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Stitches

I was 28 when I met you.  I was in a hurry.  I was so young and yet I felt as if I’d already had two separate lives and you were the beginning of the third.  I survived an abusive and neglected childhood, sexual abuse, sexual violence, abandonment, relationship failures, unwed motherhood, homelessness, two different colleges and a deep and unyielding sense of aloneness mixed with hope for change.  I felt responsible for the world. I felt responsible for fixing each and every mistake I ever witnessed in my parents’ relational patterns.  I felt responsible for making sure that any and every person in my little girl’s life was as close to Jesus “perfect” as humanly possible.  I was convinced that was the only way I could possibly break the generational curses in our family and offer my daughter something more.  I was convinced I was right and petrified I’d fail.

You were quiet and sweet and unassuming.  You were happy with who you were and you looked at me like I was a beautiful work of Gods hand.  You let me lead while you gently tried to convince me I was safe with you.  I loved you immediately.  You scared me to death. You didn’t have any of the worldly achievements I thought anyone I was with HAD to have for us to be successful.  The kindness and goodness you DID have made me believe that if I fixed you (yes I know) that we’d be fine. You just had to meet my ever rising expectations for who you were supposed to be.

With my love (I absolutely did love you)  I l slowly but surely began re-making you to fit the image in my mind.  The more I asked the more you gave.  The more I cried the more you caved.  The more I demanded the more you tied yourself in knots to suit me.  I pushed you so hard that I backed you into a corner. I asked you to achieve goals that were not only unnecessary they were impossible. Rather than disappoint me you lied.  You told me what I wanted to hear.  You could have pushed back, hurt me and told the truth.  You could have stood up for yourself and rightfully demanded that I either accept you as you were or let you walk away.  You didn’t. You let me bully you.  You responded to my demands with a sheepish apology first and then later lies and lies and more lies.

Once the lies were discovered I was utterly crushed.  I also suddenly had an overwhelming sense of comfort with you.  I told you how angry I was and then I begged you to take me to bed.  I begged you to stay with me for two more weeks.  You were crestfallen and confused  If I was furious why did I want you to stay.  If I was hurt and angry why did I want you more?  All perfectly reasonable questions. particularly for someone who has spent life watching healthy loving relationships.  I had no answers then.

I’m 42 and I have them now.  I set us up for failure. I refused to accept you as you were and just see if we could make a life.  I demanded that you become someone else while insisting that I was just encouraging you to do what was best.  I didn’t let you determine your own path.  You let me steamroll you.  I realize I’m a formidable force when I use all the tools of dysfunction that I’ve gathered in my life.  I had no real idea the damage I was doing.  Yes, I was wounded by the lies.  Yes, they broke my heart.  They also were soul deep familiar to me.  I knew how to react to THAT kind of relationship to THAT kind of behavior.  For me, that’s the only love I’d ever seen.  I knew how to play that part and now that you were playing the part of the lying bastard I knew how to play the part of the ever-loving, ever suffering martyr.

We went round and round for 12 years. Trying and failing, loving and crying, ending and beginning.  Round and round and round until one day you cried, uncle.  You said enough.  You couldn’t do it anymore and you were gone.  No discussion, no argument, no tears, no bargaining: gone.  GONE. I was stunned.  I never expected you to leave for good.  I never expected you to protect yourself.  I never expected to be someone you needed protection from.

I honestly didn’t know what happened to lead up to the abrupt exit.  It took me a while and then one day I found the answer.  It was NOT anything I ever expected.  I found a book for adult children of narcissistic parents.  I began reading it to try to find some recovery from what I went through as a child and quickly discovered that I had created the same suffering in the people I love the most.  *I* had many narcissistic behaviors and habits.  I was manipulative, judgmental, irrational and unrelentingly impossible to please.  I had pushed you (and others) to the absolute limit.  I pushed you out of my life so you could save your own.  Talk about a kick in the gut.  I couldn’t breathe.  In my memory, every conversation, every fight, every breakup and makeup ran through my head with a magnifying glass squarely on my narcissistic behavior and your desperately confused response and attempt to please me.  Immediately after it all ran through my mind I ran to the bathroom as it all flew up and out in a fit of vomiting.   My stomach just could not handle what my head and heart were finally piecing together.

