Labor, Jesus and Sarah. A thank you to my labor and delivery nurse.
On the evening of January 18th, 2017 I checked into the hospital. Baby #2 was on her way.
During labor for baby #1 a labor and delivery nurse told me, “Each baby has their own way of getting here.” She told me she thought we, (as laboring women), would have an easier time if we didn’t clutch onto our expectations for dear life. So the second time around, I heeded her advice.
At 7pm the hospital staff had a shift change and so my first nurse, Dala who was considerate and made sure to give me every comfort she could – even through the pokes and pricks – said goodbye and Sarah said hello.
Sarah and Dala
I labored without meds for 2 hours, got an epidural, labored for two more hours and pushed for FOUR minutes. Lightning fast compared to my first labor.
As soon as I pushed her out, they whisked the baby away from me because she was blue and purple because she had sucked in a lot of amniotic fluid. They worked on getting her risk free. I didn’t get to see her or hold her for a while.
At 12:53 am I gave birth to a healthy baby girl — and by 1:30 or so — a cloud started to loom over my hospital room.
While the baby was being taken care of, the doctors and nurses realized my placenta was not coming out and more severe measures were going to have to be taken.
The doctor explained the 2 or 3 procedures they would try before resorting to a C-section. I was losing blood and my placenta needed to come out. And for safety reasons, they needed to move me to an operating room just in case things went south.
So while my husband held our minutes old daughter, they transferred me onto a gurney and away I went.
As they rolled me out of the room – I locked eyes with my husband and told him I loved him and that I would be okay.
Sometime after delivering the baby and before I was wheeled away – I brought God close and I started to hum one of my favorite church songs. No words, just humming.
There is power in the name of Jesus
There is power in the name of Jesus
There is power in the name of Jesus
To break every chain, break every chain, break every chain
To break every chain, break every chain, break every chain
As they transferred me I hummed, as they wheeled me into the operating room, I hummed, as they took off my bra (for the just in case) — as they strapped my legs to stirrups, as they connected IVs to my arms, I hummed.
What actually happened in the O.R. is hazy. I remember the brighter than bright fluorescent lights and I remember seeing a large digital clock with red numbers. And I remember catching glimpses of the symphony of nurses, but I couldn’t see much else.
During the procedures they had my chest and torso WEIGHTED down with 20 pounds of white cotton blankets because my body was convulsing. It was like someone had unzipped my skin and the insides of my body were exposed to the icy temperature of the operating room.
Half way through the procedures, (one of which included a doctor sticking her entire forearm into me and rooting around for pieces of my placenta,) the doctor said, “It’s stuck, we’re going to have to try something else.” She reached for a serrated spoon and started to scrape this insides of my uterus.
She said, “This will cause fertility issues later.” “If this doesn’t work, we’ll get the hose.”
I said, “I’m losing blood, I can feel it.”
And I continued humming.
There is power in the name of Jesus. There is power in the name of Jesus.
“Yes you are and more blood is on the way for you.”
Minutes later I heard the doctor ask the nurse, “Where’s the blood?”
“We have someone at the door waiting for the blood – it’ll be right up.”
I knew I was losing blood because my vision started to go grey and I could feel my brain shutting down.
“Nope, no more energy for that.”
“Or that.”
“Or that.”
And then my eyes closed.
The doctors gave me a blood transfusion, scraped out my placenta and took me back to my original room. I convulsed for three hours in shock. My body could not stop shaking, trembling, my teeth chattering incessantly.
Once the convulsing stopped, I was transferred back to the bed I was in before. I was desperately thirsty, and someone brought me a plastic pink jar full of ice chips. I used the mirror directly in front of my bed and stared at myself eating ice chips until the ice chips were gone. I’m not sure where my mind went, but I was somewhere far away.
And a few hours after that, they brought in the baby to nurse. Because even though I had just been through major trauma, the baby needed to eat.
The next morning the doctors explained to me that I had hemorrhaged 50% of my blood.
The next day.
Sarah, my labor and delivery nurse, was absolutely my guardian angel that night.
Sarah! <3
I met her around 7:30pm. She walked in professional and kind. She asked what kind of labor we were shooting for – and she was open to all of it. We explained how we wanted a minimally invasive labor. And I told her that during my first labor I had staked my pride on not having an epidural — but that I was wiser now. (ha!)
During my four-hour labor Sarah watch intently, joked with me, helped me through contractions and was ultra-supportive.
And when things started to get serious – when I was wheeled into the OR- Sarah was the only person I “knew.” And even though I had only interacted with Sarah for 4 hours – she KNEW ME. She had seen me go from casual to in pain to in excruciating labor pain – she had seen me and helped me push a human out of my body AND she had seen things take a turn for the worse.
Sarah walked with me through the hospital halls from my labor room to the OR – she held my left hand the entire time and never left my side.
For as long as I had the energy – I hummed, There is power in the name of Jesus.
And at the point that I stopped humming because I just couldn’t anymore– Sarah leaned in and asked, “What song are you humming?” The only response I could muster was, “a church song.”
And then…
She took over humming for me.
I could feel her – holding my hand – giving me warmth – literally and figuratively.
I didn’t have the energy to hum with her but I could hear the hymn and in the midst of the chaos – I felt peaceful.
To Sarah, my labor and delivery nurse, thank you for investing in me and the life of my baby, thank you for your boundless heart, thank you for giving me strength and grace. I see how hard you work and what you do reverberates WELL beyond the moment – maybe even a lifetime, and I appreciate you. Sarah, during one of the holiest moments of my life – you were there with me – guiding me with ease – and for that, I thank you.
And to all labor and delivery nurses – we more than see you – we appreciate you and honor you and we thank you for pouring your hearts into our labors and our families. You change the world for the better.
Parts of this Blog were originally published on Austin Moms Blog
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence and Joy Weekly Guide
Grit is a Gift
You know those people who don’t have to study to get an A? Or the people who are magically good at any sport they try? Or the people who just seem to walk around with life unfolding so easily before them?
That’s not me.
You know that old football movie, Rudy? Where the main character is in love with Notre Dame football and will give anything to be part of the team?
Rudy is from Illinois and lacks ALL that is needed to make the team. He has no money, terrible grades, and is 5’6. His prospects are bleak.
BUT - Rudy wants to play for Notre Dame so badly. So he wills his way from a junior college to Notre Dame. THEN, he wills his way onto the practice football team where his body is used for hitting practice. And eventually after YEARS of trying his absolute hardest, he wills his way onto the OFFICIAL football team. And in the last game of his senior year, Rudy made ONE official play for Notre Dame Football before his teammates whisked him off the field in celebration.
THIS… this is more like me. I’m the person whose skills don’t quite measure up - but tries anyway.
Growing up, I was ashamed that I had to try so hard at everything - ballet, studying, band. I was always amazed that other people didn’t have to put in the work and yet -- we magically we arrived at the same place.
But over the years, the shame started to slough away and I started to become proud of trying. Proud that I had the onions to go after things that interested me.
To see something on the horizon and walk toward it – even though nothing says that the road to the horizon will be easy – is grit. And grit is a gift.
My parents gave me this gift.
My mom, Noelia Barrera Hernandez, migrated from Mexico to the US with her family when she was about 6 years old.
