Angelic: Be Yourself!

I love having guest bloggers! I especially love when someone comes to me and specifically asks to share their story or share a message tha thas moved their heart recently. Angelic has guest posted on the blog before and I am so excited that she contacted me and asked me to share another message with you!

My name is Angelic and this is my third guest blog here. Each time I hope that I reach and help at least one person. Today I want to remind you to Be Yourself. I'm a 30 year old single mom. I love punk and hard rock music. I have 18 tattoos. I'm often found in holey jeans and flip flops. I also absolutely adore all things rockabilly and pinup vintage style. If you knew me as a teenager though all of this would shock you and that is where this story begins.

I grew up in a smaller city just north of Indianapolis. I went to a relatively decent sized high school with most of the standard stereotypical groups. I spent the majority of that time trying my best to fit in with the popular crowd. I can tell you that I never succeeded. Sure, I had plenty of friends and I knew my fair share of people, but for the most part I just blended in or went fairly unnoticed. None of that stopped me though. I had my hair done to fit in. I wore Abercrombie and Hollister clothes because that is what everybody wore. I went out and did things that everybody else was doing and I did my share of being a party girl. But these things were not me. I did and wore things so I could be like everyone else and so people would like me. In secret, I was the Emo punk girl. I was a writer. I was also smarter than I let on. I was fighting an internal battle of being two different people. Let me tell you...it is exhausting and a huge mental and emotional strain. It made me very insecure. It hurt. Putting on a facade for people. It got to the point that I even had to plaster on a fake smile and hide my true feelings. These fed into some destructive behaviors to try to cope with the pain. 

Fast forward a few years and you get me as I am now. It took me well into my twenties, becoming a mom, and going through a divorce to learn a hard lesson. Always be yourself. I now have my tattoos and I dress how I'm comfortable. I blare my punk and rock music and enjoy my concerts and music festivals. I am an open book about what I like and who I really am. I teach my son to be the same way because I don't want to see him struggle like I did for years. 

The right people are going to love you no matter what. You don't have to fit in to be an amazing and strong person. Most of all nobody is perfect. Our flaws, our passions, our hearts, our souls, our talents are what makes each of us unique. To be truly happy and healthy you need to be yourself. I can't sit here and say that I always get it right or that I don't still struggle with wondering why somebody doesn't like me. However I no longer let it consume me. I'm better off being who I am and be with the people that accept and support that. 

So even if it just takes baby steps...Be Yourself!

It's Your Blog: Angelic

Hi, I'm Angelic and I'm a single mom. I'm not here to talk to you about the trials of being a 29 year old working, single mom. I'm here to talk about lyrics from one of my favorite songs and how they get me through when I'm feeling down. 

This is a song that most people probably haven't heard as I have a different love of music than most people. The song is "The One You Feed" by Crown The Empire and the lyrics that are the topic of this post are "The only way to shine your light is in the dark. Never let life kill your spark." 

I have tried followling this little saying long before I actually heard the lyrics. My twenties have been far from easy and have come with a lot of ups and downs. I've tried to hold on to what light I can and find the positives even when it seems there isn't anything.

You see, I'm a single mom because 5 years ago I had to walk away from a marriage that just wasn't very good. I'll spare you the details, but it left me in a very dark place and I struggled with liking myself. It was a battle for me to keep going. I suffered for quite awhile with self injury. I had to take away the emotional pain by causing myself some physical pain. Shortly after my divorce I started a relationship with yet another guy that ended poorly after two years and in that time I also had to go through two surgeries for Cervical Cancer. I pushed my way through it all though. Even while still suffering through self injury, I would work to find little things to cheer myself up and to be a bright spot.

For the last almost 2 1/2 years I went on a journey to find myself. One of my biggest bright spots has been music. It makes my inner "spark" brighter and shines when I feel like I'm in a dark place. It is a huge part of who I am and I was finally able to find that out. I've even stopped with harming myself. Yes the urge is there still sometimes but instead of injuring myself I will pick up my guitar and play or turn on my music and just listen. Going through those dark spots in life helped me shine my light brighter. I struggled but I didn't let it kill me though it tried many of times.

Remember that you have to go through some bad and rough moments to find the good. Even the smallest things can get you through those rough spots. Never let the darkness snuff out your fire! Don't let life kill your spark!

It's Your Blog: Christy

One of the things that I love about blogging is that it's this perfect opportunity to share important stories with others.  I've been able to talk about my survival story and about parenting a bully.  Friends have guest posted about being a parent of a child with autism, escaping an abusive spouse, overcoming drug addiction.  I want this platform to be a place where we can share our stories and our journeys and inspire others. 

So I'm going to start an ongoing series called "It's Your Blog."  It basically just means that this space is yours.  If you have a story you would like to share, use the form to the right to contact me by email.  Or contact me in any of the ways you can (Facebook, Twitter, email, face to face, whatever).  I can help you write it, I can help you edit it, most of all, I can give your story a voice and an audience.  Need to be anonymous?  I can work with that, too.

Today's blog is from Christy.  She's someone I met years ago through Indy Moms.  We've stayed connected on Facebook.  She's an amazing and compassionate woman.  She owns a laundromat in a small town and when there was flooding, she provided laundry service for people who needed it.  She has a lot of life stories and experience that we can learn from - but this is an important one that she wanted to share.

***
I can breathe...

Literally for 2 months I have had a feeling I was going to suffocate.

Today, I am going to share a story with you and if you read it in its entirety, thank you. I promised myself and God 2 months ago that I would share this. If this saves even one person’s life, changes one mind or eases one's mind and moves them in the right direction, then my story was worth it.

A couple of months ago, I realized that I had been living a lie for the past 7 years. October came and everywhere I looked, I saw pink. Pink ribbons, pink shirts, pink socks, pink banners... the world turns pink in October. And as I do every year, and have done since my Breast Cancer diagnosis 13 years ago, I wear my pink ribbons, I tell my story, and most importantly I tell woman how important it is to get your mammograms. "Early detection can save your life, it saved mine" is what I have said over and over, year after year.

And it's true.

This is where the lie comes in, the lie, my lie, is that I had actually not had a mammogram in 7 years.