Since that day I have studied and worked to change my thought patterns and my behavior.  I went to each of my most deeply loved relationships and owned my abusive behavior and asked forgiveness and how I could make it right.  The only one left to make amends to was you.  I reached for you and you weren’t there.  I called to you and was answered with silence.  I finally resorted to desperate tactics and begged you to answer me and thank God you did.  I recounted the last few enlightening moths.  I apologized for abuse I dished out.  I asked how I could make it right.  In true form.  You graciously and sweetly accepted my apology, granted forgiveness and even praised me for having the courage to do the right thing.  All the love I have for you immediately flooded every single cell in my body.

I told you how I felt.  I asked how you felt.  I discovered you had moved on.  My abuse had wounded you to the point of closing your heart to any feelings other than a loving friendship with me.  Again, all the air was sucked out of my lungs.  Hot, guilty tears streamed down my cheeks as I steadied my voice so that my selfish hopes did not burden you further. I laughed with you and we talked off and on for a little less than an hour.  As we ended our chat I asked for one more chance.  Just one more.  You asked me to give you a couple of weeks to see how you might feel.  I’ve done that.

Now, after a month of silence and heart-wrenching waiting, I’ve hand sewn a quilt as an offering of love and hope. As I sit here it is somewhere in Chicago waiting for the next leg of the trip before it lands in Scotland on your doorstep.  My heart is in that box. Wrapped in the folds of that blanket, prayers sewn with every stitch of thread.  Love made manifest in patterns and fabric.  The two weeks have come and gone and your silence remains.  My offering, my heart, and my hopes for our future are somewhere in a warehouse in Chicago.  Me?  I’m (more patiently than I have in my lifetime thus far) waiting for word.  I’m waiting for that box to reach your doorstep.  I’m waiting for that offering to wrap you in the willingness to let hope win over fear.  I’m praying with every cell in my body and soul that God’s will is us and that your heart will allow you to take one more leap of faith.  I realize that the entire prospect of changing every single part of your life on the promise that another person will love, honor and keep you until death we do part is deeply frightening.   I’m scared too.  The only thought that scares me more is a future without you in it.  So, I’ll wait.  I’ll pray,  I’ll stay busy and distracted as much as possible to make the time go faster.  My heart will sit wrapped in that box in Chicago until the day that it reaches your hands.  When it does, open it carefully, my heart is fragile.  The only safe place it’s ever known is your hands.

stitches

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Dreamy

Last night I had a beautiful dream. It was weird and jumbled up (as most dreams seem to be) but beautiful just the same. I got to see two weddings in bits and pieces. They were both mine. They were both AMAZING. Now, I’ve never been married and always wanted to be so I know that’s one of the reasons the dream was both weird and wonderful. It was in flashes so forgive the ‘flash like” bits and pieces that are going to come at ya.

The first marriage was to a very sweet, handsome and strong man with a bald head and a broad smile that shined like the sun. He was very affectionate and never let a day go by without making me feel adored. He hugged me and kissed me and laughed with me constantly. Looking in his eyes made my heart beat faster and my entire body warm. I can see us kissing, hear our mingled laughter, see his sparkling dark eyes. He is my joy in human form. My love. My husband. ~sigh~

We went on a boat, some type of trip, he died on the trip. We knew it was coming when it happened. I didn’t know how I could go on. I saw flashes of our wedding. Of the people who were there. The smiles on faces that I cherished. The face of his best man, his best friend. I saw over and over again my love, my husband, in my mind and I fell to my knees in grief. My heart couldn’t beat again. My warmth was gone. My world was lost in a wisp of wind. My heart was broken. I grieved. I grieved. I grieved.

