I love me I hate me

Like a lot of people, something I have always struggled with is self confidence. I remember being in fifth grade. Other kids in my grade would make fun of my friend Hannah and I saying we were the fattest girls in the grade. I don’t remember if we were or not, but I remember the sting of those words.

Seventh grade

In seventh grade I frequently had problems with this boy. Austin. He often would pick on me. Maybe he was joking around, maybe he wasn’t. But I remember two instances specifically. One day I was sitting at my desk. Austin comes over and starts poking at my arm fat and told me I have, “lunch lady arms” (meaning they were flabby and fat) to this day I am still extremely self conscious about my arm fat. Another instance I remember Austin telling me he would rather kill himself than have someone like me like him. I didn’t like Austin romantically, but it still really hurt my feelings. I couldn’t be that bad.

In high school I remember the many many clothes shopping trips with my mom. I know we both hated them. I would try on dozens of clothes, and hated most of them. Every time would end in tears thinking about how fat and ugly I was.

Depression hit me hard in tenth grade. I really hated myself. I no longer wanted to be a part of this world anymore. I was ugly, I was fat, my father didn’t want me. Nothing was ever going to get better. I skipped school, I skipped classes. I passed the tenth grade by the skin of my teeth. That year I also gained 50 lbs.

The internal battle I was having with myself has continued past high school and college. It got worse after I became a mother. My body had changed in ways I would never think. Even though I didn’t gain much weight with Noah I still had tons of stretch marks left over. My breasts were never all that perky, but now they looked like they were trying to reach the floor. My hips were wider. My face was fatter. I now had two chins instead of one. Two months after having Noah I visited my grandmother who asked me when I was planning to lose the baby weight, mind you I had dropped 30lbs. It was even worse after having Evren. Not only did I not drop the weight after having her but now my stomach sagged too. I still have my pregnancy belly, only it is deflated with no baby.

Noah was only a month or two old here
Evren is only a few weeks old here. I remember feeling so crappy about myself here.

Something my therapist said to me recently has made me open my eyes a bit. She said, “fat doesn’t mean ugly.” I have kind of always known this. I look at other fat girls out in public and long to look as beautiful as they do. I realize now that they have something I do not. Confidence. They know they’re fat, but they also know they are beautiful. Your body weight does not determine how ugly or beautiful you are. Only you can determine that. I have two kids who are looking up to me. I need to start feeling better about myself. If my daughter or son came to me saying they felt the same way I do right now my heart would be broken. My kids deserve to have a mom who loves herself.

I am worthy. I am fat. I am beautiful. I am a good friend, and a good mother. I am funny and kind. I am selfless and caring. I am me. I deserve happiness. I deserve to love myself.

I would love to hear from you. Do you struggle with self confidence? Did you at one point? How did you overcome it? How do you hope to overcome it?

I am fat. I am beautiful.

New Beginnings

*trigger warning mentions of suicide and depression*

Divorce-the legal dissolution of a marriage by a court or other competent body.

Divorce. It is a word we are brought up to hate. It’s an ugly word. An admittance of failure, a failed marriage that is. Lately I have been thinking a lot about divorce and reflecting a lot on my life. On the 18th of October of this year I got the phone call. The phone call that everyone waits for after an unhappy marriage, “the judge signed off on your divorce, it is final. Congratulations.” Party ensues in my head. I message my friend Ashley and invite her out for a celebratory dinner. It’s on me tonight, girl!

It wasn’t always a party though. It was tears, and sad songs. It was going to work even though all I wanted to do was lay on the floor. It was screaming, and fighting. It was admitting to myself that I fucked up. I knew for a long time that I needed to leave my (ex) husband. In fact, shortly after I married him, (and even probably a little before) I knew I shouldn’t have.

Red flags waved in the air. I saw them, I looked at them, and I even waved back. “Hello, red flags! I see you! I see you, but I just don’t care! I don’t want to be alone!” I put up with a lot of shit that I should not have. I won’t talk shit about him though, because that isn’t fair when he is not here to defend himself.

