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 | Frances Saldivar-Morales
Sisters, you never know what kind of impact you are having. Keep doing good work, being kind, staying steady. We don't have to preach, or gather a following or have a fancy business to make a difference. Do what your heart calls you to do, and do it well. That is plenty. The universe will do the rest.
Tonight, I want to share a letter with you. This landed in my inbox in March and I've been waiting to share it with you - to shine a light on Frances ( tonight's author) and also to remind you that you matter and YOU DO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.
When I wrote The Courage to Become, I had no idea who I would impact, seriously. But the more days go by, the more I realize my experience and my sharing and truth have impacted women and families that I never would have imagined.
Enjoy Frances' story. It's one of challenge and courage, grace and triumph.
---
Catia,
It truly was a pleasure meeting you at the book signing on Saturday. I didn’t expect to be overcome with so many emotions when we spoke, but I appreciate your kind words, warmth, patience and suggestion to email you. This gives me an opportunity to share how your book made a difference in my life—almost breaking down in tears aside.
I graduated from WHS in 2002, and although we never crossed words, I recall you being an upperclassman and drum major when I was a pacesetter. I immediately recognized your face about a year ago while scrolling through Facebook. Being from the same small town, we have several mutual friends on social media and one of them must have shared your page re: Confidence Revolution. Faith and positive/inspirational/motivational content have been my guiding light and driving force through tough times.
“Outgoing,” a word no one would have used to describe me! Growing up, I had a few close friends, and standing out would have been mortifying. I just wanted to study and earn good grades to go to college and earn a degree—all of which I did, not standing out. In 2007, at the age of 23, I had a Master of Science in Communication Sciences and Disorders and began a career as a Speech-Language Pathologist (SLP) in my home town. I accomplished a lot, and before I knew it, I had a career that paid well enough to live a comfortable life and help my parents. As a first generation Mexican-American, my drive stemmed from my parents’ hope that their children would get an education greater than what they had the opportunity to accomplish.
From 2010-2013, I experienced symptoms that my doctors could not put their finger on: shortness of breath, significant fatigue, a dry cough that just wouldn’t go away, and eventually, I began spitting up traces of blood when I coughed. During that time, I underwent multiple chest x-rays, allergy tests, TB tests, took allergy medications and used inhalers to no avail. In the fall of 2013, my now husband and I experienced a miscarriage. I was 7 weeks along when it happened. I know they say you experience shortness of breath during pregnancy, but it usually occurs much later in the process. During those 7 weeks, I felt my shortness of breath intensify. Working as a pediatric SLP, depending on my patients’ abilities, I’d plop on the floor with them, jump around, or carry them from one location to the next if they were infants. I couldn’t understand why I needed to catch my breath so often, even when talking—because, hello, that’s my bread and butter as an SLP—so early in the pregnancy.
If we were going to try to get pregnant again, we needed answers about my lungs. My family doctor decided to send me to a pulmonologist to get a high-resolution CT of the chest. One week before Christmas, on December 18, 2013, we got the answer: Lymphangioleiomyomatosis (LAM). I felt overwhelmed with emotions: shocked, sad, scared, and RELIEF—I finally had an answer! I was 29 years of age.
Is it my true belief that God had other plans for me. I always had that tunnel vision—work hard, earn a degree, make a difference in children’s lives, work, work, work. My career was MY THING; I worked my butt off to get there! In 2014, my LAM diagnosis progressed from a ‘mild’ to a ‘moderate-severe’ stage. I experienced 2 back-to-back right-lung collapses, invasive lung surgery, chest tubes, was on supplemental oxygen 24/7, began taking the only medication that could potentially slow LAM progression, and began consulting with Houston Methodist Lung Transplant Center. I had to leave my profession--MY THING. I have undergone much emotional and physical pain, but through this, I have learned to push my limits and to "stand out" for a reason. I have further explored the things I never thought I could do. I’m not completely there in terms of putting myself out there, but I AM evolving. I think it was God’s way of saying that there is SO MUCH MORE out there. It’s unfortunate that sometimes, the only way we step back to REALLY appreciate life is when we go through life-changing experiences. You know how they say, “What advice would you give to your younger self?” I think a more gratifying way is to SHARE your experiences with others before they ever go through any negative experiences in hopes that they will grip to something in your story and use it as a life lesson.
In “The Courage to Become,” you talked about leaving your career, making less money, and feeling less powerful and scared. I completely related with that. Before leaving my profession, I earned more than my husband and not once did it ever make me feel “more than” him. In fact, I felt we were equal. We both had a career in the healthcare field—we met at work—and I never had to ask him for money, nor did he to me. I took pride in being able to pay MY car, MY student loans, etc. on my own. It took an emotional toll on me and much, much time for me to come to terms with the fact that WE are a partnership. No matter what the situation, we will have each other’s back. I too feel blessed with “the one” I chose and that he chose me too.
