“You’re so hard on yourself. But remember, everybody has a chapter they don’t read out loud. Take a moment. Sit back. Marvel at your life; at the mistakes that gave you wisdom, at the suffering that gave you strength. Despite everything, you still move forward, be proud of this. Continue to endure. Continue to persevere. And remember, no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again.” ~Unknown
All my life I knew I was different. If I didn’t look so much like my mom, I would have believed the jokes my brother told me about how I was adopted. I just couldn’t relate to everyone else in my family—or the rest of my world.
I was a little black girl that often got called an oreo because, well, you can imagine.
I didn’t talk a lot, spent a lot of time writing, and a lot of time alone. Going to parties gave me headaches, and being forced to mingle made me want to hide.
Although I didn’t know it had a name for it, I was introverted even as a child.
As I grew up, those things didn’t change much. And I found life to be hard. Exhausting even. But no one ever said that life was easy, right? I kept that thought at the forefront of my mind and pushed on like the rest of the world.
I did what everyone did.
I got pregnant and found not just pregnancy to be a challenge but parenting as well. Moved out of my parents’ house and was met with more challenges. and felt as if I was literally losing my mind.
The responsibility of it all had become so much. Too much.
Everyone else made it look so easy. Why was this proving to be so hard for me? My mind wouldn’t let me rest.
I was never suicidal, but I was waking up wishing I hadn’t. I needed help. And not just prayerful thoughts or a comforting word.
I needed professional help. And I needed it