Then I saw myself in a mirror, in a dress of copper hue. The men were wearing deep chocolate brown ties and suits and we’re all walking in a line. I’m feeling more beautiful than I thought could be possible. I am feeling so thankful for this moment, these people. We are waiting our turn to be the wedding party. The wedding before us is almost over, I’m almost ready. I’m checking everyone to see that they are in place. They are all smiling broadly at me and a few gasp as they see me and tell me how lovely I am. My dress is copper and brown and perfection in fabric and color. My heart is flying high. I close my eyes and I see that love that I lost. He holds me close and he whispers to me to be happy. “Be happy the way you made my life happy. Love him and let him love you. Love deeply. Live happily. I’m at peace now”.

The tears flow fast and freely now. I can feel his arms around me and I ache to be held again. I open my eyes and before me is my new love, my husband to be. His best man. His best friend. My new love. My husband to be. He is beautiful. He is strong. He is soft. His chin is strong. His curls are soft and black. he has them tied back at his neck and his coppery orange tie makes me smile. My eyes look up and reach his. All are filled with tears and love. He wraps his arms around me and whispers “I miss him too. He’s with us today.” I wrap my arms around him and feel warmth filling me again. Feel my heart ache with it’s broken fullness.

Then I’m looking for my father. He’s nowhere to be found. I sing a little rhyming song about waiting 37 years for this moment. I wish I could remember the words now that I’m awake. I spin in a circle and my friends gathered cheer and sing the rhyme with me. The happiness is palpable. I keep looking at my dress and feeling beautiful and loving the beauty of the colors. I notice a pacifier pinned to the front of my dress and I smile at the thought of my sweet daughter who is with me in spirit even though her body is in another country today. I miss her. My son, he’s the best man today. My arm slides into my father’s as he appears confused and wondering why he’s there. I remind him that of course I want him here today. “Put your bags down and walk with me, it’s our turn now. We walk arm in arm down the downward slanting isle My eyes lock with my new love and we both smile and shine. Our hands intertwine and I look down at them and then up at him as he kisses my lips. He is so soft and strong, So loving and brave. So safe and sound. He is my home. He is my love and my friend. He is my forever.

My eyes open to my room full of sunshine and my daughter with her dog. The dream is over now the real world is calling me. The dream keeps echoing in my head. The feeling of love still filling my heart. The colors spinning in my mind. I hope this dream is a vision of part of my future. I want to have that feeling every single day. Eyes open, heart full, life lived. That’s my prayer. That’s my hope. That’s my dream.

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Who Killed Virginia Woolf? CW: suicide; ableism; sexual abuse

Painfully real. Painfully beautiful

Karrie higgins

In response to Amanda Lauren and XOJane. This is what it means to be triggered by your ableist, thoughtless, cruel writing. This is what happens when people with mental illness and disability internalize ableism. This is how words become deadly.

Content warning: suicide; ableism; mental illness; abuse; caregiver abuse; psychiatric commitment; violence; dead bodies

If you are in suicide crisis, please call the National Suicide Hotline at 1 (800) 273-8255.

If you are a victim of sexual assault in crisis, please call RAINN at 800.656.HOPE (4673).

___

The first time it happened, a stranger in Prairie Lights bookstore in Iowa City called me “the second coming.” He was pointing to a display of tote bags and t-shirts printed with Virginia Woolf’s portrait.

Black and white profile photograph of Virginia Woolf. She is seated facing left, with her long hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. She wears a white, long-sleeved dress. Her mouth is closed, face relaxed, and eyes appear almost unfocused. English novelist and critic Virginia Woolf (1882 – 1941), 1902. (Photo by George C. Beresford/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

“That could be you,” he said.

