Learning To Choose You

I’ve been in this constant struggle. A struggle that some days make me worse rather than better. A struggle that I’m battling uphill one day at a time.

I told myself that I’d be a better me. I would start choosing myself. Not in the “I’m leaving my kids” choosing me, but more being able to make my own choices and do what it is I want to do.

The problem is… I don’t know who I am today. I’ve become so accustomed of doing for others.

I started writing as an outlet to help me cope with the separation, with the changes I was going to have to face. Changes that I asked for. Changes that are affecting everyone around me and I get to reap the sorrow everyone feels.

One thing that I know is that as I’ve looked back on the photos from the past year until now and I can see the difference. I can see that the smile I have is genuine. I started working out for ME. I lost weight and gained muscle, for me. The best part is that I feel amazing. I feel confident in myself, in my choices, and that everything will work out. It may be a long journey and it’s not always going to be easy, but it’s going to be worth it. Every single sad, good, bad and happy moment will be worth it.

Nothing like a sister date night πŸ₯°πŸ˜Ž I never knew I would be able to feel this confident in choosing me.

The End of a Streak

I’m writing this on my bed the day before. The day before I should be celebrating three full years. Instead, it’s just another old date I’ll forget and now get to start my process all over.

I’ve been able to celebrate being seizure free for only two months now. Realizing that sucks. It’s like when you’ve worked on something for so long and worked so hard to get to that point, only for it to get shut down.

When you think about it, it’s not just me. It’s any person. The only difference between me and a regular joe, is when my body decides it’s ready to shut down, it major resets in my brain. (Ha insert awkward laugh) Let’s say that you’ve been killing it all week, kids and pets taken care of, house cleaned up, dinner and of course keeping up with work, so you decide to have a rest. Well, I don’t. I keep going and going like the Energizer Bunny. Then right when I think I can keep going, boom, brain shuts down to stop me from doing more.

I’ve attempted to jump right back in after an episode, but I ended up in worse shape. Look at me, just love to learn the hard way. So now, once it’s over, I get to take 3-5 business days to rest and feel better.

Well, here’s to the end of July 23, 2022.

I’m looking forward to May 7th, 2023.



July 14th

Oh how I dislike July 14th. It hasn’t always been this way, but ever since 2010, I’ve never wanted a day to pass over like I do the fourteenth. But after the semi better news I got yesterday, I can say that I’m more at peace with it. Maybe next year I won’t stay in bed and ghost everyone.

Every year, I’ve made an attempt to find a little bit of joy. I’d work in the yard, I’d make something that Pops would like, even if I wasn’t eating it, but somehow, I always end up in bed. This year, I accidently scheduled a doctor’s appointment that I had been putting off. Dragging myself out of bed at 6:45 in the morning wasn’t a good start. But once I got myself together, enough to not look homeless, I headed out.

After a few hours, I got out of my appointment and cried. Just enough to not be able to breathe and decided I wanted to get Whataburger. Thirty minutes. I waited thirty minutes for my food. Nothing like driving away and the food tasting like trash. So, I cried some more.

Eventually I got home, showered again, took meds and went to sleep. The entire day just dragged on. I had my mom to talk to about nothing. We just talked and laughed. We both knew the day, we both had feelings, but instead chose to talk to each other like it was a regular day.

Back into town, I grabbed some non-essentials and grabbed the boys from Eric.

Fast forward to almost nine o’ clock at night and I’m ready to work out. Except my emails that I’ve been avoiding are now going off. It was finally here. The results from my most recent EEG. The EEG that would tell me if I was getting worse, or if I’d finally been able to comfortably manage my seizures with less medications. (Excuse my language) I fucking did it. My results came back as abnormal per usual, but this time, it wasn’t taking over my life. It was “controlled”. The medications I’ve been are actually helping.


It’s not something that is gone. I’ll still have my days, my moments. But for now, I can breathe. Thank you Pops. You really are my Angel.

Heartache & Soul.

