"Of all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you."

I'm no stranger to the word love. I've seen it, heard it, felt it, lived it. When I was younger I swore I loved every boy I had a crush on. It didn't matter if he didn't notice me, I loved him. As I got older, I continued to "love" different boys. I was always so heartbroken when they didn't feel the same, and I'd listen to sad songs and worry I was going to be alone forever. I wanted to find my prince charming... at 12. The first time I ever truly loved someone was when I was 16. He was older, and had a girlfriend. But to him, I was his rock when they were fighting. We had a connection that was different than anything I had ever felt before. I really did love him. It didn't work out, and it doesn't matter why. But that was the first time I truly felt love for someone other than family. He was the first person to truly break my heart. When I look back on it now, I can't truly say I was "in love" with him though. We had a connection, and I cared about him greatly. I still do. But I wasn't in love. Not by a long shot. But 2 years later, I did fall in love for the first time. Real, raw, scary love. The kind of love that keeps you awake at night. The kind of love that changes you. I think the scariest thing about that love, was how alive and dead it made me feel. One second I felt like I was on top of the world, and the next I felt like dying. My heart was whole and broken at the same time. To most people that probably doesn't sound like being in love, but that's what it was for me. Even now after everything that's happened, I still know in my heart that I loved him. But he wasn't my prince charming. Turns out, my "prince charming" isn't really a prince anyway.

I fell in love again on Friday, April 12, 2013. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was strapped down on an operating table, a blue curtain blocking my view, my mom to my left. At 3:34pm, I heard her first cry. It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. My life changed from that moment on. I was forever indebted to that beautiful little girl. I barely even knew her, she barely even knew me, but I knew she was my forever. I've never been able to accurately describe my love for her. Words just aren't enough. But my love for her is infinite. It has no limits, no boundaries. It is everything, and it is nothing. It drives me crazy, and keeps me sane. She is my prince charming. I am happy in life as long as I have her. I know she won't be little forever, but my love only grows with her. I am content with having just her. I've never felt such a strong hold on my heart before, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I am okay with it just being her and I, because she is all I need.

People think I'm crazy for this. I'm constantly being asked when I'm going to get a boyfriend, or how come I'm not dating. My friends say you're so pretty Rachel, you should find a man. No one is ever satisfied when I say "I don't want a man, I have my daughter". It's like people can't believe someone could want to be alone. No one seems to understand that I'm not really alone. I have my child. I don't just love her, I actually like her. I enjoy spending my days with her. And from sun up to sun down, she fills my day. There's no time for anything or anyone else, and I'm okay with that. Because I'm not sad, and I'm not lonely. I don't need someone else taking up my time. These days are fleeting. I want to soak up every single laugh while I still can. When she's older, and tells me she hates me, I want it to be because I grounded her, not because I wasn't giving her enough attention. And when she slams the door in my face, I want to be able to relive these days, and remember how innocent and sweet she was. I don't want to miss a single second. I don't want anyone else to come into my life and steal my time. My time with a tiny tot is limited, and I want to spend every second making memories. I don't think there's anything wrong with single parents dating. If you want to meet someone, you should. But I don't want to meet anyone. Why would I want to meet someone when my heart is already complete? There's no room for anyone else. I'm already in love. Call me crazy, but I have found the truest love I could ever hope for.

For me love is waking up every morning to a smiling face calling me mommy. Love is making breakfast for her before I've even had a chance to have my own. Love is Disney Jr. Love is playing blocks, farm, and kitchen. It's fake tea parties, and princesses. Love is being so utterly exhausted, but so completely happy. For me, love is seeing the toys scattered all over the house. It's crumbs on the floor, and dishes in the sink. It's sippy cups, and cookies. It's picking toys up off the floor, out of the sink, from under the couch, and from behind the tv. It's never having any privacy, and always sharing my food. It's sitting down only to get up 3 seconds later because her water needs ice... again. Love is reading the same book 800 times in a row. Love is hugs, and kisses, and tickles. It's tucking a tiny human into bed at night and hearing her say I love you.