YES, you just read that correctly, for 7 years I have avoided the test that I claim will save your life. I just stopped going one year. Why? I got busy, I have been taking care of others, I forgot, I just didn't want to go, I just didn't want to know, I just... didn't go. So there I sat, at yet another "pink event", standing up and smiling as they recognize the survivors, living my little lie. But this time it was different, I broke, I broke this bond that I had made with myself and I approached the table with pink pens, pink balloons and even a cheerful lady wearing pink who was scheduling mammograms.

At that moment, that very second, I broke.

I made an appointment and I told myself that I had to do it, I had to step out of this zone I had sunk into and I HAD to keep this appointment. The best way to commit to something so fragile, something that you know you can "always cancel" is to confess the truth to your best friend and then make her promise you that she will in no way let you cancel. I did just that. That evening I cried as I sent the text to Melissa. I made her promise me that no matter what, I would make that appointment. She called me, stalked me, drove me insane, and it worked, I made it to that appointment.

On my lunch break, I drove myself there, registered, changed into the comfy robe, and I was on my way to putting this feat behind me.

Two hours later I was devastated to find out that 4 lumps had been found in my left breast. I wanted to run, I wanted to break the promise, I wanted to go back to not knowing...I wanted to go back to the lie.

The fear set in, the feeling that your body is on fire, has been with me since that October day. Of course I instantly thought to myself that no one needed to know, in particular our kids and my parents. They would be devastated. I chose wisely who I would tell. Some were obviously going to have to know- Jade, Melissa, my employer, and a handful of friends that were sworn to secrecy. I have spent sleepless nights wondering if this was my last Thanksgiving, my last Christmas, would I really make it to Florida for Spring Break, all of the questions that go through your mind when you face Cancer.

A lot of raw emotions that came back from 13 years ago.

But one feeling kept sneaking up on me, the one that haunted me in my sleep, that caught me in the middle of a giggle with the kids, the one that stopped me in my tracks, and the one that caused me to make crazy choices about work, life, and in general...

WHY DID I WAIT 7 YEARS?? It was like playing Russian Roulette with my life. Would these 4 lumps have been seen earlier? Of course. Did I just seal my own fate? Possibly. Since that day I have spent a lot of time thinking, praying, crying, and being angry at myself. I also spent a lot of time having scans, tests, aspirations, biopsies and finally surgery. Again, only a handful of people knew, per my wish. Not being able to talk to my mom and dad was probably the hardest. I hated not telling them, but I hated more the fact that this would only cause them heartache and fear, so I did the selfish thing, I kept it from them. I finally told them what had happened, and needless to say they were furious with me, I may even be grounded!

On the day of my surgery, my Doctor, who I adore, told me she would call me as soon as the pathology reports were in. At this point, three of the areas were clear, and the last one had been biopsied once and was still suspicious, so it was completely removed during this surgery. So we waited all weekend, me, Jade and my small select group...we waited for the results. At 3:57, Dr. Kennedy called to let me know that the news was good, there was no Cancer! Thank God! I quickly started calling and sharing the good news and I cried, I cried a lot. As I mentioned, I told my parents that evening, and I cried. It felt so good to tell them, and it felt even better to reassure them that I am okay.

For those of you that have read this far, you may wonder why I felt compelled to share this story. It is simple. I made a promise to myself and to God, in the wee hours of the night, in the dark rooms, at my kids’ ballgames, when I heard of another life lost to Cancer, I made a promise, a promise to share my lie.

 I share it with all of you in hopes that if you need to have your mammogram, if you are finding every reason why not to do it, that if you need that one reassurance to go do it, I AM YOUR REASON! My lie could have cost me everything. We can only learn from our mistakes, and we can lead by example.

Please let me lead you in the right way.

I also wanted to take this time to thank those that helped us during this time. From praying, taking me to appointments, keeping my ice packs frozen, picking the kids up from school, taking them to practices, feeding them, picking me up and dusting me off, ignoring my madness, dropping off food, keeping Jade sane, excusing my madness, reading this very long post, listening to me cry, handing me Kleenex after Kleenex, helping with our business, dealing with my madness, all in all...just being there... I say "Thank you, thank you so very much"!

- Christy

***

Thank you, Christy, for sharing this message.  And it's such an important reminder.  I have to confess - I haven't been taking care of myself.  As I am approaching 40 this year, I need to suck it up and make my appointment for a mammogram and also get back on track with annual visits to the gynocologist.  My confession?  I haven't been since the follow up post-birth visit for Zach.  6 years ago.  It's time and your story is such an important reminder of that.  

Oh, But I Do

From time to time, I have the honor of being able to share someone's story of struggle and survival.  It might be my own or it might be someone I love and sometimes, it might be someone I have met but don't know well.  That's today's post.

Many years ago, there was a magical part of the internet called Indy Moms.  Our local newspaper, owned by a national company, started this online community.  It was a place where we could post about nonsense, get advise on serious problems, share stories about our kids.  And the coolest thing happened.  Real friendships were formed.  A community developed.  We came to truly care about one another.  Even those that you maybe didn't get along with - you still cared about what happened to them.  Real life meet ups happened, real life friendships formed.  And a lot of those friendships carry on today - even though the site no longer exists and the community only has Facebook to use as a conversation forum.

One of the women that I knew from Indy Moms was Amy.  I didn't know her very well.  But she was funny and smart and adorable.  She became friends with some moms that I was connected to so I knew her in a roundabout kind of way.  She loaned me a dress for Teagan once.  She was a single mom with an adorable daughter.  When the site shut down and we all stayed connected on Facebook, Amy was one of those moms.  And then she disappeared.

People have asked about her, remembered her, wondered.

So imagine how thrilled I was not so long ago when I got an email from her.  She's continued to be a blog reader (staying connected, even if it was one sided).  And when I last put out a call for guest posts?  Amy wants to share her story.

And I honored that Amy wants to share her story here on the pages of Eternal Lizdom.  I hope you read it, learn from it, feel inspired... and leave her some love and support in the comments.

*****

As I sit here and write this, I have company.  Eighteen homeless women and two homeless children to be exact.

I work for Wheeler Mission Ministries in Indianapolis as a Winter Contingency Monitor at the WMM Center for Women and Children.  Our shelter is the designated winter overflow site for Indianapolis.  During the winter months, women and children come and stay in our building when it is too cold for them to bear it outside.

