and were close to being all the way back to the cars.
I wouldn't personally want to do this hike again while pregant, but I wouldn't mind doing it again someday. I know it wasn't easy and it took time and energy. I know that I could do it again if I so choose.
This is how life has been for Kyle and I lately. Others seem to have life all figured out. They're so happy and living life to its fullest while we struggle and wonder what we are doing wrong. Between me quitting my previous receptionist job last December and getting this amazing at-home job that I got in April, it was hard. Kyle has a great job but we also have bills and living expenses, most of which we could cover with his paycheck but not all. We felt like we were in an uphill battle that would never end. We would never be ahead of our expenses and we would always have to live paycheck to paycheck.
That's not true.
Blessings do come. Do they come easy? Not always. In fact, most of the time the blessings come after trials and hardships. Still, they come. Kyle and I have seen so many blessings in our married life, as well as in our personal lives before we knew each other. We know that we are being watched over.
Blessings take work, though. Just like getting to see this amazing piece of art that nature created took a lot of effort, we have to work toward our goals. We can't expect to be handed everything in this life. We have to prove that we can attain whatever we put our minds to. No matter the budget, the strength capacity, the mental capacity, or the emotional theshold, we can do it. The easiest way to run a mile is one step at a time. The quickest way to the top is with frequent breaks and reevaluations along the way.
Our little family is on the journey of a lifetime and we are learning to keep the destination in mind while focusing our energy on the path.
That word can mean different things for different people. For some, it may be their biological mother. For others, their adopted mother. It may even mean the neighborhood woman who played the motherly role or the family friend who became your second mother. For me, it means a warm hug. It means someone who will listen to me and give me advice. It means safety, love, and home.
Growing up, my mom and I were two peas in a pod. I'd go everywhere with her! Running errands, feeding ducks, and getting ice cream cones from Arctic Circle are just a few of the memories I have of those days. When we were out, I'd come across little things that I wanted to take home. On an early occasion, I asked my mom if I could have some toy and her response was "You can have anything you want in your dreams". This wasn't meant in a malicious way. It wasn't a "you wish" kind of statement. Instead, it was encouragement. It was assurance from my mom that no matter what, I could make my dreams into whatever I wanted them to be. I could have anything, do anything, be anything! From then on, I would point out things I wanted or thought I needed and would say "I'm going to have those in my dreams". This taught me, from a young age, to chase after my dreams. If I could dream it, I could do it. My goals and aspirations were never out of reach. As long as I had a dream and a deep desire for whatever it may be, I could accomplish it. I could get the toys I want and I could live the way I wanted. The truth is, though, dreams don't come true without hard work.
Every summer until 6th grade, I looked forward to the last day of school. The last day of school consisted of the annual dance festival and I could always count on my mom to be there. School was out early each year on that day so I loved getting to go home before lunch. The next day, I'd wake up to the birds singing outside and a neighbor mowing their lawn. The sun was shining and I could hear the outside faucet being turned on as mom was outside getting ready to water the lawn. Summer meant no school, long days, playing in the sprinklers on the trampoline, and lots of weed pulling. The deal was that in order for me to earn a day at the water park, I needed to fill a bag of weeds from the garden. I'll be honest, I hated weeding the garden. I didn't understand why this had to be part of my checklist before I was able to go swimming with my friends. Looking back on it now, my mom was teaching me a lesson. It wasn't about the weeds or the trash bag. It wasn't about her not wanting me to go to the water park. It was a much bigger picture. Mom was teaching me the value of hard work. She was teaching me to appreciate the rewards that come from working first and playing later. Each summer, I knew that weeding would be a big part of my time off from school but it taught me a lot. At the time, I grumbled and mumbled and tried to get out of it. Now, I can see what my mom was trying to teach me. The principle I learned was that hard work pays off.