Before I do anything, I always make sure that Lily is fed, clothed, and clean. She always has 2 sippy cups near by, and her shows are always on. The house is covered in toys, and stuffed animals. I go without so she doesn't have too. My whole life is consumed by her and her needs. I don't go out on weekends, and I don't worry about the latest trends. My social media is flooded with pictures of her, and the conversations we have. She is my day, and my night. There's rarely a moment to breathe that Lily isn't around, and when she's asleep, I just want to exist in silence. I don't want to fill my only alone time with someone else. Then I really wouldn't ever be alone. Yeah, company is nice, but I'm tired, and I like the quiet. And unless Doc is fixing it, Cedric is plotting it, or the Bubble Guppies are singing about it, I probably don't know what you're talking about anyway. I'm not much fun at a bar, and I like free food, but I'm so used to eating quickly that I'm sure I have manners that are repulsive. So see, there's just no time for anyone but Lily. I barely have time for myself. Maybe someday that'll change, maybe it won't. But no matter what, I'm happy with life as it stands now. I am in love with the greatest person I have ever known. My heart is so full. My life is never dull. I finally found the love I've been searching for. I found my forever. Lily is my better half, my true love, my valentine, my soul-mate, my lucky star, my everything. There's no love greater, and no bond stronger. I don't know how I could ever love anyone else.

The truth is, I can't.

Surviving Motherhood.

As Lily's second birthday approaches, I find myself thinking back to the newborn days. Lily and I came home from the hospital 3 days after she was born, and it went a lot like you would expect... She slept, and I stared at her and wondered why the hell the hospital let me take this child home. She woke up a few hours later, screaming bloody murder. I knew how to make a bottle but all I could think about was "can I return her?" I know how bad that sounds, but seriously, who let me bring this child home? For the first two weeks it was pretty simple. Having a new baby is a lot like the directions on a shampoo bottle; wash, rinse, repeat. She slept, ate, pooped, slept, ate, pooped. Meanwhile, I didn't sleep, and I didn't eat. I pretty much survived off iced tea, and adrenaline. A mombie is a real thing, and if you ever encounter one, DO NOT APPROACH. Boy was I cranky.

When Lily was 2 weeks old, I found myself thinking, this isn't so bad, I can do this. Then colic set in. It was everything you imagine it to be, and worse. I was never prepared for the hellish nightmare that is colic. For hours on end Lily would scream bloody murder. If she wasn't screaming, she was grunting in her sleep. I imagine it wasn't very restful, because when she woke up, she was extremely unhappy. I researched everything I possibly could, and I tried every trick in the book. Emotionally, I was bordering on unstable. Physically, I was spent. After a conversation with her pediatrician, the search for new formula began. At 1 month, try soy. Constipated. 2 weeks later, give her juice once a day to help her go? Nope. At 2 months, Alimentum. Sure, let's try it. Let's add a little zantac in there too so she stops exorcist vomiting everywhere. I really thought Alimentum was our saving grace. Soon after starting it, Lily slept through the night. The screaming decreased, her pooping became normal, and life seemed easy. She still wasn't happy when she was awake, but I figured, one step at a time, right? For 2 months, we were golden. HAHAHA. Forget water torture, just have prisoners listen to a screaming child for hours on end. I promise it won't be long before they're spitting information at you. Colic made me question my sanity on levels I cannot accurately explain. I thought for sure I was failing as a mother because I could not soothe my child. At 4 months old, Lily stopped eating. Seriously. She would not take a bottle. She would not even let it near her mouth. She'd scream so hard for so long, she'd pass out. That shook me to my core. How does a tiny, little infant just refuse to eat? After a week, I was fed up. I wanted to know what was wrong with my baby. After a trip to the hospital, and no answers, I called and left a message for her GI doctor. He called me back almost immediately, and changed her antacid to Prilosec, and told me he'd see me in 2 weeks to talk progress. At that 2 week mark, we still weren't eating. I was feeding her rice cereal from a spoon just to get some food in her stomach. She'd drink an ounce out of a bottle, go into hysterics, and throw it all up. Her GI doctor was stunned because Lily was a chubby little baby. But at that appointment, he introduced us to Elecare. Elecare saved my sanity. It saved Lily's belly. It brought some normalcy to our everyday. It took 2 months to finally work, but after it did? Life was better. Lily still threw up constantly, but she was happy. If you've kept up, that means I survived 7 months of colic.