As a child her entire family would pile into the bed of truck, with only a tarp to protect them from the elements, and drive from the southernmost tip of Texas to Wisconsin -- to go pick beets and cucumbers. They lived in a one bedroom house with dirt floors. And while her parents worked in the fields, as a 6 year old, she’d care for her infant brother.
As a teenager she would go to school and after school would clock in at the local grocery store, working until 11pm most nights.
My dad, Renato David Hernandez, started working with his dad, Hortemio Hernandez, at age 11. During the summer, he would work at a farm co-op from 7 in the morning until 8 every night. He would weigh trucks carrying tomatoes, tally up tickets for farmers and their crews, and even call out-of-state truckers and place orders. He did this every summer until he turned 25. All the while, going to school, and helping his mother, my grandmother, open a flower shop.
On June 12th, 1983, at the ages of 24 and 25, my parents were married. And since it was the middle of tomato season, they didn’t go on a honeymoon. They were married on a Saturday and both returned to work the following Monday.
A few months later, with the support of their families, my mom and dad started their own business, beer corner stores. They called them, Pop-A-Top. Eventually these corners stores morphed into Holiday Wine and Liquor. And today, my folks have been in business 36 years, own 9 stores and have been able to employ and create opportunity for thousands of families.
As newlyweds, when my parents needed a weekend to themselves, they would make the 5 hour road trip from the Rio Grande Valley to Austin, Texas. They would pack up their small red truck with koozies and stop at convenience stores along the way – selling their wares. This was their weekend spending money.
My heart has always beamed with pride with who I come from and where I come from.
And while to some people, failure is not an option. For me, grit is the only option.
My parents, entirely by their actions, taught me how to dig in and put one foot in front of the other.
Somehow I have put one foot in front of the other and willed myself into a speaking and writing career, loving on women and reminding them of their innate worth.
I went from a career in hospitality-- to writing a blog -- to trying to write a book – to actually publishing a book -- to getting all sorts of amazing praise for the book – and even to speaking on the TEDx stage.
I have willed myself into a life I love that loves me back. Enjoying and cherishing my husband, girls, and our adventures - every single day.
And none of this would have been possible without grit.
The other day I was in Colombia with my family and I sent my mom and dad this photo.
I thanked them for giving me such a beautiful life.
I’m a 35, married and a mama, and I absolutely know whose shoulders I stand on.
Could my parents ever have imagined their impact? Their lives have reached far and wide — through all the people they’ve touched, through all the people who have watched them walk through the world, through my readers and their children, and beyond.
Mom and Dad, I have endless gratitude for the people you are in the world and for the parents you have been to us. You are adored, cherished and valued. The world is a better place because of you.
Friend, there’s honor in seeing something on the horizon and doing your best to get there. If your heart is calling you to make a move, to go forward, to explore, to stay, to make a change, to fulfill a dream - listen. Will the road be easy? Nope. Do you have what it takes to walk the path? Yes.
Dig those heels in and give it your all. Begin.
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence + Joy Weekly Guide
Shine your brightest,
Help for Post Partum Depression (and the like)
I have had postpartum depression … twice. And so have A LOT of your friends and family.
When you’re a first time mom, the postpartum experience is new – and since it’s your first time around – it’s not easy to figure out what’s normal and what isn’t.
During my first pregnancy I was aware of the postpartum depression possibility so I guarded against it. I encapsulated my placenta, I worked out, I went to therapy, and still – the bottom fell out from under me. Only I didn’t know it – and not knowing that you are in the midst of postpartum disorders is the most dangerous.
One day, when my first born was about 4 months old, I noticed that I felt really good. I felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders – and over the next few weeks, the puzzle pieces fell into place and I knew I had been depressed and anxious.
Here’s what my first go with postpartum disorders felt like:
Having thoughts of my baby getting hurt or dying A LOT.
Extreme jealousy and irrational behavior.
Fear that my husband would find a better woman.
Not connecting with my child.
I tended to her needs and no one could tell I wasn’t truly connecting – but I knew.
Resentment of my new life.
I wanted a baby, and had one, but then I was kind of pissed that my life had changed so much. Where had my life gone? Where had my freedom gone?
So then, with my second baby, I was ready. I knew what to look out for. My husband and I were ready!
With my second baby I had a traumatic birth (I lost 50% of my blood and had to have blood transfusions) so my OB was on high alert for me having Post-traumatic stress disorder, but after a few checkups, she deemed me fine.
The first several months of my second baby’s life were a dream. I was in love with her, I was connecting with her, I had help around the house, and my husband was helping a ton – ALL GOOD!
But then around month four – things started to get weird. I started to have major anxiety and my fuse became shorter and shorter. And around month five, my girlfriend Alexis at Birth 360, posted an article about late onset postpartum depression – and I read it – and it all clicked.
Dang it! It happened again!
I immediately called my doctor and made an appointment.
Here’s what postpartum depression felt like the second time around:
Having thoughts of my children getting hurt or dying – A LOT.
A general sense of fear of not having enough (money, food, time, etc.)
A short fuse, zero patience.
Anger toward everyone. Suppressed rage.
Feeling like someone had a boot on my neck.
Feeling helpless to affect change in my work life.
Irrational thoughts
Here’s a quick example of irrational thoughts:
My husband and I were out of town visiting family. We were staying in a quiet farm town, at least 30 minutes from a grocery store. One morning he cooked our oldest daughter breakfast — eggs and hotdogs. He also precooked hotdogs for the rest of the day – so that she would have something ready to go if she got hungry.
I asked him if he had had his fill of hotdogs, and he said yes. Then I said, “Okay, I’m going to eat the rest of these hotdogs with my breakfast.” I too wanted eggs and hotdogs. And he said, “Why don’t you have the chicken (there was cooked chicken breast) so that she can have the hotdogs later?”
And I got PISSED.
Thoughts started swirling in my mind. He doesn’t think I deserve hotdogs? Am I not worth hotdogs? I should be able to eat the hotdogs if I want. Am I not worth the $8 worth of hotdogs? And on and on.
I jumped in the shower and began to weep.
Guys, my husband and I have a strong relationship. He loves me and I love him, deeply. We have been through life together and still, we pull closer together. The sky is blue, and my husband loves me — I KNOW these things. And I knew intellectually that he would want me to have the hot dogs if that’s what I wanted – but my brain was spinning OUT OF CONTROL.
And when I told my OB/GYN the hotdog story – she said, “I’m glad you’re here for help.”
—
Useful questions for help for postpartum depression:
I recommend you ask yourself or have a person you trust ask.
Are you having fears you didn’t used to have? What are they?
Are you angry your life has changed?
Are you having thoughts that your baby is going to die?
Are you frustrated throughout the day? What sparks the frustration?
Do you feel inadequate?
Do you feel supported?
Do you feel like you can be honest about your feelings with those around you?
Has your libido changed? How?
If you have children, how do you feel toward them? Same as before baby? More connected, less connected?
If you are married or in a relationship – how do you feel toward your spouse/partner? Has it changed since post baby? Describe.
These are BIG questions and they only work if you commit to being honest.
The thing I’ve heard most from women about postpartum disorders is that they are ashamed. I am here to tell you – there is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a hormonal issues – not an issue of ability or will power.