Some of the women who come to our shelter do so every winter; they are chronically homeless - and they are content with that lifestyle.  Some women come through our doors completely shell-shocked.  They have been evicted, put-out, or are escaping an unsafe situation.

We feed them, clothe them, and give them a safe and warm place to sleep.  We also connect them with resources we offer at WMM or we help them connect with resources that are a better fit for them and their situation.

Once in awhile one of them will "go off" on me.  I don't take it personal; some of these women have very tough personalities from time spent on the streets.  They will tell me I don't have a clue about them or their struggles.  And that is when I say:

"Oh, but I do."

You see, a little over a year ago I wasn't far removed from these ladies.  I was one of them.  In October 2012 I walked through the very same doors utterly broken--I was a drug addict with no place to go.  In the days before, I had signed over custody of my daughter to her dad and called up friends to tell them what was going on.  I had been a drug addict for years.  Pills, mostly.  Whatever I could get my hands on, I took.  I was a typical addict.  I lied, cheated, stole, manipulated, and lied some more.  Later on I learned that I was addicted to other things--being the victim, for instance.  Holding resentment.  Whining and complaining.  I was a mess, and though I had done a fairly decent job of hiding it, what was done in the dark came to the light.  It always does.

As I entered into Wheeler Mission's long term addiction recovery program, the thought of being there for a year plus scared the you-know-what outta me.  I wanted to quit more than once.  There were times I felt as if I were living under a microscope (and in a sense I was) and wanted to go out on the streets and try my luck there.  But I stayed put.  And slowly I began to heal.  It wasn't a steady climb.  It was more like long plateaus followed by realizations that I hurt less.

I faced my demons and slayed them.  My relationship with my family is being restored.  My body is being restored (I have slept better this past year than I have in the previous five years combined).  I learned that I can both enjoy and face life's trials without pills to numb me.  My daughter, Holly, is thriving in her home with her dad and soon-to-be stepmom.  Holly is so smart and beautiful and she is restoring her trust in me.  As I write this she is one week away from turning 9 and I thank God everyday that He delivered me from addiction so that I will be able to be part of her life as she grows up.

As for me personally…I am humbled every single day to know that the place (Wheeler) that literally saved my life had faith in me and offered me a job.

These ladies that I work with constantly remind me of Jesus' commandment to love the Lord your God with all your being and to love your neighbor as yourself.  I am thankful and honored to be able to give back what has been given to me.

I truly love "my ladies" as I call them.  They give me strength to keep loving (difficult as it may be sometimes) and serving for the glory of God.  I believe God also has me in this position to help me be vigilant in remembering how desperate I was when I walked through these doors.  Desperate to live.  Desperate to live free of addiction.  Desperate to heal.

A lot has changed for me in the past year.  Some dreams had to be let go.  But that's okay.  Because right where I am is where I need to be. And it makes room for even bigger dreams. 

- Amy 

Portkeys in Today's World

Harry: "Why are we all standing round some manky old boot?"

Fred: "Not just any manky old boot, mate, it's a Portkey!"

Harry: "What's a Portkey?"

— Fred Weasley and Harry Potter

A Portkey is an object enchanted to instantly bring anyone touching it to a specific location. Most of the time, a Portkey is an everyday object that would not draw the attention of a Muggle. Travelling by Portkey is said to feel like having a hook "somewhere behind the navel" pulling the traveller to their location.

An old boot, a blankie, a stuffed animal, a picture, a shirt, a ring, really any object of sentimental value can all be portkeys in today’s world.

When I need to escape in a book for a few minutes but don’t want to read a book that I’ll be engaged in for hours I usually pull out an old Harry Potter book. I am currently rereading The Order of the Phoenix for more than the 5th time and connected a scene in it to my personal life this week. Nearing Christmas break Harry sees in a vision Arthur Weasely being attacked by Nagina, Voldemort’s giant snake. After sounding the alarm Dumbledore gathered the Weasley children and Harry in his office in order to get them out of Hogwarts and to the safety of Grimmauld Place before Delores Umbridge could interfere. To do this he activated a portey to transport them somewhere else, but in order to be transported they needed to touch it.

When I was younger I had a stuffed monkey named Jo Jo. He was my best friend and we had the best of times. I luckily have a few pictures of us playing together. Jo Jo was also a huge source of comfort to me when things were scary: thunderstorms at night, when my parents were fighting, when things that I was too young to understand were going on in my life. Jo Jo will always hold a part of me whether I’m in possession of him or not.

We all have Jo Jo’s of some sort in our lives. A solid object, even if it’s just a picture, something that represents an important part of our life or played an important part in our life. It may be an article of clothing from someone we have lost, a collar off our dog who has died, a picture of a childhood best friend, a stuffed animal, your blankie, that you carried around everywhere. Like in the definition of a Portkey, they are everyday objects that would not draw the attention of anyone in particular.

There is so much power in touch, we crave it, we need it. Thinking about being hugged and being hugged are two totally different things. As my mind was trying to process the connection it was making between a portkey and today’s world I was just struck in a way I hadn’t been before as to why we save things that are deeply important to us. It’s because we need them at times to keep our past alive. Time is not linear, it’s past, present and future. I believe those objects in a sense “hold” time for us. I have a particular picture of Jo Jo and me playing in the back yard. It was still cold out as I was wearing a red coat, but I was taking Jo Jo on a bike ride. A bike I couldn’t even ride yet. I can look at that picture on facebook and think about that day, but when I hold that picture in my hands and look at it something changes. In some ways it seems as if I am physically transported back to that day, back to that memory. “A Portkey is an object enchanted to instantly bring anyone touching it to a specific location.”

For my daughter Amanda’s bridal shower I put together a box of her childhood mementos that I had been saving and as I placed each item in the box for a moment I was transported back to that time in a way that can’t happen if we just “think” about that time. Holding the outfit we brought her home from the hospital in took me straight back to that day 23 years ago. I had to sort through many boxes separating her childhood things from the others. I found letters the kids had written, baby clothes, tiny shoes, pinewood derby cars, camp shirts, crafts and each time I slowed down and looked at each object…bam…I was transported to another place.