I really sometimes feel like those first 7 months were a blur. I can still remember her milestones, but they're clouded by my memories of how overwhelmed I was. I didn't hate my child, but I did hate being a mom. I hated it because I couldn't figure out how to soothe my child. What kind of mother could I possibly be if I can't even soothe my child? How could I sit here and love this little human so much, but hate the responsibility of being her mother? I just wanted a break. Okay, maybe I wanted more than a break. I wanted to run away. Constantly. It wasn't PPD, but it was heartbreaking. I cannot put into words the love I have and have always had for my little girl. I have always felt connected to HER. But it took a long time to feel connected to the word "mother". I was failing miserably, and I hated myself for it. I hated that I had no help, and that I could never escape. I hated that those first 7 months were filled with nothing but tears, from both of us. I could change a diaper with my eyes closed, but listen to a child scream endlessly? Forget it. I wanted to leave my life, and start over. I figured Lily was better off without me. When things finally got better, I realized it was okay to feel the way I felt. That it is human to feel overwhelmed when you're a mother. And it was around then that I also realized just how amazing my bond with Lily really was. Because I spent all that time holding her, singing to her, rocking her, we formed this incredible connection. She had absolutely zero doubts in me. She knew I would do whatever I needed to do for her. You could see it in her eyes just how much she loved me. Only then did I realize I didn't hate being a mother, I hated watching my baby suffer. I hated that I couldn't take the pain away. And honestly, I hated being so exhausted.

I feel like the next 5 months flew by. Lily learned to crawl, got her first teeth, pulled herself to standing, she was constantly blabbering, she learned her first real words, she was eating solids regularly, drinking bottles, sleeping, laughing. I finally felt like this is what being a mom was all about. Cherishing the accomplishments, making memories, having fun. By the time her first birthday came around, I truly couldn't believe we made it. How many times had I wanted to run away? How many times did I say I'm done? How many times did I cry for hours because I was so emotionally and physically exhausted? But yet, there we were. 1 whole year behind us. By that first year mark, Lily had begun the transition to dairy, and was off her antacid, and it went amazingly. I finally had a happy, pain free baby girl. She was finally living the life she deserved, smiles and all. We had survived. Her first birthday wasn't just a huge milestone for her, but for me too. It was a celebration for the both of us.

Now, we've almost survived another year together. In just 17 days, my sweet baby will be 2. I wouldn't say it was easier. This last year came with it's own set of challenges. And I definitely wanted to run away more than once. But it's also had it's share of incredible memories. Lily learned to walk, run, and talk. Approaching 2, it was very rare to hear a babble. She speaks in sentences, and knows everything. If she doesn't know something, she's eager to learn about it. She's got an amazing personality. She's funny, sweet, loving, endearing, and emotional. But Lord knows I could kill her sometimes. I often wonder if my neighbors think I'm a terrible mother when they hear me screaming, "LILY I SAID DO NOT TOUCH THAT" 800 times in a row. I wonder if they think I'm skinning her alive when she screams that high pitched scream for 10 minutes. And when I leave the room and go downstairs just to find some silence, I ask myself why I ever thought I could be a mother.

But through it all, that big, BIG love is always there. That fierce, limitless love. The kind of love that drives me crazy, and keeps me sane. My love for my little girl is unwavering. It asks the hard questions, and it puts up a good fight. And even on our worst days, I am reminded constantly just how loved I am in return.

Co-parenting, with a twist.

When I was growing up, my father wasn't really around. I don't have daddy issues over it though, because I never liked my father to begin with. I didn't lose anything by him not being in my life. My mom is the greatest lady alive, and she's given me everything I could ever dream of. However, I used to always say I didn't want children until I was in a stable, loving relationship. I wanted the white picket fence, the doting husband, a big yard for our dog to play in. I didn't want to raise a child without a father. I think it was more because I saw how much my mother struggled. My brother and I were never affected by my fathers absence, but my mom gave up her entire life for us. I didn't want that for my family. Oh how young and naive I was. Obviously life had other plans for me, and for my daughter. No doting husband, no white picket fence, no dog. I did however get the big backyard (thanks mom!). But now I'm living a life I never imagined.

