It’s been a year since I started this Blog. A whole year of me trying to work on taking better care of myself, working on being a better person, and reaching toward accomplishing my goals.
A year later, and here I sit, the same old person I was a year ago. I have made some accomplishments towards the charity work I wanted to do and have made progress at work, but as far as the person I am and the person I want to become… they’re still worlds apart.
This reality hit me tonight, as I was scrolling through Facebook at my memories. I had a busy day today and finally had a moment to slow down and enjoy some screen time, and the memory that popped up hit me like a sledgehammer to the face. It was a picture of my daughter taken on the night my water broke 5 years ago today. The night I was taken to the hospital in an ambulance, and was admitted to the high risk pregnancy unit for the next 5 weeks until I delivered my twin boys.
This picture showed the last time my heart truly felt joy, without the feeling of impending loss. This night was filled with smiles, hugs and laughter. We snuggled, we watched movies, and she kissed my belly while talking to her brothers. I was 24 weeks pregnant, and though we knew we had challenges ahead, it wasn’t quite “real” to us yet. We still had time. We had several weeks left before we had to worry. In my heart I believed it wasn’t their time yet. So I put Lilly to bed, and continued to relax for the evening.
And then the contraction started. I did not make that plural on purpose. This was one singular contraction that lasted for 10 minutes straight. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
My husband walked by to go into the bathroom to take a shower and saw me curled up in pain. Sadly this was not the first time this had occurred, so I assured him I was fine and sent him on his way. Fortunately, while he was in the shower, my pain stopped.
Unfortunately, as soon as the pain stopped, I felt my water break.
From that moment on, it was a rush of firemen, family and friends that rushed to our house to make sure I was ok. I was taken to the hospital, where I was told I would stay until the boys were born. They were hoping I would make it until they were at least 35 weeks, which would have kept me in there for 11 weeks. That fact alone made me cry. Although I knew it would be best for the babies, I couldn’t imagine being away from my daughter for that long.
I only made it 5 weeks before I went into labor and they could no longer stop the babies from coming into the world. They were only 29 weeks.
It really is amazing how much time affects our lives.
Five years ago tonight, I was terrified. I was scared not knowing what would happen to my babies, when I would see my daughter, and how I would survive being stuck in the hospital for an extended period of time.
Four years ago, I was in a deep depression, mourning the loss of my son terribly as we came up on his first birthday. I had no idea how to celebrate my surviving sons birthday while remembering his brother without having a complete meltdown.
Two years ago, I was getting ready to start a new job, and was excited for what the future held for me. I was finding ways to focus on myself, and not let others determine what would bring me happiness. I was coming to terms with my grief, and finding healthy ways to work through my rough moments through writing.
One year ago today, I started this Blog, taking my writing public in the hopes that my journey may strike a chord with someone else that may benefit from it. I thought that I would go on a profound personal development journey, and by writing about it I would stay accountable.
Yet here I am, in the same place.
The only difference is, I am still writing. I haven’t given up. I write when I’m in a good mood and want to tell jokes. I write when I am depressed and need to vent my frustrations. I write when I’m sad and feel helpless. Sometimes I write when I feel like I have nothing to say, and it turns out like garbage, but I do it anyway.
I may not have reached all of my goals. I may not be any better of a person than I was a year ago, but I have grown from the woman I was two years ago. And that terrified woman from four years ago? I don’t even really know her anymore.
Don’t put a timeline on your life. Live for today, and cherish each and every moment. Each day we wake up is a chance to start again, and a choice to be who we want to be.