You can ask for help from your OB/GYN, your child’s pediatrician, a counselor or your girlfriends, community and family. Some women feel better after talking about it with friends or a therapist. Some women need medication (me!) And some women need a combo of things.
We are all with you and for you.
Childbirth brings on so many changes, good and bad and messy ones. But the point of it all is to ENJOY your new baby and your new family. Get the help you need, you deserve to feel good!
Other resources:
Pregnancy and Postpartum Health Alliance of Texas
—
This post was originally written for and featured on Austin Moms Blog
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence + Joy Weekly Guide
Raising my daughters to honor their voice, from a sexual assault survivor.
A few years ago I read an article titled, Reminder: She Doesn’t Owe Anyone a Hug. Not Even at the Holidays.
““The notion of consent may seem very grown-up and like something that doesn’t pertain to children,” says Girl Scouts’ developmental psychologist Dr. Andrea Bastiani Archibald, “but the lessons girls learn when they’re young about setting physical boundaries and expecting them to be respected last a lifetime, and can influence how she feels about herself and her body as she gets older.”
I resonated with the article and I immediately started to give our daughter’s voice (Alexandra was an only child at the time) power and weight. And since I read that article, her dad and I have focused on teaching her how to honor her body, to have dominion over it, to treat it with care and respect.
This year, she started Pre-K 4. Wowzers! This is our first year to experience a full school experience. You know what I mean, parents? Drop off is at 8am, pick up is at 1pm, Monday-Friday. There’s folders and checklists and forms and meetings -- it has really thrown a wrench in our coffee drinking!
Last week we were getting ready for school, the house was moving at 90 miles per hour, we were running late, so I hustled to her bathroom and grabbed her long, curly hair to loop it into a ponytail, and turned to me, raised her voice and firmly told me, “MY HAIR, MY BODY. You didn’t have permission.”
—
I was born in 1983, and finally at 35 with the help of therapists, God, personal growth and community, I have started to stand tall in the notion that my body is my body.
Laura Morsman Photography
Becoming a mom -- the pregnancy, the post-partum depression, the cracking open of my heart and body, the evolving and changing – peeled back my protective layers. It exposed every raw nerve ending I had surrounding body image and worth. And by the grace of God, I knew that I was being presented with the opportunity to heal festering wounds and broken belief systems.
—
The first time someone groped me, I was in the 3rd grade. I was 8.
Me, at 8 years old.
We were in the school hallway standing in front of our homeroom and one of my classmates reached out and grabbed my 8 year old boobs with his hands.
I was wearing a blue polo shirt (my parents used to dress me in shirts that would tone down my curves) and long denim shorts. My cheeks still flushed from recess.
I still remember his face and the way his straight black hair framed it.
I still remember the confusion.
I still remember the embarrassment.
Do I think my classmate was evil? No.
Do I think he knew what he was doing? No.
Do I think he should have known better? Yes.
It sucked.
I went home and told my parents. They were mortified, and my dad told me to punch anyone who ever did that again.
That was the start of it. 3rd grade. 8 years old.
--
Becoming a mother to now two young girls has shined a light on all sorts of things, like:
I am always aware of the men around me, how they are acting and what they are doing, and I’m always aware of how I am dressed. What people will think of me when I wear _______________? What message am I sending? Isn’t that sad? I know that’s the way of the world, and I know that’s the way it’s always been, but my goodness, does it always have to be that way?
I’m not even sure I know how to make choices without taking the “man factor” into account.
My heart races because somewhere along the way people planted seeds of “it’s not that bad,” or “it’s no big deal,” or “he isn’t hurting anyone.”
As a woman society taught me to give and serve and be hospitable -- to cushion the blow for everyone else, especially the men. Sometimes I feel like I should just absorb the discomfort of harassment/indecency/bad taste -- for the sake of the relationship, situation, party, moment, etc.
I remember going on dates and ending up in the same room with the guy after and feeling like I owed it to him – I owed him sex, I owed him my body. And for the record, he may not have thought that I did – but we were too young and ignorant to have any language for it. What a terribly low bar. Food? A meal? In exchange for my body? My spirit? The space that it would take in my heart forever? Pitiful.
—
So when Alexandra said, “MY HAIR, MY BODY. You didn’t have permission.”
My immediate thoughts were:
Use your mom card, YOU ARE HER MOM.
Override her.
It’s time to go to school!
No time for preferences in the morning.
BUT I took some time and thought, If I override her voice now, it will be that much harder for her to keep centered and strong in her convictions.
As her mother, I will always have some authority over her, AND so will a lot of other people, and I NEVER want her to think, their opinion or preferences matter more than mine.
Because, that’s what a lot of this boils down to, right? What you want, matters more than what I want. And that’s bullshit. What I want should matter.
In regard to healthy relationships (not any form of abuse)…
We are bigger and better and smarter than thinking only one person can get their way. There’s always talking, there’s always a widening of perspective, there’s always letting go, there’s always space for discovery and possibility. There’s always opportunity for someone to speak up about who they are and what they want. There’s always time to hear someone and honor them. There’s always time to be heard and be honored.
I want our mother/daughter relationship to be a model for her relationships going forward.
What does a loving, caring, solid relationship look like? What does it feel like? How do two people dance it out? How do two people cheer each other on? How do people in relationship walk through disagreements? How does someone lead with honor? What does it feel like when someone wants the best for me and the best for themselves?
--
Alexandra: “MY HAIR, MY BODY. You didn’t have permission.”
Me: “You are absolutely right, Alexandra. I did not have permission. Since we are going to school, would it be okay if I put your hair in a ponytail?”
Alexandra: “Okay, you can give me a pony tail. But, remember, mama, MY HAIR, MY BODY.”
Me: “Yes it is, sweetheart. Next time I’ll ask permission.”
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence + Joy Weekly Guide
And yet, #metoo
By now you may have heard of the #MeToo movement. A movement to get women to say out loud – I was harassed, molested, abused, assaulted and maybe even raped.
The other night when I saw my girlfriend post ‘Me Too.’ I paused and thought, Wow. Her? She’s so smart and capable and well put together. She’s a great mom and wife and business woman. She shows no outward signs of trauma. She’s funny and kind and fiercely strong. Her?
But then I thought: Me Too.
I have been harassed too many times to count, fondled in a club setting and I couldn’t tell whose hand it was. One time I was working in a restaurant and while I was facing a table that the restaurant owner was sitting at – a man from a table behind me grabbed me between my legs. Thank goodness I was wearing pants. No invitation, in public – while I was working — and while his 80 -year-old mom was sitting across from him. I was overcome with emotion. I went at told my boss and I was met with a luke warm reaction, and my heart broke. How could someone value sales over my well-being?
I went home at told my boyfriend – and he stood up for me in a way that felt so good. He helped me feel safe again – and worthy of being protected.
One time I was in college and a guy walked out of his dorm bathroom naked and started yelling at me. He called me a whore and all sorts of other things and why wouldn’t I just give it up? I left his room running and didn’t tell a soul. Years later I saw him being honored during half-time of a UT football game for being on the National Championship team. My heart dropped.
And that wasn’t the worse time.
One time during graduate school I was sexually assaulted. And that was the one that really sent me over the edge and spiraling in all sorts of ways invisible to anyone. I told a few people but didn’t get help for years. One day I decided maybe I should tell my mom – but no time ever seemed right. And so I told her while we were looking for earrings at Dillard’s.