Why this all seems to be new revelation to me, I’m not sure. I guess it’s a deeper understanding as to why we save things, or at least why I save things. Why when we need to draw comfort from a loved one that is no longer here we pull out a sweatshirt we saved of theirs and put it on. When we are missing our grown children we pull out the Mother’s Day cards they drew us when they were young and touch them and hold them and are drawn back to that place. When we are thinking about our own childhood we pull out a stuffed animal and are drawn back in to time. It’s pretty amazing how an inanimate object can suddenly be enchanted with life when it is touched.

There is nothing new to what I say, just a new awareness for me. As you read this, do you think about a portkey in your life? Go and touch it, be transported for a time.

***

Kim is a woman I met about a year ago - in a very special way that is hard to put into words.  As I've gotten to know her more and more, I love seeing how her mind works and that willingly shares her inner thoughts and feelings.

I chose this post to be the final guest post.  Mostly because of this line:

It’s pretty amazing how an inanimate object can suddenly be enchanted with life when it is touched.

I think to the stories shared by Dee, Angelic, Secrena, Lindsey and the people in those stories who caused pain, who were hurting, who experienced devastation... and my prayer is that they have their own portkey that transports them to their own happy places.  That may be in cherishing that final moment with a dying mom, remembering a goofy grin on a sweet little face, or embracing the memory of the hug of a friend in a time of terrible tragedy.

I think that stories and story telling is a type of portkey, too.  Because it connects us back to our story, back to that moment in time and we relive it when we tell it.  

A Baby's Wake

There isn't much I can say beyond what Lindsey will say below in her introduction.  Lindsey is someone I love dearly and I hope you will be moved by her post.

***

I am going to a baby's wake.

It's my first guest post here at Lizdom, and I should be chipper and reflective and be trying to entice you to come read my blog. I should be entertaining you while Liz is finally at Disney with her two kids, having the time of her life (I hope!). I should be introducing you to myself (Lindsey, almost 30, married almost 3 years, mom to 3 kids, one of whom has autism, and that's what I write about on my blog). Liz and I "met" online 9 (WOW) years ago, when we were pregnant with our daughters. Liz became a big sister/motherly figure to me and an integrel part of my single Mommy support system for Ava's first few years. Liz and I were delighted to meet in person, several times now, in Indiana and in Connecticut (where I live). We are very very good at understanding each other, and our parenting styles. We lift each other up.

But I'm going to a baby's wake tomorrow, and I am not sure what else I could really write about tonight.

He was born early, but not super early - 30 weeks. But for whatever reason, he simply never woke up, and has needed to be on life support since the day he was born. MRIs, EEGs, CT scans, 2nd, 3rd, 4th opinions: The baby would never wake up. And for a month he didn't, and then the family had to make the really tough decision to let his body join his spirit, and be released. And they did.

They have two more little boys at home, 2 and 4, who I'm sure can't comprehend a whole lot of this.

The mother is a friend of mine, not a terribly close friend, but a friend. I'm not sure how wide her net of support is, and I do not want to be intrusive or anything. But I really want to hug her, and I look forward to hugging her tomorrow, and telling her a lot of things, with my hug:

I may not exactly know your pain, in fact I'm sure I don't, but my experience with our son having autism has taught me this:
How it feels to lose every dream you had for your son.
How it feels to lose every dream you had for your family.
How it feels to blame yourself for everything that went wrong.
How it feels to relive every moment in your head, every minute of every day.
How it feels to not be able to hug the baby boy you loved.
How it feels to grieve for all of these things, and have no one understand the pain.

I want her to know that although my son is here and walking and talking and beautiful, I know the difference in our pain is immense, so immense, it's unmeasurable.

But I am grieving, too. Though I am being delivered, daily, from my grief in ways she can't be. I will hold her hand as we walk down this road.

Prayers lifted up to heaven for this family, and for their very special angel, Max.

I don't know why these things happen, to sweet baby boys.

But I know that some day, we will all find a life after our grief, and there will be some peace. That is what I wish for her. I wish her peace, a speedy delivery of peace.

Always A Parent

Sometimes in our lives, we come across someone who has endured the unimaginable.

Secrena is one of those people.

She has endured the death of her child.

And now, after years of hurting and anger and coping and surviving, she is someone who our mom community turns to when a friend has lost a child.  She is an expert in grief.  An area that no one wants to hold the title of expert.

Today, Secrena wants to share a bit of her experience as the mom of a child who has passed away.  No - her personal experience of being a mom.

***

It has been 5 years since I lost my beautiful daughter.  

In the beginning, there are so many emotions coming from so many different directions.  While the primary grievers are expressing shock and disbelief, the secondary grievers are often quick to express anger and blame.  They think that there is something that I should have done to be able to stop this from happening.  I should have been watching her closer.  

My mom was watching my daughter that day.  My mom thought she had went in the house, her neighbor swore she was in the house.  In the house, a 5 year should be safe. 

But she wasn’t in the house.

After a child passes away, you need and want somebody to blame.  You want to understand  “why did it happen to me?”.  These things don’t happen to me, they happen to other people.  I am a good mom, I love my kids.  This should not have happened.  If anything I want people to understand that bad things happen to good people.  We should not stand back and throw stones at people when they are down.  As humans we tend to blame others and want to call them out.  Why?  Do we want them to hurt, like we have hurt or the child has hurt.  There are blatant abuses that occur, but when an obvious accident occurs...  Please don’t throw stones at that parent.  That parent is feeling like the world is sitting on their shoulder, they are at their lowest point.  They need love and they need compassion.  They don’t need to be told what they should have done or could have done.   They are already telling themselves that exact thing.   They need you to hug them and listen to them cry.  

The outside world blamed my mom.  I didn’t.  I blamed God.  If he was such a good God, why did he take my baby.  Why would he allow this to happen?  I heard all the clichés…she is with God now, she is in a better place… those are just words that made me feel angry.  I was angry with God- why should he have her??  I attempted to bargain with God (seems silly now) to bring her back.  I was willing to try anything to get her back.  I have since turned back to God but I still have trouble understanding.  

