Love Yourself Enough


If I could teach my daughter one thing it would be love yourself enough. My daughter is 7, but in my mind she is still a baby. I have noticed lately that she comes home more complaining about the kids at school not wanting to be her friend and how they make fun of her. The reality is that soon, too soon, I will be dealing with mood swings, teen angst, and her constant struggle to find her place in life. So if there is one thing I could teach her that she would carry with her always it would be to love herself enough.

I say “enough” because sometimes it takes that little bit of extra. I want her to love herself enough to know that she can do better, that she can do more. I want her to love herself enough to know that when everyone else around her is expressing hatred and unkindness that she can rise above. I want her to love herself enough to be secure in having two close friends and not 12 friends she can never count on and who talk about her behind her back. I want her to love herself enough to know she doesn’t need a boy to define her worth. I want her to learn from my mistake, because I learned this lesson much too late in life. I don’t want her to just love herself….I want her to love herself enough to make it through life and be happy with who she is.

Remembering


pregnancy-loss-ribbon

Lately I have been thinking of the babies I lost due to miscarriage. These two little babies have been on my mind constantly for the past few days and I suppose that has pushed me to want to say a few things. I have three living children ages 6, 4, and 2. They are amazing kids, they push my buttons, but also push me to be the best person I can be. I have known many people who believe that because I have these 3 beautiful children my miscarriages shouldn’t really affect me. How I wish this was true.

Because I have these three awesome children I can’t help but think what those little angel babies would be like today. Would they be sassy? Mellow? Make me laugh? I wish I could know what their snuggles would feel like and what their first words would be. I will never hear their first cry, or be responsible for their first smile. I will never have to try to hide my tears on their first day of kindergarten or argue with them about cleaning their rooms.

I look at my children and while I hurt for the angel babies I will never know, I feel blessed to have the life I do. There are many women who never see their dream of a baby come to fruition and my heart aches for them. I wish with everything I have that they will know what it is like to love a child and have that child love them back.

I suppose the purpose of speaking out about this is to let people know that every woman who goes through a miscarriage carries those wounds on her heart forever. Carrying a baby in your womb and never meeting them takes a toll on anyone who has experienced it. So…be kind, be empathetic, and never devalue a person’s life experiences.

Update


My computer bit the dust….and with it all of my writing. My hard drive is completely fried and I can’t even try to get stuff off it. Pictures, music, works in progress, classwork…MY LIFE :( Technology-1 Ashley-0. On top of that my head is so consumed with the American Psychological Association’s Ethics Code that my creativity is dwindling at a dangerously low level. *sigh* 

On a better note I have managed to still maintain my 4.0 GPA two classes into my Masters degree. My wonderful (and equally cuckoo) family is trying to buy a house and I am trying to convince my husband to add to said wonderful (and equally cuckoo) family. 

I hope all of you are doing marvelously! Comment and let me know what craziness is going on in your life!!

~Ash

Ladies and Gents…..


Which one sounds more appealing if you’re a reader?

 

A)    People are only allowed the memories they are given except for a small group of people who are immune to memory programming

 

B)    A society where there is significantly more men, therefore multiple men have to court

(to the extreme) or bid for a wife

 

C)    Neither lol

Thanks :)

~Ash

why?


This project was flowing from me like water……why haven’t I been working on it??? Hope you enjoy :)

 

The first time he did it…it was dark, raining, and lightning was crackling through the clouds. She felt his hand connect with her face and she went down. Shocked and still hanging onto her bravery she picked herself up and flew at him with a rage she had never felt. When she heard him laugh she knew she had made the biggest mistake of her life. In seconds she was up against the wall with his hand around her throat. She could barely see him except for when the lighting flashed; there was no escaping his strength.

            He leaned close to her ear and whispered “You don’t want to play this game with me”. He tightened his hand and then released her with such a quickness she had no time to get her bearings, instead falling to the floor in a heap of body parts. She sat there, silent, waiting for him to do something more, kill her perhaps. He simply turned and walked out of the room. With shaky legs she made her way to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. What the hell just happened? This was nothing like the man she knew.

            To afraid to come out of the bathroom she decided to run a bath for herself instead, at least she would have a reason to stay behind the locked door for as long as she could. Dumping in some lavender bath salts her mind was still reeling from his violence. As she slowly took her clothes off she peered into the mirror to check and see if he left behind any bruises. Her neck was still pink from where his hand had cut off her airway. Her cheek was burning and red like a lobster. Damn.

            The warm water cradled her like a baby and she lay there thinking. She was only 17 years old. She had left home when she met John, a shining star in this small town. He proclaimed his love for her and told her that he needed her to be with him, and her naiveté concealed any other facts she should have considered. It had only been about six months since she had shown up on his doorstep with a garbage bag in her hand and a backpack on her back. Everything seemed to be going nicely, she cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, and helped pay the bills with the little bit of money she made from working at the only coffee shop in town.

            She almost jumped out of the bathwater when she heard the light tapping on the bathroom door. “Elise, unlock the door honey. I am so sorry.” For what seemed like an hour she sat there, debating in her head if she should let him in. She pulled the plug in the bathtub and dried herself off. Cinching her bathrobe around her waist she apprehensively clicked the lock on the door and stepped back.

            John opened the door slowly and she could see the moisture around his eyes. “I am so sorry Ellie.” He walked over to her and lowered to his knees, pressing his head into her stomach. She stiffened, not wanting him anywhere near her. As he cried out his apologies he got into her mind just a little more. Her heart was starting to break for him, this man she loved so much in such a little amount of time. Surely he really was sorry. He couldn’t be faking such raw emotion, as he promised her over and over again that he would rather die than hurt her again. She laid a hand on the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. He looked up at her, his eyes remorseful, and begged her to come to bed with him. She nodded and as he stood he grabbed her hand and led the way.

            She lay in bed staring at the red walls. She had never liked the color of this room, and after the events of the evening the color screamed danger. John was fast asleep, curled up around her so she couldn’t move without waking him. She wondered how he could sleep so peacefully as she felt his deep steady breaths against her body. Shaking her head gently she closed her eyes and vowed to herself to try to sleep as well .Elise had promised herself that if he ever hit her again she would gather her things up and hit the road.

 As the next year stretched on, the hitting turned to beating, and the red marks turned to deep purple bruises splattered across her body. Every time he cried and said he was sorry for hurting her. It had happened so many times, that she didn’t believe him anymore. Like a true experienced batterer, John knew where to hit her so others would never be able to see the marks. Elise tried to figure out what set him off so she could avoid his fists, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it, there was no stopping him. 

© Ashley M. Nee 2012