It was so weird. I had no road map.
And she was the one who made sure I got the help I needed – for years.
From the outside – I kind of look like I have it all together – kind of like my girlfriend. I have friends, a career, a faith I love, and daughters who are the light of my life. I have a husband I adore and I volunteer and do all the normal things. No outward signs of trauma – and yet, #MeToo.
Noble Photography, Austin
I am telling you things that I haven’t thought about in years because they feel so gross. The restaurant incident literally made me feel SO violated. I am sitting here on my couch – wiping the tears from my face and drying my hands on my jeans. Seeing the accumulation of disrespect to my soul and my body is almost too much to handle.
My intention in sharing all of this it to create a safe space for you, for us.
My guess is that you have experienced something unwanted. I am uninterested in ranking our suffering. If our hearts hurt – if our spirits were changed – if our bodies were violated – it all matters.
And it’s okay if we take some time to tend to ourselves.
Recently I had the privilege of hearing Dr. Edith Eva Eger, she is a Holocaust survivor and the author of the book, The Choice. Being in her presence was unbelievably humbling. It was a blessing to hear her speak and share space with her. She was 16 when she was imprisoned in Auschwitz, miraculously survived and has gone on to do some amazing work through her lifetime. Perhaps some of the nuggets she shared can help us heal.
· The biggest prison is in our minds and we have the keys in our pockets.
· Don’t let someone’s energy take residency in your body.
· Don’t let the past hold you hostage
And two of the most impactful for me were,
“Grief is not an illness and, we can’t heal what we don’t feel.”
Sisters, I’m so sorry you have been hurt. Share your story with someone who will hold you tenderly. Seek help from loved ones and/or professionals. Give yourself every chance to release any shame, hurt, anger or frustration.
I’m going to do this too. I thought I was healed, but I think my feelings were just dormant – waiting for me to address them.
Thank you, #MeToo movement for spurring societal change and hopefully healing.
RESOURCES
· Text GIRL to 741-741 to be connected to a trained crisis counselor 24/7. It’s free and confidential.
· National Sexual Assault Hotline – 1-800-656-4673
—-
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence + Joy Weekly Guide
The Courage to Become | Shani Montique-Ahmad
In the Beginning
I met my husband watching a live band in the garage of some condo in East Austin, years ago. I was completely over being in a relationship and almost didn’t attend the event that changed my life. I hate to say that the cliché is true, but when you’re not looking for your life partner your match will find you. That night it was all about me having a good time with friends and then he showed up. After a double date eating some really hot Thai food at Madam Ma’am’s with runny noses, we found it difficult to not be together. Soon thereafter, he discovered that band-life wasn’t for him and I realized that working retail and weekends was not my calling. We eventually wised-up, got a game plan that would bond us forever, and executed.
When we decided to spend the rest of our lives together, I wouldn’t have dared to compare our union to a race to the finish line. We met when I was 27 years old, nearly 28, and my husband was 31. We got married three years later. Before we said, “I do”, we tackled through all the hard topics like lifestyle, religion, politics, business, and child rearing, which I’m sure extended our courtship. For us, raising a child is one of the most important duties a person will ever have in their lifetime so settling any differences was crucial. As equipped as we thought we were in our efforts to avoid marital complications, we were ill-prepared for the emotional roller coaster of infertility.
Twenty Minutes After
Excitement was the feeling we both felt when, in the Fall of 2013, I became pregnant.
We broke all the rules of keeping our mouths shut and soon told all our close friends and family. I knew that I had fibroids, but a few of my aunts and cousins on both sides of the family did too and, with some complications, were able to bear children. Naturally, I was very prepared for a few bumps in the road until I gave birth. My OBGYN monitored me very closely. The fibroids had grown quickly and feasted on the boost of estrogen in my body. I began to notice a large bulge gradually protruding near my right hip. Towards the end of my first trimester, I was ordered to go on bed rest for a few days. On a Sunday, I was released to start work the coming Monday and I was relieved that possibly the worst was behind me. Twenty minutes after my husband left for work I became VERY scared. My body started experiencing the excruciatingly painful process of miscarriage.
I instinctively wanted to be prepared for the worst. I researched all the symptoms of suffering miscarriage while on bed rest, not expecting that I would soon live the tragedy. The pain was sharp like a knife to the lower abdomen, which forced me to immediately fold forward. I started symptomatically sweating and could hardly speak when I called 911 to rescue me. I managed to get an ambulance and very slowly inched to the front door doubled over in agonizing pain to avoid the paramedics breaking my window or door; left the door wide open and went to lay down.
The long morning ride to the hospital regarding fertility issues was not going to be my last. As much as I dislike taking medication, I begged the paramedic in a forced whisper for “more drugs” to take the pain away. Terminology like Dilation and Curettage (D&C) and Laparoscopic Myomectomy soon became very familiar. In the last four years, I have had three of each surgery. My fourth and most recent pregnancy in January of 2018 following the In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) procedure was a short-lived celebration that lasted only six days. I was diagnosed with a life-threatening ectopic pregnancy and given methotrexate twice to terminate the stubborn pregnancy. I had side effects of acute uterine pain and blood loss. After all the nausea, the medication, the needles, the weight gain, the constant blood withdrawals for lab testing, the hormones, and the surgeries… I was exhausted.
Surviving Through Purpose
It’s uplifting when you can find happiness even when you’re going through the most trying times.
My husband and I own and operate the Franklin Music Academy, a private business, in Austin teaching mostly children music lessons at our home studio and this has been the anchor in our relationship. After the newness of marriage is over and all you’re left with is each other, I guess it’s easy for people to get wrapped up in child rearing, a career, or some hobby, but for us it’s our business that forces us to communicate and work out our problems. The irony to dedicate our lives in educating other people’s children and not have our own is mind-blowing. In hindsight, I have realized that finding purpose through the business has been my strength and lifeline. Almost 5 years of infertility and upset has only been bearable knowing that I am contributing to my husband’s happiness teaching music and creating an environment that nurtures child development.
During our journey to expand our family, it was difficult to see parents with their kids at our house, but surprisingly our clients helped us cope. They were a nice distraction that kept us very busy. As I grew more comfortable sharing my infertility story outside of friends and family, I discovered that we were not alone. Due to the complications that IVF brought, we decided that this would no longer be a viable option as we needed to ensure our frozen embryos would still be able to bring us a family. Amazingly, one of our clients came forward and offered to be our compassionate gestational surrogate.
The feeling was undeniably magical when our client announced to be our carrier. We felt like we had hit the lottery especially considering the fact that our thoughtful client did not want to be compensated outside of paying for her medical bills. We made all the proper arrangements with our fertility clinic and waived her fees for music lessons for her kids. Unfortunately, after 2 months of preparation, we were told that our client was not a good fit for surrogacy.
Determined to Keep Going
It was hard to let go of the lady that thought so highly of us. It takes a special person to take on the great responsibility of surrogacy. Surrogacy is a self-less act that requires a strong mind and a heart as big as Texas. To assist in bringing a child into someone else’s family is a sacrifice of time and energy and we will be forever grateful to the next person that selects us as the intended parents. We still believe the best method to minimize the risk of miscarriage is to have a gestational surrogate and, this time, we are going through a surrogacy agency to find a carrier.