If you are the friend of a person who has lost a child, don’t shy away from talking about that child.  Talk about them, bring them up.  Say things like…remember when she did this or that…it makes us feel better knowing that our children are not forgotten.   Don’t be alarmed if we start crying, it is our way of saying thank you for remembering.   Don’t look at me with pity or sympathy.  Don’t tell me that I am strong.  I need to be accepted, I need to know that you don’t see me as “the mom who lost a child”, look at me as a mom. 

I feel strongly about what caused her death and I am more than willing to share.  I feel that her death could have been prevented, but due to lax pool laws in the state of Indiana and mortgage companies not being held responsible for the homes that they are in possession of, nothing was done.

 

I am at the acceptance phase, I think.   I am aware that she is not coming back and just this year, I made her room into my office.  It allows me to feel close to her.  We all go through this at different times, but please don’t be afraid to mention it.  I am still her mom and always will be. 

Secrena Erwin 

Mother of Sheyenne Rain Jenkins

***

My beautiful baby girl, Sheyenne. 

I lost her to a swimming pool that had been abandoned by the homeowners and not taken care of by the mortgage company due to a limbo law. If you know of an open pool on abandoned property, please make somebody aware of it. They are breaking the law- call the police. 

I can't bring her back, but I can make people aware of the dangers and perhaps another parent won't be hurting like this and another child won't be in Heaven.

***

I am honored that Secrena wanted to share her story, her warning, and her experience with my readers.

I Am An Autism Mom

I've known Karla for several years now.  She is part of my church family.  I've watched her kids grow up - and I've watched as her journey has unfolded.  One way that Karla and I have a special connection is that we sing together - there is something about singing with someone that puts a unique spin on the relationship.

***

I am an Autism Mom.

If you don’t know me, today, chances are you know someone just like me. And if you don’t know someone like me, chances are you will sooner than later.

You see, I had a perfectly developing, lovely little boy. And I did all the right things. I read all the right books. Took all the right classes. Bought all the right toys. And listened to all the right doctors.

But then that perfectly developing, lovely little boy slipped through our fingers and into autism. Initially, he was given a brand-new and exciting vaccine. And then further and further he backslid after each round of shots thereafter, until he was a terribly sick little boy that couldn’t look us in the eye, couldn’t play with other kids, didn’t speak, and didn’t grow.

We fought for months to see a doctor to give us a diagnosis and a plan on how we could make him well. Only to be told that there was nothing we could do. That he’d never be well. He has autism, after all. And everyone knows there’s nothing that you can do for autism. Just like everyone knows autism can’t be caused by vaccines.

Except it was for my child. My Sam was vaccine-injured and now had autism. And I refused to believe there was nothing I could do about it.

We started addressing all of Sam’s medical problems and began an intensive behavioral therapy program. We learned so much about the medical side of autism and behavioral interventions. And Sam improved. And continues to improve every day. He’s growing, and learning, and talking (non-stop!), and playing, and loving.

During the time we’ve spent working to improve Sam’s health and modulate his behavior, I have also become an outspoken advocate. My child was vaccine-injured, and if his story can prevent even just one family from going through the pain that we’ve endured, then that is why I continue to speak his truth. Because of that truth I speak, I have been called stupid, reckless, foolish, uneducated, illiterate, irresponsible, and even once a baby-killer (yes, really). Because Sam’s truth is that a vaccine reaction triggered his autism. And I have learned that thousands upon thousands of other children share that truth.

Of course I have heard the doctors on television that have convinced most of the American population that there are all kinds of studies that prove there is no link between vaccines and autism. But I have read those studies – yes, actually read the science – and there has not yet been one study done that addresses Sam’s truth. And it has been my prayer since the day that we learned Sam’s truth that someone, sometime during the life of my child, would say “enough is enough” and demand that proper studies be done.

And someone finally has.

On April 25th, in the most bipartisan of efforts, Representative Bill Posey (a far-right leaning Republican from Florida) and Representative Carolyn Maloney (a far-left leaning Democrat from New York City) sponsored a bill called the Vaccine Safety Study Act, noting the massive increase in required childhood vaccines, the corresponding massive increase in cases of developmental disabilities, including autism, noting that a study comparing vaccinated vs. unvaccinated populations has never been done, and demanding that such a study be objectively undertaken.

Over Memorial Day weekend, I was privileged to listen to a Congressional panel at the AutismOne conference in Chicago where Congressman Posey spoke about the introduction of the bill and its importance in the future of our country – because the health and safety of our children IS our future. He was joined by one of today’s most powerful Congressmen, Darrell Issa, and former Congressmen Dave Weldon and Dan Burton. And they all spoke Sam’s truth. No matter how many names we’re called, no matter how many highly paid and pharma-connected doctors attempt to say otherwise, as parents, we know. We know what happened to our children. And now Congress – even if a small fraction of Congress – is joining us in speaking our children’s truth.

Now, the “experts” give the bill about a 4% chance of making through committee, and a 1% chance of getting enacted. But its in Congress. And they’re listening. And talking. So more people will listen. And maybe just one person reading this blog will decide there must be something to all this if Congress is taking note. And maybe that person will read the science. And learn something she didn’t know before. And take precautions with their own child. And maybe that child will have avoided slipping into autism.

And that would be another prayer answered.

Angelic

Angelic is a young woman I know through my online mom community.  She shares her story below - she is an incredible work in continual progress (like we all are).  Understanding where she comes from... I think many of us can identify with what she has to say.

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Hello there. I'm Angelic and I am a 28 year old divorced single mom of an amazing 7 year old boy named Landon. I am here to talk a little about being a single mom after a rough marriage that left me in pieces and very unsure of myself. Life as a single mom itself is a challenge. When you are struggling with your own self worth and trying to learn to love yourself along with finding yourself again it becomes an extra challenge. Here you are, trying to teach your child to love themselves and be their own person when you are struggling to do the same yourself.