She's silly. I love her sense of humor and I am so glad that we can laugh together. Sometimes we laugh about silly things that happened. Sometimes we laugh as we reminisce old memories. Regardless, my mom is silly and I love that about her. She isn't too serious. She's just the right balance of business and party. When "selfies" became big, mom got in on the action. Instead of using her iPhone, she used her big Nikon. I think it's great. She is so beautiful!
Mom was never one to expect too much of me. Yes, she and my dad definitely saw great potential in me and all of my siblings but they never set unrealistic expectations. They guided us and encouraged us and cheered us on, but they never had set the bar too high. Mom was always excited to see my grades on various papers and projects from school. She celebrated my victories and held me after my defeats. I could always count on my mom. She understands that I am only human and I will make mistakes. She knows my potential and encourages me to be my best self, but she never puts me down nor makes me feel insufficient as her daughter. She accepted me for me and loved me unconditionally, no matter what.
I let her down. I wasn't always the best version of myself. I had struggles. I made some not-so-great decisions. I know I was the reason behind her tears on more than one occasion. Regardless, she loved me. She cared about me and tried her best to keep the relationship strong. Even through teen angst and high school drama, she loved me. It may have been tough love at times, but she loved me. She still loves me. She cares about me. She checks up on me. She loves it when I go to visit. She is my go-to for advice on marriage and pregnancy. She and my dad have made it work for the last 40 years so I figure she's a very valid source of advice and love. She's given birth to 12 babies so I trust her views on pregnancy and childbirth. I love my mom.
Over the past 29 weeks, I've gotten a small glimpse of how much my mom loves me because I'm carrying my own baby. I feel Baby E move and kick and I smile to myself. I listen to her heartbeat and I'm at peace. I imagine what she will be like and wonder if she will look more like Kyle or me and I can hardly wait. At the same time, I know that Baby E will be a whole new adventure. I'm sure she and I will have a great relationship, just as my mom and I have, but I also know that there will be the hard days. There will be the teenage years and the arguments. There will be tears shed and lots and lots of hugs. I feel that I am ready, though, because of the example my mom was to me. She made it through raising all of my siblings and I. I am so eager to get to raise Baby E and her siblings in the future in similar ways that my mom and dad raised me. I will always share my testimony of Christ with Baby E, I will set an example for her, and I will always put her needs before my own. That's what my mom did. That's what moms are supposed to do.
My mom is beautiful. Not only on the outside, but the inside as well. I hope that I can be as beautiful and youthful as she is when I reach her age and level of wisdom.
I love my mom. I am so grateful for her. I am so glad she is the woman that she is. Because of her, I am who I am today. She taught me so much and continually does so. I may be all grown up now and having a baby of my own, but I will always be her baby girl. I love her more than words can express. The only thing better than having her as my mom is Baby E having her as her Nana. Strong women raise strong women, and because of the strength my mom has instilled in me, I am ready to raise yet another strong little girl in just 2 months.
Growing up, my mom and I were two peas in a pod. I'd go everywhere with her! Running errands, feeding ducks, and getting ice cream cones from Arctic Circle are just a few of the memories I have of those days. When we were out, I'd come across little things that I wanted to take home. On an early occasion, I asked my mom if I could have some toy and her response was "You can have anything you want in your dreams". This wasn't meant in a malicious way. It wasn't a "you wish" kind of statement. Instead, it was encouragement. It was assurance from my mom that no matter what, I could make my dreams into whatever I wanted them to be. I could have anything, do anything, be anything! From then on, I would point out things I wanted or thought I needed and would say "I'm going to have those in my dreams". This taught me, from a young age, to chase after my dreams. If I could dream it, I could do it. My goals and aspirations were never out of reach. As long as I had a dream and a deep desire for whatever it may be, I could accomplish it. I could get the toys I want and I could live the way I wanted. The truth is, though, dreams don't come true without hard work.