Choosing this route shouldn’t indicate that I have given up on wanting to have kids naturally one day. Nowadays, I have been diligently working on healing myself from the inside out through food, which is the best medicine. Agreeing to do IVF is a very involved self-sacrificial process that tests your sanity, your relationship, and your financial nest egg. The hormones make you testy and moody, seclusive, and have side-effects that can make you more prone to illnesses, including cancer. I am not suggesting that IVF shouldn’t be considered as an alternative to having children, but people should be aware that this procedure is very taxing. Now that I am off all the medications, I can focus on diet and exercise and doing the things that make me happy.
It may sound odd to continue our journey considering our history, but why should we give up? After you have afforded all the things you want and lived your life doing and seeing everything you desire, what then? When you’re old and gray and lying flat on your back, all of those things won’t matter. You’ll be too weak to enjoy them anyway. A child is a gift that keeps giving when their bright smiling face comes to visit you until your last breath.
My husband and I planned our life to marry, enjoy each other, and a few years later start a family. We started a business, bought a house, paid off our debts, and grew our emergency funds to support our baby. All the required ingredients of stability, love, and a two-parent household fostering fun and education has been properly laid out. Our dream of expanding our family will not expire until we have our baby by hook or by crook and we are eager to one day enjoy a family with children to love and nurture.
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence + Joy Weekly Guide
The Courage to Become | Andi Franklin
What I remember, is the silence. The dimly light dining room. My knees on the chair cushion and arms draped over its back, clutching a $25 Target gift card I had gotten as an early birthday present. Curtains peeled back, street lights on, and a cul-de-sac full of cars that were in for the night.
He’ll be here. He’ll be here. He promised he would take me, so he’ll be here.
I don’t know how long I was there, staring and waiting and convincing myself that he would show. But finally, I felt my mother’s gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Its time to go to bed, sweetie. I’m sure he just got caught up.”
Looking back, I think of my mom and hard that must have been for her. I think of how long she pondered what to say to her bright-eyed little girl who sat in a window all night waiting for her dad to show up and take her shopping for her 7th birthday. I wonder if she knew how far gone he was, I wonder if she saw it coming.
That night marked the beginning of my biological father’s exit strategy. I can only remember seeing him one other time in passing before he was gone for good. He never said goodbye. He never told me why. He was just, gone.
My mom explained that he was in the clutch of drugs and alcohol, but I wasn’t buying it. Deep down I knew the real reason he left⏤me.
This belief coursed through my veins and spread in my body like a cancer. Each year that passed I would get sicker and sicker, subconsciously convinced that his love was the cure. Meanwhile, in my conscious mind, I became obsessed with finding him.
The reason changed with each season in my life.
At the tender age of seven, I simply wanted him to come home to me. I loved him, missed him, and didn’t care about the rest. But as a new year turned, so would my feelings toward this elusive man. Emotions? I’ve felt them all. I think that is kind of expected when you are abandoned.
But what surprises me now, is how I let that single event in my life take the driver seat and dictate every future relationship.
My story of becoming, lies here—in the gaping wounds of a woman who spent over 20 years of her life looking for love, when love had been hers all along.
My quest to fill the void of my biological father’s love sent me down twisted, untended, shadowy trails.
It got to the point where I would push for young men to leave me around my birthday because I had convinced myself it was going to happen anyway.
Somehow, no matter what, I would always find myself back where I started:
Seven years old. Curtains peeled back, street lights on, and a cul-de-sac full of cars that were in for the night.
He’ll be here. He’ll be here. He promised he would take me, so he’ll be here.
I would always see it coming, but I would sit and wait anyway.
The leaving. The betrayal. The heartbreak.
My deep longing for love led me into the clutches of manipulation. Young men knew how to work a broken girl, and one in particular was so skilled that it took me weeks to realize he had raped me.
“But did you say no?”
Yes.
“But did you try to fight him off?”
Yes.
“And yet, you still didn’t realize you had been raped?”
No.
Trauma has a funny way of doing that to a person. Especially when it roots back to your childhood and incessant need to be loved.
Fortunately, I clawed my way out of that hell and found myself on the other side. The side that could sit in a space with other women who had gone through it and say, “me too, and I’m here for you.”
I met a man who wasn’t afraid of me and my baggage. A man who refused to leave me around my birthday, despite my many attempts to sway him otherwise.
We fell in love, got married, and therein lies the happy ending, right?
I sure thought so.
I had actively convinced myself that I was cured.
Healed! Praise Jesus, Hallelujah!
I thought the void had been filled and I went on with my merry way with life.
Until the day I finally had to come face to face with him.
Meeting my biological father again for the first time in 18 years was terrifying.
It was my grandfather’s 80th birthday and my father had been clean and sober for about six months, so the family allowed him to come to the event and notified us that he would be there.
I was five months pregnant with my first son.
Palms sweaty, face flushed.
Don’t you cry, Andrea. You’ve gotta stay strong for your brother.
I brought a notebook full of letters, songs, and poems I had written to him throughout the years. I was going to give it to him and show him the pain he had caused.
But when I saw him, I couldn’t do it.
This man, so broken and fragile. Petrified of us—his grown children.
My heart no longer hurt for just me, it hurt for him too.
And so the notebook stayed with me and I left that birthday party, heart still guarded, but softened.
He managed to stay clean for another year and a half and was even invited to my brother’s wedding. Then suddenly, he was gone again. Back into the warm arms of alcohol and Methamphetamine—his oldest friends, and closest enemies.
When I found out, I decided I was done with him for good. I wiped my hands clean, threw them in the air, and proclaimed that I was whole, and didn’t need him.
And yet, no matter what, I would always find myself back where I started:
Seven years old. Curtains peeled back, street lights on, and a cul-de-sac full of cars that were in for the night.
He’ll be here. He’ll be here. He promised he would take me, so he’ll be here.
Three and a half years had passed since I had seen or heard from him and then, my grandpa died.
I knew he would be at his father’s funeral, but I also knew he was on drugs and I was terrified of seeing him like that.
I stepped out of the truck at Green Acres Cemetery, not knowing what to expect.
Palms sweaty, face flushed.
Don’t you cry, Andrea. You’ve gotta stay strong for your brother.
But he never showed. And it was there, at the celebration of my grandpa’s life, that my becoming shifted.
I found out from my cousin that my father was homeless, living on a dirt road somewhere in the desert.
A rumble stirred within me.
Homeless.
I couldn’t accept this. I heard it echoing in my mind for days.
Homeless.
And so, I knew I needed to do something.
I talked to my husband and told him I really wanted to bring a care pack of sorts to my father. You know, toiletries and snacks and things that may help. I knew it wasn’t much, but I also knew it was better than nothing.
But first, I needed to know how to get to him. I decided to send him a facebook message and ask him if what I heard was true.
No response.
Then, an epiphany.
I was lying in bed next to my husband when I became.
I need to tell him I forgive him. Because, I do. I forgive him. And I need to tell him I love him. Because, I do. I love him. And I always have.
Then, another epiphany.
My entire life, I have thought that I needed his love to fill the void in my heart, when in truth, it is MY love that I have wanted to give to him this entire time.
There aren’t adequate enough words to describe this moment.