I started dating my ex husband shortly after I graduated high school. I was still young (only 18) and the thrill of dating a guy older than myself was there. There were red flags from the get go but I was young and naïve and stubborn. By the time I turned 20, we were moving in together. A short time later, we were pregnant with our first child. That is when everything really started to go down hill- or maybe I just started to see the reality of what was going on. When Landon turned 6 months old, we were married. The marriage was never based on love and I see that now. It was based off of obligation because of a child-  which is never a reason to get married. Abuse was a very common theme in my marriage. I was constantly walking on eggshells. I felt worthless, unloved, and unwanted. I felt ugly and horrible inside and out. I was told that I was selfish and worthless and nobody else would ever want me. It is often times easier to believe the bad things that somebody is telling you than anything good that you hear about yourself. I worked full time. I was the only one in my group of friend who had a kid.  Between my husband and being the only mom and working full time - I was very isolated.  I became a shell of myself and lost who I was. I went through the motions every day pretending to be somebody I was not. I hid behind a wall that I built up to protect myself from anybody else while I cried when I was alone. I broke down often.

A few months after our son turned 3, I finally found the courage to say I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't live like I was. So after being with him from the time I was 18 until I was 24- I made the choice to walk away. I was done and knew I deserved better. I packed up myself and my son and he and I moved in with my parents. It was a very tough decision. I still thought I was somehow in love but at the same time I was not because of the damage that was done. I felt destroyed and had no idea how I was going to get myself back. So I became a single mom with shared custody. Shortly after, I started a new relationship that was controlling and very much the same. I guess what they say is true - history repeats itself. I never took the time I needed to get better from the marriage and to find who I was again. After two years in another dead end relationship that ended with a broken engagement, I was able to move on. All this time I was struggling to raise my son to love himself. I hated who I was, because I was still so unsure of where I fit in or who I wanted to be. I just knew that I wanted better for my son. I didn't want him to struggle with who he is. I want him to be strong and sure of himself.

I have been single for a year an a half now. I still struggle on a daily basis to with my self esteem and self worth. It is a huge struggle for me that sometimes I feel so alone and that nobody will ever understand me. At the same time I have gone through a journey. At the age of 28 I was finally free to be myself without having somebody tell me no or make me feel bad for doing things for myself. I am hoping I have taught Landon to do the same. To be a little more open and free spirited even if it sometimes goes against the norm. I was finally free to spend time with the people in my life who really mattered and who truly cared for me. I was able to go to concerts and feel young and fun again. I was able to get my tattoos that mean so much to me and tell my stories.

My advice to both the married and the single people out there - Never lose yourself. No matter how much somebody tries to change you or beat you down to the point where you don't remember who you are, don't give them the satisfaction of taking your life and love for yourself away from you. Everyone of us is meant to be different and unique in our own skin. Make sure you always take time to do things for yourself that you love. Don't let anyone tell you what you can do or how you should be. It has taken me way too long to get to this point myself and as I said, I still struggle with it. I try very hard to be a better role model for my son. I know my self esteem issues have already rubbed off on him some and that kills me to even think of that. Nobody should ever feel that way about themselves. We should all remember who we are heart, mind, and soul and never lose ourselves for somebody else, for a job, for anything. Always be true to yourself.

Thank you for listening and I hope that you take a little something from this.

I wish you all Peace, Love, Laughter, and Happiness.

Angelic

Escape

Today is a special guest post from my friend, Dee.  Dee recently started a great blog called City Homemade and you can head over there for all kinds of tips on canning, gardening, and even homemade cleansers!  But there is a side to Dee that will make you love her even more.  She is a strong survivor and below is just a slice of her story.  

                                                                  ***

The year 2002 was tumultuous for my girls and me.  I had been trying for almost two years to obtain a divorce from a very abusive man whom I had been married to for almost two decades.  Not quite two years earlier, he’d told me he wouldn’t allow me to divorce him.  I, in turn, told him that he didn’t have a choice in that.  To which he replied he’d bankrupt me in attorney and court fees before he’d allow me to divorce him.  He was working very hard to make that happen.

***

In March of 2002, the doctors at IU Medical Center had requested I come up to be with dad when they gave the update on Mom’s condition.  She had battled Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma twice now.  Requesting that I be there for the doctor’s update wasn’t unusual because my father is functionally illiterate and the doctors preferred to give these updates with me there.  I was there every day anyway.  As I was standing in the intensive care room on the bone marrow unit, Mom’s tall, young doctor came in the room.  Mom was awake.  The doctor went into a long discussion about how the cancer had metastasized, that it had taken a serious toll on Mom’s body.  He gave wonderful news in that the chemo-therapy had, indeed, been successful.  The cancer was gone again, but…  I truly hated when a doctor would say “but”.  “But” was never good.  Never.  This was no exception.  He explained to us that the chemo had done some serious damage to Mom.  She was in congestive heart failure.  It was not reversible.  Mom had less than six months to live.  We needed to move her to a hospice.  We needed to go over her end-of-life documents.  We needed to notify family.  I remember hearing all of this but after he said she had less than six months to live, everything sounded like I was hearing it under water.  I quickly snapped out of it when my father exploded.  He was screaming at the doctor to get out.  He screamed that the doctor was a quack and that we’d be getting another opinion.  I did what I could to calm Dad down.  We needed to discuss this out of the hospital. 

***

Memorial Day was here again.  This was the second one since I had formulated my escape from him.  And I still wasn’t divorced.  I was still not legally free.  That week, the judge threatened him with contempt of court if he continued to defy the court’s requests and orders.  This infuriated him.  He showed up at my little, white house in the middle of nowhere.  I was alone; the girls were at his parents’ farm.  I ran and locked myself inside and he began beating on the door and windows.  He was screaming at me and eventually kicked in the door with such force that it broke the structural wall header on the house.  He was inside.  He was screaming at me that I was embarrassing him by having the judge threaten him with contempt.  I honestly told him I had no idea that he’d received that notice from the judge.  There was no reasoning with him.  His threats and taunts never changed.  This was my fault.  Had I not filed for divorce, a stranger - the judge - wouldn’t be meddling into his business.   All of this wouldn’t be in the little local newspaper.  He said “People are questioning why I can’t keep my woman in line”.  Sheer luck would have it that someone I knew happened to be driving by as he was going crazy inside and recognized his truck.  He was always so very intent on protecting his reputation because of his job so when he heard the car coming down the lane; he quickly left as if nothing happened, even saying hello to my visitor as he left.  In his mind if he acted normal, everyone would think I was the crazy one.