When I set out on this journey, I remember my mom telling me that it wouldn’t be easy. My dad told me that he would support whatever decision I made, but that I needed to make sure that the boys were taken care of.

It’s been months of feeling trapped. Feelings of discomfort. It was similar to not being able to handle the growing pains. Do you recall when you’d get them in the middle of the night and they hurt so bad, but “you were growing” so it was fine? That’s how I felt. I felt like I was growing but there wasn’t enough room for me.

So I walked away. I walked away like I said I would never do. It’s scary. Scary knowing that I’m walking into the next chapter of my life without the person I thought I’d spend forever with. It’s funny how things can change for you. Change in so many ways that make you feel lighter. Like everything is going to be okay. The feeling of peace. How is it that I’m so okay with everything? I emotionally detached myself for months. I watched myself do it. I read books, I started working out harder, hell I even started writing more.

I can feel myself being fine. I think the trauma is watching my boys miss their dad. Not knowing why he’s taking his stuff from the home we once shared. Having him come and sit for a movie, only to turn around and go back to his own place. It’s watching my oldest cry on my bed as I hold him without either of us saying a word. I see myself in him so terribly much and I know he’s trying to be strong. So, the moment I saw him breaking down, I knew that he didn’t need words, he just needed to be held. And that’s what I’ll continue to do until he says otherwise.

My heart breaks for them. I keep thinking that maybe it’s just me being selfish. Maybe I should just stick it out until they turn 18 and then I can start my life, right? But then I remember, they deserve me at my happiest. This is me at my happiest in a very long time. It just took some risk to bring it out. And for that, I can only apologize and keep moving forward. Moving towards making sure the boys are better adjusted before school starts. That they are continuously reminded how much we both love them, but we are going to love them from two different homes.

It won’t always be like this. Not forever. It’ll get better. It just takes time. And lots of patience.

The A Word

I had an abortion. Every day since then I have never been the same. I have never forgiven myself. I’ve gone through multiple therapists, I’ve spoken to others that had been in my position, yet I’m still in the same position, hateful.

It wasn’t that it’s what I wanted. It’s what I needed. I needed to have it; it was me choosing my life. It was me ensuring that my boys had their mom for the rest of their lives. It was making sure that Eric didn’t raise them in just sport shorts and t-shirts. It was making sure that my mom didn’t raise them to be spoiled because they truly believe their Nana is rich rich.

My body couldn’t sustain another human. I was going to continue having seizures if I didn’t terminate the pregnancy. I just wasn’t healthy enough. How can you have a body that just lets you down like that? It was and sometimes still is the biggest hurt I have ever felt.

So last week when I saw the Roe V Wade ruling, my heart sank. My heart sank for the women that are going to go through unthinkable and unimaginable things because some old guys think they know what’s best for a woman’s body. Women that are too young, don’t have the money, the insurance or even the sense (because sometimes you just mess up) are going to have to bring a child into THIS world that they can’t take care of. So what happens when the foster families won’t take children? Or when child abuse becomes greater? Then what happens Mr. Old Men? People think that by “saving lives” they’re actually saving lives. Newsflash, y’all aren’t. You’re making this Country look like a damn fool and you’re turning the clocks back way too far. I hope that when you were making this decision, you were thinking about your daughters, your granddaughters, nieces and every female in your family. It’s going to hit you one day, but it’ll be too late. Your actions are going to have consequences and karma will always come around.



PS: I’m always down for a good road trip. If you ever feel the need to go to another state for help, I’ll gladly take you. No strings attached, other than a nice road trip followed by unhealthy road trip snacks.

And The Thunder Rolls

I feel like I was sidetracked, and this made sense to start another part of the story. About a month ago I felt compelled to begin the decluttering process in my house. I did a small amount of the “Does it bring you joy?” I think it was more along the lines of “there’s no more room, let it go.”

I got rid of clothes that didn’t fit, blankets that were definitely from the old days and then I started with random household items. As I was going through my closet, which has only just begun, I sat on the floor and wept.

