When I was pregnant with my first child, I was out to dinner with my now ex-husband and two of his friends. We were discussing our unborn son when one of the friends referred to him as the "devil's child" and suggested that we toss him into a fire after he is born.
It's been almost 7 years and I still remember that. I also remember my son's father not doing anything about it except laugh.
Delivering my first child was easy, but the recovery was complicated. The placenta had been retained and I was still experiencing the symptoms of preeclampsia for almost 3 weeks afterwards. It seemed like every time we would leave the hospital, I had to turn around and be readmitted.
One night, just hours after leaving the hospital I told my husband something was wrong and we needed to go back. He asked me, "Are you even sure you want this baby? Every time we finally get home and should be able to spend time together, you always want to leave and go back. Do you even want us in your life? The next time you go back we aren't going with you."
When we arrived at the hospital I was rushed into emergency surgery. Something was physically wrong with me and I understand he was frustrated and scared but there was no reason to make me feel worse than I already did.
I got married at 18 and had my son at 19. My husband is almost 20.
I went to the doctor's office on my due date and was told that I had preeclampsia and had to be induced for the wellbeing of my child. While I was in the middle of pushing, they though the monitors were confusing our heart beats. They were wrong. My son had no heartbeat. I felt something was wrong, but the doctor kept dismissing my fears and acting like my son was fine. I kept telling her that something was wrong and to get him out of me.
The doctor just looked at me and said, "What do you expect me to do? How do you expect me to get him out?" I begged her for what felt like forever to just cut me open and take him out. She refused.
When he finally came out, the cord was wrapped so tightly around his neck that it snapped and he lost a lot of blood. He had a seizure. He didn't breathe for over 5 minutes and he was a deep blue/grey. They had to resuscitate him and rush him to another hospital where they had a higher level NICU. I didn't get to hold my baby for over 3 days because he had to be on a cooling pad for HIE and monitored for seizures.
All because a cocky doctor wouldn't listen to me. Fuck that doctor.
It was tradition in our house to get our tree two weeks before Christmas, and spend an evening decorating it together as a family, sipping hot cocoa and singing carols.
But when I was five, it was Christmas Eve, and we still didn't have a tree yet. This was when I first discovered my family was poor.
That Christmas Eve, my mom begged my proud father to ask his friend for a tree, any tree. The friend sold them in our small town, and surely would let my dad have one with a promise to repay him once business picked up again.
Faced with disappointing his wife and children, my dad went to do something he had never in his life done before, ask for a handout.
I tagged along, being a Daddy's girl. He firmly told me to stay in the truck, and I watched for a minute as my dad made small talk. I rolled the window down a crack, then an inch.
"Please, just for my kids. The ugliest, smallest tree you have, I just want my kids to have a tree." My dad couldn't look his childhood friend in the eyes.
The friend came over to the truck and opened my door. I was afraid I'd been caught eavesdropping. "Go pick a tree honey, any tree you want!"
Being five, I picked the largest one there.
We left, got home and put the tree up. As we started our traditional decorating, there was a knock on the door.
A neighbor dropping off an extra ham they had in their freezer and said Merry Christmas. Another knock, this time it was handmade hats and mittens. Another knock, another neighbor. This continued well after us kids had gone to bed.
Christmas morning, I was the first to get up, so I snuck downstairs to see if Santa had come. I found my father sitting at the foot of our Christmas tree, crying. The room was full of gifts, some wrapped, some not, each one labelled.
I sat in my dad's lap, unable to understand how he could possibly be crying.
"I asked God for a miracle, instead He gave us great neighbors, and a great town."
Thirty years later, my husband still can't understand why I cannot pass a Toys for Tots bin without donating.
During my entire pregnancy, I planned for a smooth and natural birth. But when I went into labor, I was having full blown contractions and not dilating. So I had to have an emergency C-section, which ended up saving my son's life, since the umbilical cord was wrapped around his throat four times.
After hours of pain, I posted on Facebook that my son had arrived and that I had an unplanned C-section. One woman responded with, "You got off easy, bitch. You're not a real mother until you give birth like a real woman."
She had no idea how much pain I went through for that surgery to save my son's life. And now, a year later, I can barely walk because they accidentally hit a nerve on my back during the spinal block. Yet to this day, I feel like I've failed as a mother for not giving birth like a "real woman."
I was in a bad marriage, had a small child and suffered back to back miscarriages. I was also battling depression and really had no one to turn to.
One day, I saw an email to my husband from his mother stating that I was a terrible role model for our daughter.
This completely crushed me.
I somehow found the courage to end the marriage, which really helped the depression. I went back to school and got my degree (which my ex never finished). And I have stood by my child as she has battled mental health issues, without her dad.
I try so hard to support my child in every way possible, yet I will never forget that email.
When I was 20, I learned from my stepfather that my mom had an abortion when I was two. Shortly after I found out, I confronted her about it.
What she said will ring clearly in my mind until the day I die:
"Well, I certainly wasn't going to make that mistake twice!"
I had a baby when I was very young, and I tried to raise him. When he was four years old, I let my parents adopt him so that I could grow up. I ultimately thought that this was a good idea, because if I couldn't even take care of myself, how could I take care of a baby?
I moved to Florida and my son stayed with my parents. About two years ago, I was planning to visit them. I was on the phone to my mom, and she said, "Oh, he's so excited to see you! Although I can't imagine why!" Then she followed up with, "Oh, I'm just kidding!"
Our relationship hasn't really been the same since, and my mom and I don't really talk anymore.
One day when I was 20, I was driving to hospice with my parents to visit my aunt, who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I had my headphones in, but I had paused the music, and I overheard my parents talking about one day having grandkids.
My dad said to my mom, "I hope my granddaughter doesn't turn out to be a f*cking whore like her mom."
I've always tried to forget this, but I can't seem to.
The day my husband told me he was no longer in love with me, I asked why he had waited so long to admit it.
He said, "Because without me, you'll be alone, and I don't want you to be alone."
Ever since that night, I have made every effort to be okay with just my son and me. But those words still ring in my ears in the middle of the night when I am alone.
Has anyone ever made a fleeting comment about you that immediately became tattooed onto the front of your brain for all of eternity, impacting your self-perception and self-worth? Whether it was an offhand comment made by someone you love and respect or a fleeting declaration by someone you barely know, we share the moments that stick.