***

I made the fifty mile drive to Terre Haute to meet with my brothers.  Neither of them did much while Mom was sick.  My twin, Chuck, went to whatever hospital Mom was at and had lunch with her once a week.  Chuck’s wife and girls would come once or twice a month.  When Mom had the first stroke, my younger brother said “My Mom is gone and therefore, I won’t be visiting her much if at all.”  I hated that my father had put me in this position to tell the boys but here I was.  I met them at Chuck’s; his wife and kids were out.  Mat was late, as usual.  I told them “The doctor said Mom has less than six months to live.”  Chuck was quiet.  Mat wanted another doctor to be called in.  I told them “The best doctors at IU have evaluated her; there is no one else to bring in.”  I went on to explain to them that the doctors wanted us to move her to hospice.  I said “Dad wants us to all go with him to evaluate hospices to put her in the best one.”  Mat, of course, said he was not going to help pick where she dies and then he left.  Chuck, also very adept at avoiding things like this, said “You’ll help dad pick what is best for her, I don’t need to be there.” 

***

The email I received that June day from my not-quite ex husband was menacing.  In it, he said, “Get over this mid-life crisis and drop this divorce nonsense or I am going to take the girls and we will disappear, you will never see them again”.  I knew the courts couldn’t help; they hadn’t helped to this point.  The only option I felt I had left was his father.  I took the email to his parents.  His mother called me many names, jezebel being the nicest.  She insisted I “had a boyfriend” and more.  My father-in-law was quiet for a while, and then he stopped his wife.  He said “You know, he’s a son-of-a-bitch but he’s our son-of-a-bitch.  What he’s done to you isn’t right, he wasn’t raised like that.”  My mother-in-law tried to interject and he silenced her with a look.  He went on to say “You’re a good mother to my granddaughters, you continue to do that and we’ll handle him”.  I thanked him for his help.  Later that evening, I got a call from my husband screaming again.  “How dare you turn my parents against me!”  He went on with “Dad said if I don’t leave the girls with you and let you have your damned divorce that he’ll cut me off.”  His family money and influence that he had been using against me was now working in my favor.  Thank God.

***

Although our lives were on hold because of the divorce, my girls and I had fallen into a pretty regular routine, each day was relatively the same.  The early morning consisted of doing laundry and starting supper, getting ready for school and work.  I spent my days in the office; one girl was at school and the other with a dear friend who babysat for me.  Each day after work, I would rush to pick up Katie at the babysitter just to rush home to Misty who had ridden the bus home from school.  We would have a quick dinner of whatever I had in the crock pot that day and then as we did every other day of the week, we’d fix a plate and a chocolate milkshake for Mom and head to the hospice center.  My dear Mother had been quite the cook before the lymphoma and chemo-therapy wreaked havoc on her body.  Therefore, she detested what she called “institutional food” and wouldn’t eat it.  So every day, we made a deal with my very stubborn Mother that if she’d eat breakfast and lunch, we’d bring her a home cooked meal every day she was there.  And so far, we had done so for almost five months. 

***

Late summer brought my softball; I played every summer after the girls were done with their season.  It was my outlet.  On the field, it was about the game, not the divorce, nor my Mother’s impending death.  It was just about the game - until this year.  My soon-to-be ex-husband joined the team.  The man had never played an inning of softball in his life.  I wasn’t about to let him run me off of my team.  I simply told him “There is nothing we have to discuss, stay away from me”.  I knew he wouldn’t listen but I said it anyway.  Sure enough, long about the third game, he showed his ass.  Someone made some random comment about why he was there; he didn’t seem interested in the game.  He went off and began screaming at the other player resulting in the referee not only ejecting him from the game but from the ballpark as well.  He began heading in my direction yelling, “They can’t talk to me that way, come on we’re getting out of here.  Fuck them!”  As the male members of my team begin heading towards my position on first base, I calmly told him, “I’m not going anywhere with you”.  I’m not entirely sure that what would have happened had the male members of my team not been rallying around me.  I’m really glad I didn’t have to find out.

***

Labor Day weekend, the girls were spending the weekend with their dad and grandparents at their grandparents’ farm.  My Mom was much worse than before and time was getting short.  The doctors said that she had another stroke, and as a result, she was all but gone.  She was moved to the hospital’s ICU.  I tried to spend as much time as I could with her.  Dad, unbeknownst to me, had called the boys and told them she was getting better, I guess in an effort to get the boys there.   Chuck and his family came to the hospital.  Mat was there too but only because he needed to borrow money and I refused to write him a check on our parents account unless and until dad told me to.  Chuck’s wife was upset that Mom wasn’t better but was, in fact, much worse than dad had said, so they left to take their young girls home.  Mat got the check to save his house from foreclosure and he, too, left.  Barely fifteen minutes later, the nurse came running for dad and me to go to Mom.  We went into the room and less than ten minutes later, she passed.  What truly rattled me to the core was that the strokes had left her unable to speak for the prior month or so and yet just before she died, my Mother opened her eyes that were as clear and as lucid as they’d been before she got sick and she looked at Dad and said “I love you”.  And then she just closed her eyes and drifted away.

***

There were only two weeks left until Christmas.   Mom had been gone for just over three months and I still wasn’t divorced.  The only silver lining I could see was that according to the courts, it was my year to have the girls for Christmas.  I was in my office at work when my direct line rang.  Very few people had that number.  I answered it and a chorus of people was on the other end singing “We wish you a Merry Christmas”.  They sang the entire refrain and I still didn’t know who it was.  I said a meek “Ho! Ho! Ho!” at which time my lawyer identified herself and told me that on that day, Friday, December 13, 2002, the judge had signed my divorce.  The entire office heard me cry out in sheer joy.  After two and a half years, it was over.  It was over.

The divorce was final and the court cases closed but he wasn’t done.  I don’t think he would ever have stopped.  Of course, in “good ole boy” country, the local law enforcement wouldn’t help me.  I needed to go somewhere where I could be protected.  I had to leave.  I was allowed to move fifty miles without having to fight him in court.  So, I gave notice that I wouldn’t be renewing my lease on my home, I gave a month’s notice at work and I started packing.  I was leaving and no one could stop me. 

***

I now look at 2002 as the year that changed everything.  My dear Mother escaped the pain and suffering that the cancer had wreaked on her body for the prior seven years.  She beat it twice.  The cure ended up being the death of her.  She wanted nothing more than to die cancer-free.  She did that.  She escaped the cancer and the suffering that went with it.  As her closest cousin, Billy said “She’s gone home with her Momma and Daddy”. 