See, my mom had given me two of my baby dresses that have sat in my closet for years. The dresses have followed me from apartment to rental to the house I now own. They’re a part of me, my story.

Ok. I know I had some bomb fashion as a child.

So why the hell was I crying about these dresses? I feel like a part of me was always expecting to have more kids. I mean my kids are a lot. I don’t know how my mom had four of us and managed to stay sane. But, hey, I wanted a girl. I felt like that was going to complete the family.

When I was diagnosed with epilepsy in late 2018, I think I became even more hardheaded than I already was. What did I decide to do? Go against every doctor’s advice and try for another baby. By March 2019, after a lovely stay in the ICU that I cannot even remember, I had done it. Until I couldn’t.

I’m not sure I’m ready to feel the wrath of the world knowing more. Maybe not yet. Or ever. Time will tell.



How Did You Know?

Was there ever a moment when you were looking at child one, two or three and decided at that moment, nope, no more kids for me? Maybe they had just really worked your nerves that day. Maybe the pregnancy was everything less than stellar. It wasn’t the flaunt your belly and look so graceful like so many show off on social media. There’s almost always a reason. I’ve even heard that after something special happens, you’ll feel “complete” and just know that your family has everything you need.

I don’t ever remember feeling completely done. I didn’t think I’d want more kids after I had Preston. But I also didn’t think a lot of things in my life would happen. After I had Owen, which was such a gross pregnancy, I can recall the moment my OB told me the chances of having any more kids was slim to none. Oh okay. That just got decided for me. I mean it’s not like I ever liked being pregnant. It was rough, to say the least, but for someone to tell me that I couldn’t, well that was a challenge.

It wasn’t until 2016 that we were brave enough to try for that baby girl. Between the constant all day sickness, the multiple trips to the emergency room, followed by brief stays in and out for dehydration and antibiotics for who knows what, we found out it was going to be another boy. Oh, how hard I cried. It wasn’t that I was mad or disappointed, I think it was just the idea of knowing I was risking so much and I thought The Big Guy would cut me a small break. The months that followed and leading up to Little Lucas Quinn coming into the world were rough. We tried to hide it for as long as possible knowing that at any moment something could go wrong…

Alas, after a long evening/night of walking Town Center for the boys to trick or treat, a fresh shower was everything I could want. Unfortunately, there’s nothing like laying down and feeling like you’ve peed yourself. Whoops. Possible TMI. But it’s my story. With my mom laughing at me as I waddle to the bathroom, I tell her that no, it’s still happening, and she explains my water must have broken and I should probably go to the hospital. November 1, 2016, Lucas Q came into the world looking exactly like his daddy. He was everything I could’ve imagined. Another amazingly perfect baby boy. My heart had never been so full. Why is it that I still wanted more? Why was I set on trying again? There was something telling me to.

But for now, I was content. Content with being a boy mom to the most wonderful trio I could imagine.


There are so many moments in life when giving up would’ve been the easiest solution. I’ve lived in this “fight or flight” mode for most of my life. I can’t fully understand why, but I’ve told myself one too many times that I needed to learn how to manage this mode. Not manage but decrease the urge.

I saw a quote the other day and it hit me. It hit me because as I’m writing this, on the outside everything is fine. I take care of my boys, my job keeps me busy, and I run the house as semi as any other bat shit crazy mom. Inside, I’m broken. There’s no amount of working out, starvation or sleepless nights that’ll change it.

No amount of medication for anxiety or depression will save me. I have to save myself. I have to rescue the part of me that hasn’t been able to heal. Heal. It’s like when you put Neosporin and expect your cut to be fixed instantly. That’s not how it works. Healing takes time. Healing takes patience. Patience is something that I have never been good at. This time, I don’t have a choice but to be.

Now, the journey continues, and I hope that one day, the pain I’ve caused, the pain I feel, can heal. I refuse to let myself stay toxic and hurt inside. I refuse to push everyone I care about away. I refuse to continue the ugly cycle. I have to be the change. I have to be better. I have to show my boys the best version of me. And I’ll keep going until I get back to her.