He didn’t know I was a writer…

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Prince and the Sparkle Brains (cw: disability, ableism, sexual abuse)

I love this so much. As someone who’s gone from being a “pretty girl with a limp” to a “fat woman in a wheelchair” among other similarities between us,(in that it’s very hard to see yourself as a whole person sometimes when you are ‘sparklebrain’ and other people delete your gender or your sexuality or any other part of you that makes you whole and beautiful) this was a moment where I thought of myself as ‘same’ and ‘different’ simultaneously. This is beautiful.

Karrie higgins

The day Prince died, I was walking to the audiologist office to pick out hearing aids, Purple Rain playing on my purple iPod, my lipstick-red walking cane tapping its drumbeat on the sidewalk, vibrating through my wrist bones to my elbow bones to my shoulders to my clavicles to my brain, telling me: I am whole. Without my cane, without that drumbeat, my brain gets confused: Where is my musical limb?

The cane makes music just for me. When I walk to the beat, I drum to the beat. Doesn’t matter about my hearing anymore. I am a walking musical instrument.

Except it does matter, because certain music saved my life. Certain music still saves my life.

Maybe I can hear Prince like I did when I was a kid, I thought. How much of his music am I missing? What frequency is his voice?

I wanted a purple hearing aid to match my pastel…

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16 Unconventional Signs You’ve Found Your Soulmate

Absofreakin’lutely

Thought Catalog

Screen Shot 2014-06-16 at 5.29.49 PMLulu Lovering

1. You’ve split up — often unpredictably and unexpectedly. Soul mates rarely experience “happily ever after” right away, despite what media and culture tells us. Often the meeting is too intense to absorb immediately, and you have to separate for a while. You find your way back though.

2. They’ve changed you for the better. The people who we are affected by the most are the ones who have changed us just by their presence in our lives overhauling everything we thought we knew and wanted. It’s not a bad thing, this is supposed to happen, usually.

3. You recognize a family member in them. This sounds strange, but in my best friends and romantic partners, I can always tell they’re going to be someone to me upon first meeting because they instantly remind me of my mom or dad or sibling — not in a creepy way, in a…

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16 Things Your Girlfriend’s Best Friend Wants You To Know

ALL THIS! SO MUCH THIS!

Thought Catalog

1. I’m going to know before you know. I’m going to come first with the stuff that matters: her successes, struggles, joys, bad moods, qualms with you. This is not to say you won’t come first one day, just that you shouldn’t take it personally that she’s discussed her personal crisis with me before you get a text about it. (Down the line, you’ll probably look back and realize you prefer it this way.)

2. She and I are already in a groove. We communicate entire thoughts with emojis, know what the other one is thinking from a glance, know when and how to intervene in a personal crisis, etc. So when we start hilariously cracking up over something you seem to be painfully on the outside of, just let us have that moment.

3. I am the only person she knows she has to respond to immediately (with the exception of…

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Class Act?

I was having a particularly bad episode of whatever this stupid thing is that I live with.  I don’t know if it’s depression or anxiety or both or something else entirely anymore and frankly, I don’t give a crap unless knowing the right “label” for it would bring me some healing that I have yet to find.  In any case,  I decided to go for a ride with my sister and my kids to get dinner and was waiting in the car while she picked up her order when I encountered a self-appointed member of the morality police.

As she got out of her enormous SUV that was parked next to my 20 year old Corolla in her speedo shorts and tank top she bent herself in half to look INSIDE my car (which had all the windows down) to STARE directly at me.  I looked over and faked a smile then looked away.  She walked toward the same restaurant my sister was in and continued looking back and starring.  She was inside for a bit and then came back out and continued staring.  I mean going OUT OF HER WAY to STARE at ME.  directly at ME. So about the third staring marathon, I finally looked at her and said “WHAT?”  “What are you starring at?”  She said “You’re parked in a handicapped space.”  I said “yep, that’d be because I’m actually handicapped thanks.”  I looked and realized that I didn’t have the placard up on the rearview ~GASP~ Then … I heard her mutter under her breath.. “I don’t think I believe THAT”.  I got (admittedly) irrationally pissed off at this incredibly rude and nosey (not to mention WRONG) assumption and said:  “You know what sweetheart here ya go.. here it is SEE HAS MY NAME RIGHT ON THERE PROVING THAT I AM INDEED HANDICAPPED.”  (while holding the placard as close to her window as I could reach from across the car.