23 years in the making, I finally discovered my truth:
Conditional love is not who I am. My love is mine to give, and I don’t need someone to love me back in order to give them my love.
That, is unconditional love. And that, is what my soul has always wanted to give to my father.
I sent another message and this time, I told him I loved him and forgave him, without expecting anything in return.
Still, no response.
Then, I sent him this:
I just wanted to let you know that I love you. And I’ll probably tell you that every week from now on, whether you reply or not, because I want you to know that there is still someone living and breathing on this earth that loves and cares for you.
And every Thursday for the past three months I have done just that.
Since then, I was able to see him. My husband and I made the hour and a half drive to the dirt road he’s living on to bring him some things.
He’s created a house of sorts out of an abandoned trailer he found. He scavenges with his girlfriend and they both do drugs.
But, I still love him.
We chatted and laughed and I promised that next time we come, I would stay for a while and catch up more.
He will never be the father I dreamed up in my mind and he may never get clean and sober again.
But I’m no longer seven years old. Curtains peeled back, street lights on, and a cul-de-sac full of cars that were in for the night.
Now, I am a thirty-year-old woman. Eyes peeled open, natural light flooding in, and a heart full of unconditional love that I’m ready to give, freely.
I’ll be there. I’ll be there. I promised myself I would love fully, so I’ll be there.
Essay by: Andi Franklin
You can find more of Andi's writings on Facebook, Instagram and on her website Andi Franklin.
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence + Joy Weekly Guide
The Courage to Become | Jill Faulkner
“Listening to your heart is not simple. Finding out who you are is not simple. It takes a lot of hard work and courage to get to know who you are and what you want. - Sue Bender”
Working on myself is the hardest work I have done to date, and the most worthwhile. But seriously, the hardest. Embarking on the journey of changing who I was at my core, which was really un-becoming my current self to get back to who I was meant to be, started a long time ago, and will continue until I die. Perhaps morbid, but also true. Self-work, like change, is constant. And YOU are the constant in your life. Realizing that this person (me) is all I have, and all I need, fueled my desire to live my best life. This is not to say that I do not have family and friends and support, or want all of those relationships in my life, but I control my happiness, I create my life.
As I have shifted my thinking, and perspective, I hope to encourage people to do the same. I want people to shift how they think. How they think about themselves, their lives, others, and the world around them. The shift is so magical. Daunting, and challenging, but the results are awesome. I wouldn’t be here, right now, in this moment, even writing this, had I not buckled in for the ride of a lifetime. Pursuing a life I desire. Becoming more of who I am meant to be. Stepping into a life destined to be mine.
There will always be ups and downs, which is how I got here, and maybe that’s how you got here, too. My life, and my business, Stick With It Co., were born out of a need to remind myself of how I was worthy of living the life I wanted. I needed to evolve my mindset, and my framework, and love myself so fiercely that no matter what outside forces swirled around me I stayed solid and steady. I craved the tools and sought out resources - so, countless books, YouTube videos, meditations, mantras, workshops, yoga classes, sticky-notes, therapy, and a whole lotta Oprah later, here we are.
Picture it, Austin, TX, 2015. Word of the year: Freedom. I don’t know how it came to me, or where I was, but it was my word for the year. I didn’t know at the time what I was looking for freedom from, or seeking freedom toward, but it was my word. Looking back, I also don’t know whether or not I consciously made decisions that year with “freedom” as my guide, or if it seeped into my subconscious and led the way without me realizing it. Cut to March of 2015, new job. Freedom? Cut to November 2015, fired. FREEDOM. Being let go was not a “blessing in disguise” - it was a straight up, in your face, here’s your freedom, girl. Now, what are you gonna do with it? It took almost the whole year, but here was freedom staring me in the face. I was free. Free from stress, emotionally free, and free to tap into what I really wanted to do. I was able to let go. And it was okay. I was okay. I knew it would be okay. All the stickies I had on my bathroom mirror, and kitchen cabinets got me here. In life, things are never in our desired timing, we have to give that up, let go of timing, and trust in the process.
I now had time to think about my life in a bigger way. It felt great. I also acknowledge and hold extreme gratitude for the fact that I was in a position to be able to take two weeks to just be, and figure some stuff out. In that time, I started iterating on a product, and names, and ideas, and all of the things. How could I get the concept of affirmations, and self-love to the masses? So, I just got started. Handwriting 50 different affirmations on sticky notes. Packaging them up, changing the packaging, and giving them away - to friends, family, strangers. The reactions were always positive and encouraging, which emboldened me to keep at it.
Original set of affirmations
At the beginning of December (2015) a job opportunity sort of fell into my lap, and well, mama needed a paycheck, so back to work I went. Continuing to pursue Stick With It Co. on the side worked out for some time, but I wanted more. So, about a year later, I quit my job. Scary, freeing, vomit-inducing, glorious, unknown, and wonderful all at the same time. I wanted to give this business the love and focus it deserved, but it wasn’t even ever about me. It’s about you. This business is happening through me, for greater purpose.
There is a need for people to see the power of their words and statements. Especially in the world within which we exist today. We must be intentional with our words, especially the words we speak about ourselves and our lives.
Self-love, self-approval, self-accountability, self-compassion, and self-respect will generate a solid connection with yourself, allowing connections with others, driving you forward with courage, while welcoming authenticity, resilience, and support into your life.
There’s been a lot of change recently for me. Picking up some event contract work, not working on the business as intensely as I was planning to, general life happenings - you know how it goes. Physical/locational changes, and you better believe emotional - ALL the emotions. Changing, learning, experiencing, letting go, surrendering, and forging ahead.
When all these things happen on their own, I imagine life might be a bit less stressful to handle. Throw all these sizable changes into a ring together, at the same time, and they’re ducking and weaving, and throwing punches you’re not always ready for - then it can be quite the ruckus. But, change is good. Change is needed. Change is like sandpaper - rough while it’s doing its life’s work, transforming and addressing some splinters, but on the other side you’re grateful to have gone through the pain to get to a better, smoother, less splintery place.
I’m not sure I got too off the mark with the sandpaper bit, but it just popped in my brain and I went with it. The point is, change can be painful. It hurts. Sometimes you don’t know why it’s happening, and sometimes you never find out why it did, but you have to trust it’s for the greater purpose for your life. All the changes are for reason. Maybe that reason is you just learn to love yourself a little more than the day before.
I believe the desire for human connection, with ourselves, and with others, is innate, and if we work to push aside the societally driven, culturally manipulated “things” that get in the way of connecting, we are on our way to living an authentic, and purposeful life. Being an open book, sharing my journey, sometimes whether or not you asked, and sometimes a little TMI, has proven time and again that we are such similar creatures and have so much to offer each other. Through connection, we not only discover the lives and journeys of others, we also learn a lot about ourselves.
I have certainly had my moments, and sometimes 24-seemingly infinity hours, of living in fear in which I am paralyzed, and therefore lack direction, and action. In those days I forgive myself, I acknowledge and thank fear for letting me know something I didn’t know before, and I work to find my way back to faith.
I consciously make a choice to live in faith. I have faith in the process of becoming, and unbecoming who I am, figuring out my purpose and place in this world, pursuing a life I am meant to live, feeling all of my feelings, and enjoying it all.