Co-parenting. *cue horror movie music*

For the rest of my life I have to participate in the act of "co-parenting". I could sit here and argue that we don't actually co-parent. That I am the main caregiver. That I am the one who takes care of Lily, and all her needs. I lose sleep, kiss boo-boo's, clean messes, cuddle, wipe boogies, cook 8 different meals until she eats one, etc. But for 6 hours a month, I co-parent. Outside of that time, my daughter's father and I don't communicate. We aren't friends. In fact, one might say he hates me. They'd probably be right. Now, don't let me fool you into thinking the feeling isn't mutual. It partially is. Hate is a really strong word, and it's one I don't use. BUT, I am not his biggest fan. Not in the slightest. So what's it like to co-parent with someone who hates you? Dreadful. What's it like to co-parent with someone you aren't fond of? Awful. Think of the thing you hate the most in the world. I don't care if it's a vegetable, tv show, or person. It just has to be what you hate most. Now imagine you have to deal with that person/place/thing for the rest of your life. It's like a horror movie, with no ending. Now let's add the twist to it... You have to pretend you don't hate that person/place/thing. WHAT? WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT? That, my friends, is co-parenting.

I've searched far and wide for survival tips. They have self defense classes, swimming lessons, yoga, karate, pepper spray, guns, but nothing on how to survive co-parenting. Doesn't anyone take the danger in it seriously? Why isn't there a magical wand I can wave when shit hits the fan that causes Lily's father to be plagued with diarrhea or something. No one ever warned me how hard it would be. There was no class I could take, no book I could read. Some days it's so hard, I fear I won't survive it. But then I realized, so many people before me have done it and lived through it. Thousands and thousands of people do it every single day. How do they all survive it? How do I survive it? I have your answer. Here's my 5 steps to surviving co-parenting:

1) Ear plugs. They don't have to literally be ear plugs either. For me, I start singing, in my head. The only thing I can hear is the sweet, sweet sound of my angelic voice. Oh I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't hear you because your voice is like nails on a chalkboard and I've blocked you out.

2) The internet. When it doubt, google something funny. Or you could google something horrible and sing praises that your life isn't that bad. Whatever your poison is, I won't judge. I know what you're living through.

3) Lots of your favorite food. For some it's chocolate, for me, it's cereal. Cereal is my guilty pleasure. Give me all the Lucky Charms, and sugar filled milk, and let me drown in my sorrows. I'll regret the extra 10 pounds later, but for now, my only regret is that no one has invented time travel yet.

4) Trashy tv. Because what else are you supposed to do while stuffing your face with calories and regret?

5) Alcohol. Remember in college when you got drunk and kissed that kid you didn't actually like? Yeah, well now you've had a child with that kid, and you have to raise that child, TOGETHER. Go ahead and chug that wine sister.

There you have it. My survival guide. It's half assed like most of my decisions in life, but it's worked for me. And at the end of the day, before you pass out from too much junk food and wine, remember that things aren't that bad, because you did get a beautiful child from it all.

Living past the stigma.

When you introduce yourself to someone, what do you say? If you're like most people, it's probably something like, "Hi, I'm ____, it's nice to meet you." They probably respond with their name, and the conversation moves on. Well here, I have an ice breaker for you... "Hi, I'm Rachel, and I have bipolar disorder, severe anxiety, and OCD." Could you imagine if we all introduced ourselves by including the demons we struggle with? When you meet me you probably have no idea that in the time it took you to introduce yourself, I've already envisioned at least 10 worst case scenarios. My anxiety is at an all time high because I'm not in the safe surroundings of my house. My mind keeps telling me my hands are dirty and I need to go and wash them. But of course, I can't just simply say, 'excuse me for a minute, I need to go wash my hands'. It seems harmless enough to say it, but what if in the span of 30 minutes, I said it 10 times? 20?