She refused to look up from the seat of her enormous SUV so I LAID on my horn until she did and shoved it in the window again and said.. “Here ya go sweetheart, do you feel better, do I have your personal approval to park here now?”  I hung it on the review mirror and she said:  “You should have it hanging up” and I said.. “Your right I ABSOLUTELY SHOULD FORGIVE ME FOR ANNOYING YOU AND FORGETING TO HANG MY HANDICAPPED PERMISSION SLIP UP.  DO YOU FEEL BETTER NOW?”  To which she said the comment that makes me the most irrationally angry THAT ANY comment can:  “You should be glad someone cares!”

Ok, aside from the patronizing, nosey, insulting tone she took on from moment one, let me take a moment to explain why this type of comment pisses me off.

  1. NO ONE has the right to tell me or anyone else how to feel in ANY situation.
  2. Having a disability does NOT mean that I need someone else to speak or do anything else to ‘protect’ me unless I ask for it.
  3. Having a disability also does NOT mean that I am REQUIRED to feel ANY way about ANY behavior of anyone regarding my disability or anyone else’s.
  4. I don’t have to be constantly happy or sad or thankful for anything.  I have a right to MY OWN PERSONAL FEELINGS IN ANY GIVEN SITUATION JUST LIKE ANYONE ELSE
  5. People with handicaps are NOT (contrary to popular sentiment) on the earth to prove to others how the only disability is a ‘bad attitude’.  That is bullshit.  Disabilities are REAL.  They are OFTEN painful.  They are OFTEN annoying and create regular disappointments and can also VERY OFTEN lead to depression and anxiety and other issues that are all legitimate reactions to being in a body that doesn’t look, feel or act like you or others want or expect it to.  I DON’T need special permission to be angry or sad or any other ‘negative’ emotions; and it doesn’t mean I should turn in my “happy handicapped motivational prop card”  (which by the way, I never asked for nor do I want).   In fact, if it is something that can be returned, consider THIS post my resignation from that RIDICULOUS STEREOTYPED position that other people put “us’ in so that they can USE us to motivate themselves by remembering.. “Hey, don’t get too depressed about your life!  Remember, it could always be worse, you could be THEM and besides, look how happy the little  “gimps’ are!  If they can do it then I can!”
  6. GAG.
  7. I am not required to be thankful for anyone sticking their busybody nose into my personal business or anyone else’s for that matter.

Ok, now that I’ve explained that:  My response to her was “Well, surprisingly I’m NOT thankful and would prefer you minding your own f***ing business actually, thanks for asking!”  To which she responded: “You’re a class act.”  I thanked her of course.  lol

Now, I will be the first to admit that this was indeed an overreaction and most certainly not the classiest way it could have been handled.  I will say however, that it was an honest reaction.  It was a real reaction and it was actually a restrained reaction.  If I’d had my way I would have gone through this entire list with Ms. Busy Body and asked her if she had obtained permission from her eco conscience friends to drive that gas guzzling beast of a status symbol she was smugly sitting in while waiting on some underpaid employee to make her over-packaged food.  I also would have asked her who appointed her the morality police.  Or, for that matter, the “class” police because I would say that sticking your nose in a total strangers business and assuming the worst about them is pretty classless.

I discovered when my sister came out that this gem of a human being had also verbally accosted her in the store. To which my sister had politely replied, that she was driving a placard holding disabled person who may or may not decide to come in the store, thank you very much.  The woman was so bent on correcting us she STILL came out and ‘confronted’ ME and I’m the “class act” in this situation.  Really?