Stick With It to BE self-love, Stick With it to RELEASE fear, Stick With It to BE whoever, and whatever your heart desires. Stick With It to allow yourself to live your best life. Stick With It in order to un-become who you were to make space for change and embark on a journey of becoming that will astound you.
A customer from England sent an incredible letter, card, and polaroid photos of where she placed her affirmations in her home!
Essay by: Jill Faulkner
These days you can find Jill at: Stick With It Co // Instagram // Facebook
Hi there!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I wrote a book - The Courage to Become, I speak - TEDx #choosejoyordie, I coach, I mentor) are hope, joy and empowerment. I am all about big picture health and wellness.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
The Courage to Become Book
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence + Joy Weekly Guide
The Courage to Become | Kiema Rogers-Washington
The Before Photo
They say,“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! As a mother sometimes we don’t know how strong we are until our motherhood is threatened. We as women give so much of ourselves to people, taking a risk to love and possibly not receive the same in return.
I met my son’s father when I was 20 years old and he was 37. I’ve always attracted older men, so this was no surprise. I had an 8 month old and I was out of a job. I met him at a party in Houston and fell in love with him through conversation. After leaving the party, we kept in touch through Facebook. I felt my young heart falling for him more, especially since he was sending poems everyday. It wasn’t long after I moved to Houston with him. I know it may have seemed fast, but I had made up my mind in the short 3 weeks of our dating. I didn’t know that he was a felon, nor did I know that we would be living with his 92 year old father. I was taking a risk by leaving the comfort of my mother’s home to go live with a complete stranger!
Soon we settled in and he revealed to me that he was a felon and it would be hard for him to find a job. I thought it strange but, because I was so blinded by what I thought was love, I decided to stick with it and do what I needed to do to make it work. But there was still a question in my head that needed to be answered, “What was I getting myself into?”
Although skeptical, I decided to ignore that little voice in my head. After all, he did help take care of a child that wasn’t his. As time went on he became more and more controlling.
I also forgot to mention that his very pregnant ex girlfriend (at least that what he told me) was also living there because she had no place to go.
I couldn’t go certain places or talk to family members.
I finally found a job working at Pappa’s BBQ in Houston. It was right down the street from Reliant Stadium where the Texans played football. My mother had come to get my son to spend some quality time with us and also, it was easier for me to work without having to search for a babysitter.
Back at the house my boyfriend was getting angrier and we were fighting more. He had thrown me up against the wall and choked me down to the floor. He was calling me all kinds of bad names like B-tch, worthless, and the worst of them all, you’re a horrible mother.
I was only falling deeper and deeper into depression, I couldn’t tell my mother or my family for that matter, how much hell I was going through. I couldn’t tell them that he was hitting me. I couldn’t tell them that he had gotten so mad at me that he tried to run his car into an 18 wheeler with my then 3 year old son in the car.
I stayed because I knew he was a broken man, he needed help and I thought I would be the one to help him. You see I’ve learned in this journey called life is that when you’re damaged, you have a desire to help those around you, who are just as damaged as you. But as I stated before, I kept this secret for a while. I continued to live with him and I surely didn’t want to lose my job and move back in with my mother.
Fast forward to get the real reason my life began but also ended.
The very thing that would give any mother a reason to keep living. The night was quiet and I had just gotten off of work. I was tired and just wanted to sleep. An argument was started between the both of us and I opted to stop and not say anything. Like a lot of the other fights that began, it turned into a physical fight.
Some may say, “Why didn’t I call the police?” Well, being that I had called the police numerous times and no one came to the house or he would use his prison wit to get the police to believe his lies. One thing he could do so well, was to get me upset and play it cool with the authorities to be make it seem I was angry and deranged.
As we fought and argued, I decided to just stop talking because it was only making it worse.
He threw me down and raped me.
It was the worst feeling in the world!! I didn’t want my boy considering he was an ideal example of a father.
I kept my mouth shut!! I never told a soul what happened that night since I was already a victim of childhood molestation and no one believed me anyway. I felt helpless!!
Time went on and I found out I was pregnant. At the time we were broken up and I was working at another job, living with friends, and I didn’t want to look back.
Nine months went by and I gave birth to son. I had been so hurt and broken, that I thought about giving him up for adoption. But as a mother I couldn’t allow my son to be raised by complete strangers.
When someone has hurt as bad as this man had and raped you knowing that you didn’t want to have a child by him, what would you do?
I am a Christian and I don’t believe in abortion so I thought adoption would be best. I had a cesarean section and I knew my recovery would be hard and long. Soon after taking me home to his father’s home, he came up with this crazy excuse as to why he had to leave me and the baby alone. I was left alone at home by myself with a newborn baby to fend for myself. The only thing good that came out of that was his 92 year old father felt so bad for me that he gave me one of his cane to help me walk on. I was lonely, scared, and on top of that, fighting bed bugs that weren’t there before I went to the hospital to give birth.
But I kept pushing through the pain. A mother’s love besides the love of Christ is the greatest of them all! We have to thank God for being able to display that unconditional love to our and for our children. Eventually he came back to the house and of course I was still on my own considering the fact that he never really helped with anything.
Some more time had passed and we were living in our own place. He had left us once again and I had gotten used to it. We were living there a year but he had left and gone to live with another woman whom he promised while we were together that they were only friends. He had also recently gotten out of jail from spending a 4 months there, due to my mom writing a letter to Board of Pardons of Parol to tell them of the abuse that I had endured from his hand and mouth.
You see, sometimes life gives and opportunity to escape, but because we’re so brainwashed we find it hard to leave.
Some women ask, “Why didn’t you leave?”
It was so complicated!
Since my first son’s father wasn’t in his life I was trying to do the right thing by letting him be a part of our son’s life, regardless of the circumstances. See, I tried to give him a chance. Do the right thing!!
In July 2012, yet another argument and he grabbed our son and took him to the car. I ran outside after him. He locked the doors, backed up, let the windows down and yelled “Fuck you bitch I’ll see you in court!” Sorry to be so uncensored but that was the worse day of my life.
I tried putting him on child support and reaching out to him but nothing worked.
I received a letter in the mail stating that he was suing me for full custody and child support. Seriously? The nerve of him. I was taking care of our son and breastfeeding him.
I didn’t know where he lived so it was kind of hard to put and address on the child support papers I had filed before him. I was angry and scared.
The day was April 10, 2013. I had been in yet another abusive relationship and had gotten pregnant. I was 9 months pregnant with my third son when we were due in court.
I had gotten a lawyer and all he was had was his girlfriend. I had the emails where he called every name in the book except his child’s mother. Even armed with all of that, I was still ordered to pay $125 in child support. What?
I felt like it was over! How could I have visited my child when I didn’t know where he was living? The police kept telling me that it was a civil matter.
I was broken, poor, and pregnant. My mother held me in her arms so tightly as I shed my tears.
How could someone I thought I loved be so cruel. I was also ordered to have visitation every first, third, and fifth, weekend and some holidays. I was 23 years old and I was lost!!
Eight days later I gave birth to my third son and he took away some of the pain, but my heart still ached. My first visitation began the day I gave birth in the hospital. I was afraid my son wouldn’t recognize me. But when I got him he was different, he wasn’t smiling but pointing to everything instead of talking. I didn’t know what was going on at that house but I knew my child wasn’t the same. Years went by and months but nothing changed. I had tried to fight it in court two other times afterwards but was unsuccessful. And to think that now til this day he hasn’t brought him to see me nor he has he abided by the court order.