And Here We Go Again

I don’t think there is an exact feeling I haven’t felt since my last episode. I’ve drowned the pain in loud music and as much busy work as I can handle. Hell, maybe more than I can handle. But I just keep going. That’s how it goes, you keep going until you don’t have any more in you. At least that’s the pattern I follow.

I’ve been told I do too much. I’ve been told that I need to rest. My nights have become restless, and my mind continues to wander. Don’t forget this. Did you make sure to do that? It becomes never ending. I don’t really know what it’s like to fully rest. Is it something you learn? Ha. I will say, it’s been added to my bucket list of things I’d like to make happen this year.

On to the next phase of testing 🀞🏼

But back to the main focus of writing tonight. I was forced into tests on tests of my brain. It’s mainly to show the world what a genius’s brain looks like. (insert corny laugh) I actually had to take one to ensure that I didn’t have any abnormal growths, which I don’t. For that, I’m grateful. I have to make sure to continuously remind myself of that. Not that I don’t believe it, but I actually am. I’m grateful to still have my boys, my job and my ability to drive myself around. I know that at any moment it could be taken from me. Or vice versa.

The second test, an EEG, it wasn’t as pleasant. It’s why I felt the need to talk. It’s why I started to panic and think that something really is wrong with me. I got to lay down while a lady put wires and glue all over my head. I have excellent test skills. But my EEG said otherwise. It’s showing that maybe my wavelengths aren’t as strong as they should be. Maybe the medication I’ve been on for the past three years has been a waste. A waste of time and money. A waste of trial and error that could’ve been used on some other options.

Getting this glue out of hair is the WORST.

I called my mom. I needed her. No matter how low I am, it’s something about her that reminds me of peace. It took her reexplaining that the medication I’m currently on is to control my seizures, it cannot fix my actual brain wave lengths. I will always have to live with epilepsy. Fudgeeescicle. I never ever wanted to believe that it was something I’d long term, forever and ever live with. A part of me still doesn’t want to believe it. I feel like maybe I’d be able to continue my semi healthy lifestyle and keep trudging along.

So what are my next moves?

I get to take another test in five weeks. I get to go to the neurologist and fight her on the medication she feels I need. I get to try other methods of relief that people may or may not feel a certain way about. Legally. I get to keep moving at this fast pace because it’s the only way for me to not go crazy. But most importantly, I get to spend the next seventy days with my boys and enjoying our summer together. Now that’s the best and most grateful feeling I can have right now.

We just don’t know what the otherwise outcome would be.



Getting Caught Up

It’s crazy to me how well things can be going, only for it to blow up in your face. Not in the literal, holy cow look at that dumpster fire, but you know what I mean.

It all started out as a normal Girl’s Night. My sister-in-law and I were all kinds of prepared for what the night would bring. We ate, we drank and we danced the night away. You see, she’s a stay home mom of the youngest of my nieces. Then there is me, who of course never lets loose anymore. And boy did we. We danced and sang all night. It was everything I needed to start out Mother’s Day weekend. Yes, yes I get an entire weekend.

What I didn’t expect was the next morning everything would be flipped upside down. It’s like the past two years didn’t mean a thing. It’s like no matter how hard I had worked, had trained my body, it still failed me. I can’t remember much, only what Eric told me happened. And I don’t think it gets easier seeing the look on his face when I wake up. Do you know what it feels like to disappoint someone? You aren’t human if you don’t. It’s bound to have happened at least once in your life. Well, that’s the face I get to wake up to. Even though it isn’t my fault, even though I had no control over what my body would do. And that hurts. It hurts knowing that something is supposed to keep you safe, your body is meant to keep you from harm, and it still has the ability to fail you.

I’m not sure what this next chapter brings. Believe it or not this is the first time in a long time that I don’t have a plan. I’m the biggest planner. I live with so many calendars to ensure nothing is forgotten. But at this very moment, I’m blank. I just want to hide away like a hermit crab. Run away from every small problem. Being afraid of your own life is the crumbiest feeling.