Most people who know me know that I am generally a very happy person.  Glass half full, sunny side up, bright side finding, sun shining out of my ass kind of person.  This is just who I prefer to be.  It makes life easier and more fun.  However, there are times where I am legitimately sad, angry, depressed or annoyed and I am allowed to have those feelings as well.  You know why?  I am a PERSON with a disability.  NOT JUST a disability or a prop for others to be motivated by.  I love you people.  It’s why I share this stuff.  Especially the not so pretty stuff.  I really think down in the foxhole (so to speak) is where you find out who people really are. You learn the lessons that make you a better person and your life and  your world a better place.

Thanks for meeting me in the foxhole.  I’ll see ya when the bombing ends and it’s safer for me to come out.
KP

Terribly real

Miracles Happen on God’s Time, NOT Ours

*His name was changed, because frankly, I can’t remember what it actually WAS!  lol

“Hey Kandice, you have a phone call!”  I locked up my cash register and ran down the incline to the customer service desk where the phone had been pulled up to reach the desk and grabbed the receiver thinking: who on EARTH would call me here rather than just waiting until I get off work.  I looked at my manager, a man I’d known about two years, and suddenly didn’t want the phone call after all.  He had a look of sheer panic worry on his face as he pushed the reciever in my direction.

“This is Kandice.”  “Hey Kandy, it’s *Michael from from the doctor’s office.”  “Oh, hi. What’s up?”  “Can you have someone drive you to Vanderbilt right now?”  “Um, well no I’m working but I’ll just walk over when my shift is over.”  “No, I’d really rather you come now and don’t come alone.”  “Wow, ok I’ll ask about coming now but you have to tell me why so I don’t worry all the way there please.”  “Remember we drew blood when you told us you had missed two periods and the pregnancy test came back negative?”  “Yes, and are  you about to tell me I’m the next recipient of immaculate conception?”  (no laughter from him… this CAN’T be good)  “Ok well, you’re blood test came back and I need to see you.”  “Are you going to tell me or make me suffer?”  “You have a brain tumor.  Can someone drive you?”   “Um, no, I’ll be ok.  I’ll just walk over.”  “Ok, I’ll wait for you at the ER door and we’ll walk up to the MRI room together.  Ok.?”  “Yeah.”

I handed the phone back to my boss and stared blankly.  He asked me if I was ok and I said rather matter of factly, apparently I have a brain tumor and need to go up to Vandy right now for an MRI.  So, I guess the answer is no.  He said he’d drive me there but I really felt like I needed the walk and the quiet between the small grocery store where I worked and the hospital where I was going to have the MRI.  I don’t really remember the walk.  I do remember walking into the ER and not seeing Michael, the intern anywhere so I just asked where to find the MRI waiting room and went there.  I sat down and waited.  I had the impression that the MRI was waiting for me, but was told once I arrived that I actually would need to wait until a spot opened up between emergencies.  So, I decided I didn’t really want to be there alone after all and called my friend Shawn who seemed to arrive within seconds (although I’m sure it took her at least an hour to get there from Murfreesboro where she was in school)  We sat together silently (the word brain tumor at 20 tends to silence most people)  Then, Micheal arrived.  I didn’t recognize him in his street close and backpack, as I had only ever seen him in his “intern clothes”  (read scrubs).  He walked up and smiled at me and sat down saying, I didn’t want you to be alone.  Sorry I missed you at the ER.    I just smiled.  “So, brain tumor huh?”  Not exactly sure the response I was expecting.  “Well, yes, but let’s see what the MRI shows us before we talk about specifics ok?”  “Ok then”

Turns out, I did, in fact, have a benign pituitary tumor called a prolactinoma that is basically an uncontrolled growth on your pituitary gland that stops your periods and can cause you to lactate and without successful treatment can lead to infertility, vision loss and or total blindness.  After some research on my part and the very real and appreciated support of my wonderful intern (doctor) we found the right medication for me. It shrank the tumor (which meant no surgery..YAY) reinstated my periods and had no impact on my vision whatsoever!  Talk about blessed!  Finding the right medication was no walk in the park but we did it.  This left me with only one bit of bad news to swallow:  Thanks to this tumor I was going to be unable to have children.