I never knew how strong I was until being strong was all I had. Until God was all I all I had.
Here I am in 2018, happily married to my best friend and I’m now a minister. There have been ups and downs but God has kept me through it all.
I am due back in court April 6 of this year. Keep me in your prayers.
My boys
This is for all the mother’s who’ve lost their children and who have lost their innocence. Those who can’t seem to leave. I know how scary it is to start over.
And to those family members that don’t understand, don’t give up on them, they need you, their children need you!
-Kiema Rogers-Washington
After
Essay by Kiema Rogers-Washington
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
Confidence + Joy Weekly Guide
The Courage to Become | Amy Wolff
My Courage of Becoming Grey || Essay by: Amy Wolff
My whole life I've craved security, comfort, safety, and predictability.
When I was young, my parents gave me an allowance with the clear expectation that I would give 10% to charity and put 10% into savings. The rest I could spend on whatever my heart desired (probably Polly Pockets). But every month I gave 10% away and hoarded the rest into savings. That's right, as a kid I opted out of 'fun' spending. I chose security.
Which also explains why I see things as black-and-white. Clear right and wrong. Neat and predictable. In my teens years this kept me out of a lot of trouble (you’re welcome, Mom and Dad!). As a rule-follower with an active Christian faith, boundaries were comforting, not restricting. I learned to easily navigate life within the walls of my morality.
But unfortunately walls that keep you safe also keep you isolated.
Over the last few years I’ve felt overwhelmingly defensive and misunderstood (particularly while scrolling through my social media feeds). I’ve been easily offended, often irritated, and if I were being honest, quick to judge. I’m surprised I don’t have permanent damage from all the eye-rolling I’ve done at articles, comments, or at headlines from particular news sources.
That’s what happens when you build walls; everyone on the outside becomes the unrelatable unreasonable other.
Surely this wasn’t loving my neighbors well - picking sides, shouting from soap boxes, and devaluing perspectives and opinions when they didn’t align with my own. It was exhausting and felt rotten. Something had to change, and it wasn’t the others. It was me.
This is my story of becoming grey.
I remember the moment the transformation started. Several years ago I was sitting on my bed scrolling through Facebook when I saw a friend share a video of two men, both gay, speaking at a Christian university. One was arguing that gay marriage is not in violation of God’s will. The other was arguing that acting on his sexual desires was in violation.
What amazed me was the respect these men had for each other. They were on opposing ends of a divisive and deeply personal issue and yet they still honored one another. Their talk included practical ideas of engaging in difficult conversations with people who disagree with you.
When the video ended, I sat there bewildered. Courage stirred.
That’s the day I started my journey of empathy - to understand and sincerely care about the others.
Shortly after committing to the journey, I met Lindsey, Missy and Patrick.
Lindsey: When the Black Lives Matter movement began, I decided that having an informed opinion on the issue required me, a white woman, to ask a person of color about their experiences and feelings. I looked around my friend group: there was none. I looked around my church: none. My community: none. So when I got into an Uber downtown Seattle on a work trip and noticed my driver was black, I asked if he’d be willing to share his perspective with me. It was brief but meaningful.
Eventually a more thorough, and to be honest more difficult, conversation happened with my new beautiful black friend, Lindsey, over dinner. I’m deeply grateful for her patience as she walked me through every hot-topic of racial tension (oh yes, hello white privilege). Because of this conversation over 6 months ago, I am slower to form opinions reading the news, more aware of my words and unconscious biases, and I’m less defensive.
Lindsey is not other.
Missy: Hard conversations continue, just yesterday in fact. I met a new friend Missy downtown Portland for lunch where much of our conversation was about abortion. She is pro-choice. I am pro-life. What does courage and empathy look like for us? We sat and listened to one another, even when it was hard. We asked questions out of sincere concern and curiosity.
When she chose empathy, she saw that I’m not a crazy conservative devaluing the heavy emotions and decisions of a woman with an unplanned pregnancy. I’m trying to protect a child’s right to live, as if it was outside the womb. When I chose empathy, I saw that Missy was not a crazy child-killer but a woman who deeply empathizes with the anguish of others – including women who are often denied critical medical care at pro-life institutions. In the end, she still protests and I still mourn lost babies but we will not villainize each other.
Missy is not other.
Patrick: All these conversations wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t met Patrick in October of 2016. I was referred to Patrick after I had an uncomfortable experience with a client (I didn’t know what pronoun to use because I couldn’t identify their gender). Patrick was highly educated on the topics of sexuality and gender so we met for a quick meeting in a quaint coffee shop (it’s Portland, after all). Thirty minutes into our conversation, Patrick told me he was gender queer. I didn’t know what that meant so awkwardly, yet sincerely, I asked him. He was specific. He was patient. He was honest. Then he sought to understand me.
While the conversation was insightful, it was something Patrick said right before we left that struck me.
We have solidarity.
He explained, my challenge to be an authentic Bible-believing Christ-follower in liberal Portland was similar to his challenge to be authentically gender queer in a world that didn’t hold space for him. We’ve both felt misunderstood. We’ve both felt judged. But more importantly, we both share humanity and the deep desire to be loved and heard.
Solidarity.
We are more similar than we are different.
Patrick is not other.
This has been my anthem as I wade into new uncomfortable conversations. When I’m tempted to feel flustered or get defensive, I’m reminded that deep down, we want the same things. We want to be loved. We want to be safe. We want to be understood. We want to belong.
I confess, I still prefer things cut and dry. There are still non-negotiable black-and-white areas in my life, like my belief in God. Honoring Him is still my life-pursuit. But on specific issues, I was afraid that loving well meant compromising my beliefs. Or vice-versa, that being devoted to beliefs meant that I couldn’t generously love people who believed and lived differently. But I was wrong.
I have found that there are very few things that are black-and-white.
Most of life exists in the messy undefined middle, where there are diverse experiences, different perspectives, and deep emotions. This journey of becoming grey has been incredibly insightful and liberating for me. I’m not mad every time I open Facebook (it’s a modern-day miracle!).
It’s not comfortable. It’s not safe. It’s not predictable. It requires courage to engage when it would be so much easier to stay within our familiar walls with agreeable people. But we can do hard things.
Instead of judging others, we can choose solidarity.
We can lean into the grey together.
Essay by: Amy Wolff
Connect with Amy on her blog and at her passion project - Don't Give Up Signs Movement.
Hi friend!
I'm Catia, a woman, wife, mama, sister, sister friend, you know -- I wear a million hats just like you.
One of my biggest whys is that I want people to feel good about ALL of who they are. Including you.
The threads running through all my work (I’m an author - The Courage to Become, I’m a motivational speaker - TEDx, Choose Joy or Die , I am a private coach ) are hope, joy and empowerment.
If I could choose ten words that best describe me I would say: honest, welcoming, giving, curious, loving, earnest, empathetic, spiritual, playful, and sassy. Let's add: adventurous. That's 11.
Nice to meet you!
Want to start feeling really good but not sure where to start? Jump on into our virtual classroom (complimentary of course!) and get a weekly guide on how to walk with confidence and joy! You are divine. You are magic. I look forward to serving you!