LAM took a lot from me, but it has also opened so many doors. I have found other passions, including yoga, reading, considering adoption, and being an active advocate for myself and others living with LAM. Since diagnosis, family and friends have helped me host two LAM Awareness 5K’s in the RGV, and all proceeds went to The LAM Foundation to help fund research for a CURE. I had the opportunity to speak to a large room of LAM patients, family/friends, researchers and clinicians about my LAM diagnosis and hope for a cure at a LAMpoisum conference. I became a LAM co-liaison for my region and am a source of support for newly diagnosed patients and all those living with LAM in my region. My co-liaison and I host annual regional meetings for patients, family/friends and the medical community. I make it a point to speak to others about LAM because it truly takes a village to make this rare disease known—which is why I shared the LAM pamphlet with you. The more people that are aware, the more likely we are to find undiagnosed women to share hope with. I also take part in LAM research at the National Institutes of Health (NIH) in hopes of finding other treatment options and a cure in the near future.
In Chicago as I shared my LAM story with patients/family/friends, clinicians, and researchers.
Approved by and Photo Credit goes to Kelsey Adams: K- Adams Foto Photography taken at LAMposium
Many have complemented me on my positive outlook despite the circumstances. The reality is, we all have it in us, we just have to choose. Sometimes, we’re just blind to all that is in us because we get so caught up in our lives. You and other writers/speakers continue to motivate me to LOVE and LIVE intentionally. After reading your book, although we never met, I felt like I knew you, and you were that friend that you can speak so openly to—hence why I practically wrote my life story in this email—oops! Your genuine, raw accounts of experiences encourage others to stay motivated. The way you spoke about sisterhood has a deep-rooted connection in my heart, because that’s what LAM women call each other, "LAM sister.” A sister is someone you love dearly and want the best for; you have a connection, a bond. I could feel the love your poured into this book, and the guidance and inspiration you wanted to impart on those reading it! Thank you for the prayer at the end of the book. May you truly know your life had a ripple effect on mine.
Best regards,
Frances Saldivar-Morales
To find out more about LAM you find them here, on their home page and on Facebook.
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 | Jesse Coulter
Almost two years ago I shared the most intimate part of myself online. For years I was scared to write about it, and when I did share it online it wasn’t even on my own blog.
5 years I was diagnosed with vaginismus, a condition in which the vaginal muscles involuntarily or persistently contract which makes any kind of vaginal penetration painful or impossible. It’s hard to put into words how vaginismus has affected my life. It’s left me feeling hopeless, confused, disappointed, and isolated. When women would talk about their sex life, I immediately wanted to run away and hide. My closest friends knew about my pain, but I had never met one person who struggled with the same issue. I still feel like this some days. It’s CONSTANTLY on my mind, and affects many decisions I make such as what clothes I wear and activities I participate in. Thankfully sex is possible...hello three kids, but it’s a constant struggle.
My personal blog, Jesse Coulter, covers topics including fashion, home decor, motherhood, and more. I pride myself on being open to my readers and followers, but sharing such an intimate piece of my life was tough. I was terrified my current and future employers would judge me on this article if I posted it. I wanted to share my story, but I was scared. I needed to get it out. I needed to find someone who felt the same way I did. I joined Austin Moms Blog and wrote posts strictly about parenting/motherhood, and I decided to share my story there. It was like my own secret way of sharing, but not going all out...if that makes sense?
The response was insane. I received email after email for the next few months from women all over the country who struggled with pelvic floor issues. Most of them said they had only ever told their significant other, and they silently lived with the pain. They poured out their souls to me, and shared some of their most intimate stories. I felt honored to be trusted and I was able to truly say “I know how you feel.” A girl from Austin reached out to me and we actually met up for dinner one night to talk. She found the courage to share her story and is now making a documentary about pelvic floor pain! (You can find the Tightly Wound Documentary here.)
I’m so happy women are starting to speak up. For years gynecologist after gynecologist had no idea what I was talking about when I shared my symptoms. It was extremely frustrating to leave the doctor with no answers. I hope sharing my story brings light to this issue and women’s health in general.
What I’ve learned from all of this is that being vulnerable is KEY. Key to finding yourself, key to loving others, key to building positive relationships and key to loving life. I hope you find inspiration in my story to be vulnerable and share the scary things. The people that truly love and support you will be the ones standing by your side when it's all said and done.
You can find my original post from Austin Moms Blog here. I also did a podcast about it on the Jess Lively Show here. Feel free to reach out to me at jessercoulter@gmail.com if you have any questions!
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!