To know me NOW is to know that was like a death sentence to me.  To know me THEN was to not realize how devastating that ‘life sentence’ was because I felt I wasn’t allowed to say that all I really wanted was to be a mom and every single thing I studied was toward the goal of making me a better wife and mother when the time came.   I studied social work, I studied the facts about this tumor, I took my medication and began spiralling into a very dark, quiet, angry depression.  I broke up with a young man whom I loved very much b/c I felt that I could not give him what he wanted anymore.  I dated other people who were a waste of time and energy because there was no point in being choosy now.  The depression worsened and went undiagnosed and untreated.  In fact four years went by the last of which I was dating a man whom was kind but dishonest at first.  Later he wasn’t so kind and I still couldn’t bring myself to leave.  I stayed on birth control despite the ‘infertile’ diagnosis because I knew WITHOUT A DOUBT that in spite of how much I wanted children I did NOT want them with him.  We used protection as well.  Then, one night, after having gotten back together after yet another attempt at a break up we slept together and (without getting too graphic) when it was over I knew the INSTANT I was pregnant.

Absurd, I suppose it would sound that way to some.  Nonetheless, I KNEW.  When I was a young teenager I knew for weeks before I started my period that it was coming.  I could feel things happening in there that I’d never felt before.  I could actually FEEL my ovaries ‘revving up’ as it were.  Same here.  I could FEEL the change.  I could feel what seemed like electricity inside my womb.  I remember thinking: “what the hell was THAT?”  I felt a little sick and a little worried and a little excited.  I just KNEW.  I pushed it out of my head thinking.  NO WAY!  You know what the doctor said and for goodness sake you are as protected as a human being can be in the situation (having been on the depo provera shot for a year, and having used condoms as well as having been told by this partner that he was also infertile).  Some time passed and I started having symptoms of pregnancy.  I bought something like 10 tests and brought them to the house I was dog sitting in.  I used three or four before I finally sat on the edge of the tub staring at four plus signs and thinking: “Holy Lord Jesus, there is a BABY inside my body.”   Then thinking: “DAMN IT! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW while simultaneously thinking HA!  SO MUCH FOR DOCTORS!”.

I called my best friend Jenny, we had a good cry while we talked about what in the world I would do.  I briefly considered not telling the boyfriend, thinking I wanted to make the decision on my own and I DEFINITELY didn’t want him parenting with me.  Then almost in the same breath said, no, he IS the father and God MUST have a plan for this little one that includes the man who helped create it.  I don’t want to start anyone’s life with a lie.   The next call I made was to the doctor’s office to schedule an appointment to verify the painfully obvious.  Then I called the (by now) ex-boyfriend to tell him the news.

It still amazes me how in a split second the blinders of depression and loss are wiped away by an unexpected, unplanned, undeserved and undeniable MIRACLE.  God, gave me the baby I wanted all my life.  Now, I had to start the journey of trusting Him with it literally EVERY single step of the way.  I was nothing, I had nothing, I could give nothing to another human being beyond what He gave me to share which was Love.  That is LITERALLY all I had.  I sat on the edge of my bed once I got back to my dorm (which not for nothing, was in a southern baptist university, in whose values I did not agree or live)  I sat on the edge of my bed and I got out a notebook and a pen.  I started a journal which was ultimately one very long prayer to God and love letter to the baby He gave me.   Page one says nothing but: “I have NO IDEA what Your plan is, but I trust You and I THANK YOU for giving me a dream come true, a miracle I could never deserve and a dream come true.  Please, Please help me know the right thing for this baby and do it.  No matter what it is.  Amen.  Life as I had known it had changed forever.  Again.