The problem with mental illness is people are suffering silently. There's almost no visible symptoms. If you looked closely enough at me, you'd notice the skin around my nails is picked raw. But other than that, I look relatively normal. I'm 5'9", about 200 pounds. I wear normal clothing, and I look presentable. You would never know that I've wanted to die for half of my life. That during my teenage years I slept 18-20 hours out of the day. Today, I'm a mother. You will always spot me caring for a tiny tot. Playing, and laughing. You wouldn't know that behind that laughter, I'm thinking of the worst things that could happen at any given moment. Maybe to another parent I look a little like a helicopter parent. It's because in a way, I am. I don't live in the world of "it won't happen to us", I live in the world of it will probably happen to us. When my daughter decides she wants to run into the river, or play in the dirt, I'm panicking because I'm thinking about diseases and germs, and life and death situations that only happen to like 1% of people. When we're home and she's playing with her toys, and dumps the bins all over the floor, there's a voice in my head that tells me I need to clean it up immediately. Never mind that she's playing, I don't think rationally, all I see is clutter. Clutter makes me nervous. As I sit here and type this, I noticed crumbs on the carpet. To me, those crumbs will be the downfall of my day if I don't get up and vacuum them right now.

If I willingly went up to other people and told them my struggles, I bet they'd wonder about my child's welfare. But the truth is, being a mother is the only thing that keeps me relatively sane. It gives me the chance to put my entire life into something other than the storm inside my head. It gives me a reason to get up out of bed every single day. My daughter relies on me getting out of bed, and I cannot fail her. There used to be a time where I'd lay in bed for days at a time. I didn't care about eating, hygiene, or anything else. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. And no one relied on me, so I didn't move. But now, even on the days I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep, I know that I can't. Being a mother hasn't cured me of the chaos, but it's given me the strength to fight back. I still suffer throughout the day. Anxiety isn't rational, and I can't just turn it off. In the span of an entire day, I've probably thought about every horrible scenario you can think of at least once. I don't sleep, because I'm too nervous. Would you know any of this just by looking at me?

No.

I'm willing to bet you wouldn't go up to somebody with cancer and say, "just get over it". You would be considered an awful human being. They'd probably write news articles about you. So why do we do that with mental illness? It's just as deadly. In ages 15-24, suicide is the third leading cause of death. For 25-35, it is the second leading cause of death. 30,000 Americans commit suicide each year. On average, one person commits suicide every 16.2 minutes. These are real numbers. So, again, why isn't this taken seriously? There is such a disgusting stigma behind the reality of mental illness. It's talked about as if we're just a bunch of "crazy" people. Or it's talked about like everyone with a mental illness is a psychopath. If you are mentally ill, you are shunned. If you Google depression, and looked at images, I'm sure you'd see thousands of pictures of people crying, or with their heads down. That is not the reality. Yes, when you're depressed, you are sad. But I could go back to the days I wanted to kill myself, and find pictures of me smiling with friends. Why? Because I was ashamed of what people would say if they knew.

Now, at 24 years old, I am a mother, I am happy, and I am still living with my mental illness. But I'm not silent. Because I want people to know that there is hope. If I can give one person the strength they need to believe in a better day, than I've done something right. By many standards, I'm a failure. I still live at home. I don't work. But what would you say if I told you 3 weeks before I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to die? It wasn't that long ago I was laying in my bed, telling myself that dying was my best option. But now, almost 3 years later, I've never been happier. I still suffer from anxiety/OCD daily, but I cherish my life. With medication, therapy, and my daughter, I am able to live with the storm in my mind. The constant chaos that is my thoughts. I never thought there would be a day that I would say I am genuinely happy. I always thought I was better off just dead. Oh what a fool I was.

Even when the clouds are grey, even when there's no hope left in your heart, and your soul is dying, HOLD ON. Believe in a better day. Believe that you are wonderful. Believe that the world is a better place because you are in it. Find strength in the smallest things. Drown yourself in something that makes you happy. (For me, it's books. There's nothing like wandering through someone elses life so you can forget yours for awhile!) I promise that there is a light at the end of that bleak, mind-numbing tunnel. I can't tell you when you'll reach it, but I can promise that you will. I am living, breathing proof of that. I am living proof that mental illness is real, but it doesn't mean you're crazy. You can function, live, laugh, and love.