Ironically, I also completed my escape in 2002.  I escaped from an abusive marriage.  I survived.  Mom didn’t live to see it happen but I know she is proud of me.  I left the small town where we had lived and I left my job.  I’d packed up my life and my children and we were heading to the “City” to start over. 

***

My new beginning started as 2002 ended.  The world as I knew it was gone.  A new uncharted path lay before me, a new adventure for all of us.  Indianapolis was just as big and scary to me as it was to the girls but there was no time for fear, we were moving onward and upward!

'Tis the Season for Unrealistic Expectations

Amy (4th Frog) is a friend I made through blogging a few years ago. She's funny and real and down to earth. You won't get any false "motherhood is so perfect and shiny" stories from Amy - she's all about the reality of motherhood, life, and more. She's got her serious side, as we all do, but I always read her posts and just... relate.

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School is out for my bunch. All 3 kiddos are enjoying the sweet reprieve that is summer vacation.

For the most part, our calendar is set. I’ve got it figured out who is going to what camps when. And for the the almost 14yo, I’ve built in some adequate down time, at his request. But then there is the other part of summer. The rosy, magical part where I let myself believe that THIS is the summer that as a family we are going to:

• Get organized
• Create, implement and keep up with a daily chore schedule
• Go to the library on a weekly basis and read all the books we bring home
• Exercise

Here’s the reality:

To get organized, we need to get rid of STUFF. Seems simple...until I get caught in the never-ending self-debate of “garage sale, Ebay, Craigs List, or Goodwill?” We don’t have a particularly generous budget, so the idea of selling our stuff for a little extra spending money is tempting. But getting set up for a garage sale always seems to turn my house upside down and while I might make a bit of money, most of the stuff will be left sitting there at the end of the day. So take it to Goodwill, right? Yes, but, what if this is the year that our extra clothes, dishes, books and other assorted junk is what is most coveted by bargain hunters?

The daily chore schedule. It needs to happen. My kids are certainly old enough to pitch in on almost all the tasks it takes to run a house. I’ve actually had a list of chores written out for some time. Maybe I just am subconsciously trying to avoid the whining and protests that come with the introduction of the chore list? Maybe I’m just as bad as the kids when it comes to preferring to relax and do what I want to do instead of do what I need to do? I’ll post the list, communicate my expectations and then watch the whole thing cave in as soon as there is a schedule conflict that makes getting the chores done a little bit more challenging.

The library and I have a love-hate relationship. I love that building full of books, just waiting to be read. But I hate that it’s 20 minutes away in a direction that I never drive. So usually what happens is during the first week of summer, we earnestly head to the library, sign up for the summer reading program with its allure of fabulous prizes, stock up on awesome books and head home full of optimism. Fast-forward two weeks and the books are mostly unread, scattered around the house with a few inevitably lost, and the due date comes and goes without the books being returned because the library is too far away. The end of the summer comes with the only summer reading prize being a $47 fine for overdue books.

My favorite go-to excuse for not exercising more often is that the burden of driving kids to and from school and practices doesn’t leave much time for exercise. But in the summer, I tell myself, no one has to be at school so there is plenty of time for me to get up and exercise in the morning. Somehow, I forget that while there is no school, there is camp and Boys & Girls Club and summer health class at the high school. Same busyness, different destination.

I realize that with some discipline and creative scheduling, all of my summer dreams could come true. Maybe if I had a drill sergeant to keep us on task, this could all happen. And I bet I could hire someone for the job with the extra money I could make by having a garage sale...

Laundry On A Budget

I have always admired the moms and bloggers who offer tips and advice on home management, cooking, couponing, budgeting, and so on.  I'm typically not so much one of those moms.  That is part of what I love about being part of a mom community online - there are lots of moms with those strengths that I can lean on!

One of my mom friends, Kelly, wanted to share something with you on my blog that you wouldn't normally ever see on this blog - a "how to" on making your own laundry detergent!  I know many moms who do this and Kelly makes it sound so easy that I just might be tempted to try it!

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Many of us have been hit hard by this economy and we’ve had to tighten our purse strings until it hurts and then some. Some families are down to one income and it’s not by choice or there is a reduction on the income that is coming into the house. One great way to save some cash and not give up on quality is by making your own cleaners. Laundry detergent is a big expense, especially if you have a large family. Good coupons for detergent are harder to find and the cheaper detergents sometimes don’t work all that well. If you’re willing to put in about twenty minutes of work, you can make an awesome liquid detergent that will even get a mechanic’s jeans clean or those grass stains out of your son’s white baseball pants, but yet you can use it in an HE washing machine and it’s delicate enough for your gentle cycle.

A big bucket of detergent, which lasts about four months, for a family of six, will cost you about $16 the first time you make it and even less after that. The biggest expense is a five-gallon bucket with a lid, which will run you less than $8. You will also need a bar of Fels Naptha bar detergent, Borax and Arm n Hammer Washing Soda. All these items can be purchased at Kroger, Walmart or Ace Hardware. The Fels Naptha will run you about $1.25 for a bar and the Borax and washing soda will be less that $3 a box, but you will get several buckets out of those and are also great to make other cleaners.

You need to grate the Fels Naptha and the easiest way is to cut it into chunks and use your food processor. It cleans up easy, so don’t worry about ruining your food processor. Combine that with 4 cups of hot water and boil it on medium and stir until the soap is melted. This is the most labor intensive part of the process.

Fill your bucket half full of hot water and had a cup of washing soda and a half cup of Borax and add your liquid Fels Naptha. Stir the mixture up really well and then put your lid on the bucket. Just let that sit overnight and then the next day, all you have to do is stir it up again and fill up an empty detergent bottle. The mixture will be gelled a big, but don’t worry about that, it’s supposed to be that way. If you like a scent to your detergent, add some essential oil to you detergent or you can go scent free and it’s even gentle enough for baby clothes.

Use about a half cup in your load and you’ll be amazed at how well it works and you’ll never want to go back to buying $11 a bottle detergent.

You can follow my blog - Just Kelly - and also find many other home cleaning products by following me on Pinterest!