I knew long before I asked for our separation that divorce was necessary. I wanted a divorce shortly after my son Noah was born. I had bad postpartum depression. I cried at the drop of a hat. I wanted to kill myself. I fully believed that my son would be better off without me as a mother for him. The way he was brought into the world made me question what kind of person I actually was frequently, which I think had a lot to do with me feeling like he would be better off without me. I was living in a constant state of guilt. Anyways, I told myself it would get better. I just had a baby, my hormones were all over the place. Give it time. Divorce is not the answer.

Noah and I a day after I gave birth to him

So time is what I gave it. I talked to my doctor about my postpartum depression and got medication for it. Within a few months I was feeling better. I was still very overwhelmed with motherhood, but I no longer wanted to throw myself off the nearest bridge. I still wanted that divorce, though. My (ex) husband had became more of a burden to me. He was a weight on my back that I could not throw off. I eventually started looking at our finances to see if I could afford to live without my husband. I could, just barely, but enough to leave.

A couple months later I asked for the separation, and as I said in the beginning we are now divorced. It has been a long and hard road. Some people may think that divorce is the easy way out. It’s for quitters. failures. Etc, etc, etc. I promise you though, it isn’t. It took me a while to get to that point. I did a lot of wrong things in my marriage, but I also did a lot of right.

This past year and a half I have done a lot of self reflection. I look back and think about what I could have done differently and what I did wrong. Honestly though, I think I could have done everything differently and still had the same outcome. We did try to fix our relationship a couple of times, it didn’t work out any of those times. Which is okay. That might not be the right move for everyone, but it gave me the closure I needed. I no longer needed to feel guilty for not sticking it out and making it work. I tried, I tried, and I tried again.

I feel like my ex and I just were not compatible enough to have a romantic relationship. Ultimately at the end of the day I do not like him as a romantic partner and even though he has said otherwise, there’s no way he could’ve liked me romantically when I am exactly like my mother whom he hates. I don’t wish him any harm. I only hope the best for him. I know there’s a girl out there who’s perfect for him, it just wasn’t me. I also know that there’s a guy out there who is perfect for me because I am with that man currently.

Going back to the beginning though, divorce has been the biggest blessing on my life. I have learned so much. I have grown so much. Divorce has given me a new life. I am in part II of this story and I am excited to see where it takes me, good or bad.

*for those who are struggling with depression whether it be postpartum or not, and you feel like giving up text HOME to 741741 to connect with a crisis counselor. Crisis text hotline*

*also check out To write love on her arms they have tons of other numbers that may be helpful, including hotlines for child abuse and domestic violence*

The Mother

There’s a song I posted on my “About Me” page called, “The Mother” by Brandie Carlile. A song that always makes me feel like I am heard, and there are other mothers out there like me. The song starts out talking about being alone inside your mind, being tied to someone else, and being worried all the time. It makes me think about when I first found out I was pregnant with Noah. From that moment on I would never not be riddled with anxiety. It felt like I was holding my breath until the 13th week of pregnancy when I would finally be in my first trimester. When my second trimester hit then I started worrying about if we would make it to the magical week of 24. Viability week. When that came and passed then I started worrying about my labor and delivery. How bad would it hurt? Would he survive? Would I be able to breastfeed if he did? Will I be a good mother? When the nurse placed Noah on my chest all I could think about was how scared I was. Noah was so tiny, so fragile. “Are you sure I can actually take this kid home?” I thought to myself. My worries never went away. I would check him a million times during the night and a million times during nap time. Often, I would wake him checking on him. Even now, at two and a half years old I still look over at my son to make sure he is still breathing. Unfortunately, that anxiety didn’t go fully away with Evren but the feeling was definitely more manageable, I don’t check on her a million times a night, and I don’t wake her out of a nap to check on her breathing either. Now I religiously follow that expression, “dont wake a sleeping baby!” Anyways, give the song a listen. Let me know what you think about it and how you find yourself relating.