End the stigma. It's time to shine some light onto the darkest of topics. It's time to let everyone suffering know that they are normal. That they can fight their battles. That they can conquer anything.

March 20, 2010.

March 20, 2010.

5 years ago, I had an abortion. I was 19, and I hadn't spoken to my boyfriend in 5 days. I didn't know where he was, what he was doing, or who he was with. But I knew I was pregnant. When I finally got a hold of him, and told him the news, he hung up the phone. I was unable to reach him again. At 19 years old, I thought I knew everything. I thought I was in love. He ignored me for months. He told my mom to push me down the stairs, or to make a "concoction" to kill the baby. He was scared. He was a coward. My mom knew the best choice I could make would be to terminate the pregnancy. I wasn't mentally prepared to care for a child. I could barely care for myself. I was on several medications, and trying to manage my bipolar disorder. I was suicidal. As a person, I was barely whole. I could not be a mother. But still, my heart ached in ways I cannot describe when I walked into that clinic. I was alone. My God had abandoned me, my mother was ashamed, and the father of my child was absent. During my first consultation, I balled my eyes out for an hour. I told them "this is what I want to do", but I didn't believe that, and they didn't believe me. They sent me home. I went back 4 days later. I didn't cry. I told them I was at peace with my decision, and I knew it was what was best for me, and my child. I was a good liar.

In the waiting area, there sat 3 other women. It was quiet, and it was cold. On the table there was a book. I opened it and saw letters from hundreds of women to the baby they were terminating. I wrote my baby a letter. I'm sorry. During the procedure, the nurse held my hand. And even though I had my i-pod on, I asked her to walk me through it, so I would know when it was over. I cried silent tears, and wished to die. On the way home, my mother had to pull over on I-95 so I could throw up. When I got home, I spent the rest of the day in bed. I slept, I grieved. In the span of 15 days, I lost the person I loved, and a child. I was empty.

It's been 5 years since I sat in that cold, sterile room. It's been 5 years since I lost a part of myself. It's been 5 years since I gave up on my faith. Where am I now? One word. HERE. The last 5 years have been everything, except happy. I was living a lie. A lie that I truly believed. I was lost before I had my abortion, but after it, I was gone. I fell in love with the wrong guy. And even after the abortion, after the things he said, after the way he acted, I still greeted him with open arms. For another 2 1/2 years, I gave myself to him in every single way. I don't regret it though. I don't regret the emotional turmoil he caused. I don't regret the way he stole my joy, or took the light right out of my eyes. I don't regret loving him. In fact, I'd do it all over again. I'd do it a million times over...

Why? Because today, I am the mother of a beautiful (almost) 2 year old baby girl. She is everything that's good in this world. Before her, I was barely living. I had a heartbeat, and a pulse, but I wasn't alive. Lily brought me to life. Lily has given me purpose. Lily has saved my life. Lily is everything. I am happier than I've been in a really long time. I still struggle daily with anxiety/OCD. But I'm not sad, never sad. I live everyday with the love of my life, and I cherish every breath I breathe. 5 years ago I didn't know this was God's plan for me.

5 years ago I sat in a plain room and made a life changing decision. A decision that would not only alter how I viewed myself, but how I viewed my faith. 5 years ago I was alone, scared, confused, and hurt. I thought to myself, 'this is rock bottom', while I cried into a strangers arms. I hated God for putting that choice in His plans for me. I felt betrayed by everyone I cared about. And I hated myself more than ever. If I could go back to that sad, 19 year old version of me, I'd love to tell her that she's stronger than she thinks. I'd want her to know it gets better. I'd want to tell her that she'd experience a lot more heartache, but she'd come out of it loving herself in every way. 5 years ago seems like a lifetime now. 5 years ago I never imagined I'd be where I am now. By many standards, I've accomplished nothing in that time. But I know how far I've come. I'm glad I held on. I'm glad I survived. I'm happy to be where I am now.






"Promise me you'll think of me every time you look up in the sky and see a star." <3