For months I’ve wanted to share this post.  To share my story.  But for several reasons, I couldn’t bring myself to.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have my utmost vulnerable moments ripped open for the world to see and judge.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to expose my thoughts and feelings the way I would need to in order to tell the story as a whole.

But it is a story that deserves to be told.  It is a story that needs to be told.  Because we need to #getloud.  We need to end the judgement and begin the acceptance.  We need to get better; be better.  So many people are longing for someone to listen to them; to help them.  The problem is – we only listen for the chance to talk.  We don’t listen for the chance to help.  We sit in judgement of the words we’re hearing and jump at the chance to tell someone what they’re doing wrong.

Here’s the thing — you live no other life, but your own.  Regardless of how well you think you know someone, you never know the whole person.  You will never know their entire journey because you’re not living their life.  You don’t share their thoughts or feelings.  You have no idea the road they have traveled up to today.

Imagine a jig-saw puzzle.  There is one tiny piece for every day of someone’s life.  You may attempt to piece together the tiny pieces, but you can’t see what the picture is.  Most of the pieces are blank.  Let’s say you meet someone at 30.  That’s somewhere in the vicinity of 11,000 tiny little blank pieces.  Without knowing what the first 11,000 pieces look like, how then, can you even begin to know this person?

You can’t.

You may learn a million little facts about the person from that day forward, but you will never have a complete picture.  You may know your children extremely well; your sibling, best friend, and even your spouse.  But you aren’t with them every second of every day.

So how then, can we look at someone who is battling a disease or disorder and tell them to shake it off.  That it will be better tomorrow or that they’re being ridiculous, because someone always has it worse.

We can’t.  Or we shouldn’t.

Because that person may very well be living in a literal hell that you can’t even fathom.

I’ve heard it all.

But mostly, I’ve heard nothing at all.

I’m going to share with you a story.  A story of how a 30 year old woman opened her eyes one morning and wished she hadn’t.  A story of how this woman began a letter to her fiance because she knew she couldn’t keep fighting for too much longer.  A story of how this woman longed for nothing more than someone who cared enough to make the pain go away.  A story of a woman who found out that she was surrounded by people who simply didn’t.

My story.

But it won’t be on my blog.

For the better part of the last year, I’ve been playing with the idea of writing a book.  For a lot longer than that, it was simply a dream.  I first brought the idea up to Cindy, my bestie for those who are new to the blog, and she was my instant cheerleader.

But where does one begin?  How does one begin?

It took some time to iron out the details and to be able to sort through my thoughts enough that I could put pen to paper – or fingers to keys in my case.

2017 will see another dream of mine become reality.  I will be releasing a memoir; sharing my battle with depression, cancer, infertility, and my journey along the way.

I hope you’ll join me and #getloud with your story.  It just may be all that someone needs, to know they’re not alone in their own battle.


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