Every summer until 6th grade, I looked forward to the last day of school. The last day of school consisted of the annual dance festival and I could always count on my mom to be there. School was out early each year on that day so I loved getting to go home before lunch. The next day, I'd wake up to the birds singing outside and a neighbor mowing their lawn. The sun was shining and I could hear the outside faucet being turned on as mom was outside getting ready to water the lawn. Summer meant no school, long days, playing in the sprinklers on the trampoline, and lots of weed pulling. The deal was that in order for me to earn a day at the water park, I needed to fill a bag of weeds from the garden. I'll be honest, I hated weeding the garden. I didn't understand why this had to be part of my checklist before I was able to go swimming with my friends. Looking back on it now, my mom was teaching me a lesson. It wasn't about the weeds or the trash bag. It wasn't about her not wanting me to go to the water park. It was a much bigger picture. Mom was teaching me the value of hard work. She was teaching me to appreciate the rewards that come from working first and playing later. Each summer, I knew that weeding would be a big part of my time off from school but it taught me a lot. At the time, I grumbled and mumbled and tried to get out of it. Now, I can see what my mom was trying to teach me. The principle I learned was that hard work pays off.
She's silly. I love her sense of humor and I am so glad that we can laugh together. Sometimes we laugh about silly things that happened. Sometimes we laugh as we reminisce old memories. Regardless, my mom is silly and I love that about her. She isn't too serious. She's just the right balance of business and party. When "selfies" became big, mom got in on the action. Instead of using her iPhone, she used her big Nikon. I think it's great. She is so beautiful!
Mom was never one to expect too much of me. Yes, she and my dad definitely saw great potential in me and all of my siblings but they never set unrealistic expectations. They guided us and encouraged us and cheered us on, but they never had set the bar too high. Mom was always excited to see my grades on various papers and projects from school. She celebrated my victories and held me after my defeats. I could always count on my mom. She understands that I am only human and I will make mistakes. She knows my potential and encourages me to be my best self, but she never puts me down nor makes me feel insufficient as her daughter. She accepted me for me and loved me unconditionally, no matter what.
I let her down. I wasn't always the best version of myself. I had struggles. I made some not-so-great decisions. I know I was the reason behind her tears on more than one occasion. Regardless, she loved me. She cared about me and tried her best to keep the relationship strong. Even through teen angst and high school drama, she loved me. It may have been tough love at times, but she loved me. She still loves me. She cares about me. She checks up on me. She loves it when I go to visit. She is my go-to for advice on marriage and pregnancy. She and my dad have made it work for the last 40 years so I figure she's a very valid source of advice and love. She's given birth to 12 babies so I trust her views on pregnancy and childbirth. I love my mom.
Over the past 29 weeks, I've gotten a small glimpse of how much my mom loves me because I'm carrying my own baby. I feel Baby E move and kick and I smile to myself. I listen to her heartbeat and I'm at peace. I imagine what she will be like and wonder if she will look more like Kyle or me and I can hardly wait. At the same time, I know that Baby E will be a whole new adventure. I'm sure she and I will have a great relationship, just as my mom and I have, but I also know that there will be the hard days. There will be the teenage years and the arguments. There will be tears shed and lots and lots of hugs. I feel that I am ready, though, because of the example my mom was to me. She made it through raising all of my siblings and I. I am so eager to get to raise Baby E and her siblings in the future in similar ways that my mom and dad raised me. I will always share my testimony of Christ with Baby E, I will set an example for her, and I will always put her needs before my own. That's what my mom did. That's what moms are supposed to do.
My mom is beautiful. Not only on the outside, but the inside as well. I hope that I can be as beautiful and youthful as she is when I reach her age and level of wisdom.
I love my mom. I am so grateful for her. I am so glad she is the woman that she is. Because of her, I am who I am today. She taught me so much and continually does so. I may be all grown up now and having a baby of my own, but I will always be her baby girl. I love her more than words can express. The only thing better than having her as my mom is Baby E having her as her Nana. Strong women raise strong women, and because of the strength my mom has instilled in me, I am ready to raise yet another strong little girl in just 2 months.
