What Makes A Hero??

*This entry is strictly MY opinion. I understand that some of you may not agree and that’s okay. That’s the beauty of each and every one of us being able to voice our opinion. But with that said, I am sorry if I do offend some of you, again, this is just my opinion*

I’m sure by now you have all heard the news about Caitlyn Jenner, formerly Bruce Jenner. She made the brave and courageous decision to accept the soul of the woman she was born with even though she was born with a male body. Now, before I get any further, I am so beyond happy for her and anyone that is able to finally live the life they were meant to live, whether it be straight, gay, bi, transsexual, transgender, whatever the case may be. I think it was very admirable of her and I applaud her and anyone who has the courage to “come out” and be free to live the life of happiness that they deserve.

Do I think she should be named a hero? No. Do I think she should be getting an award for courage? No. Do I think it’s fair that because of her celebrity platform she is getting special recognition for something that millions of people do every day? No. 

When I hear the word “hero”, I do not think of Caitlyn Jenner. Call it cliché, but I think of the millions of the past, present, and future soldiers that are fighting for us, fighting for people like Caitlyn Jenner to be able to do what she does. They don’t ask for anything. They don’t even know our names and yet they have, they are, and they will, give their life defending our freedom. When I hear the word “hero”, I think of the millions of single parents, or just parents in general these days, struggling to make ends meet. Maybe working multiple jobs while going to school full time just to be able to provide for their children and give them the life they always dreamed for their kids. They go above and beyond, sometimes putting their dreams on hold to make sure their children are taken care of, even if it takes a while. They work their ass off and get it done. When I hear the word “hero”, I think of my father who fought for his life for almost 15 years, overcoming sicknesses time and time again. He would work every day and make sure his family was taken care of and he struggled ever single damn day but he rarely let it show and he fought and was brave until his last breath. That is a hero to me.

I also heard a lot of discussion about Caitlyn Jenner being awarded the Arthur Ashe Courage Award at the 2015 ESPYs. Yes, Caitlyn, FKA Bruce Jenner is an Olympian Gold Medal Winner. Caitlyn, however, is not. Yes, I already stated I think it took major courage for her to come out to the world as the female she is. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt knowing what kind of comments and bullies she knew she was going to encounter and yet she did it anyway, major kudos. But being a celebrity in today’s society that kind of backlash or even praise comes with the territory. Why wasn’t basketball star Lauren Hill even considered for this award? Lauren was just 19 when she lost her life to brain cancer. But despite that, she spent her last few months helping to raise money for cancer research and actually raised over $1.5million. She was 19. She fought every day to help raise awareness so that those after her could have better care and treatment. Isn’t that courage?

I understand that because Bruce was a celebrity, that is why his transitioning into Caitlyn was headline news. It’s a good platform to give hope and courage to others that are like her. I have even seen 4 year olds on the news that are transgender. I’m all about supporting your children, but at 4, how do you even know what that means? I don’t remember what I wore yesterday let alone how I felt when I was 4. I personally know people that are gay, bi, and transsexual. There are millions of people coming into their own and finding their way in life on a daily basis. That’s life. Why are we praising someone for doing something that people do every single day?

Maybe we should be focused on more important issues instead of Caitlyn. Maybe we should be more focused on treating everyone with respect and kindness and then media wouldn’t feel the need to plaster these celebrities all over the news for their courageous acts...acts that we normal “heroes” do every day.

She Get It From Her Mama

Ah Mother’s Day.

No, it’s not today. So all of you that didn’t buy flowers or a card or wish your mother a Happy Mother’s Day, don’t worry, you still have a few days.

If you read my earlier posts, you would think that this may be one of the hardest days of the year for me. I may never get a Happy Mother’s Day card, a World’s Greatest Mommy coffee mug, or a hand painted covered piece of paper that is equal to a Michelangelo masterpiece. I may never get served breakfast in bed by my little rugrats, go to Muffins with Mommy, or have a bottomless drawer filled with mementos of hand crafted presents throughout the years.  

But.

Since I was “diagnosed” with MRKH I always felt the complete opposite on Mother’s Day. For that, I have my mother, to thank.

I don’t know how to even begin to express how I feel about my mom. We always joke that if I grew up with her, we would have been best of friends because that’s what we are now. I love the music she grew up with. Her fashion sense when it came to dressing my sister and I was a little questionable, but back in the day, she could pull off some clothes that I always tell her I wish she kept. Everyone that sees her senior picture often comment on how much we look alike. I was recently looking for some of my dad’s handwriting for my next tattoo and I came across a bunch of journals my mom used to keep. I know I didn’t get my love of writing from my dad so it was cool to think maybe that’s another thing my mom and I have in common. When my grandpa was sick, everyone told me I should have been a nurse because of how I was with him. But, then I saw how my mom was with my dad, and that’s where I got my compassion from. My mom was literally my dad’s angel. Everyone could see that; he even saw that. My mom was and is literally the strongest person I know, not physically, but mentally, I don’t know how that woman does it.

I know we can’t pick who our mothers, fathers, sons, or daughters are. But I truly believe that I was blessed to have the mother I have to see life through her. I got to see what she went through with her parents when they got sick, what she went through caring for my father, and what she still continues to go through from what her three children throw at her day after day. This woman, my mother, my soulmate, my best friend, amazes me day after day by her courage, her strength, her willingness to always help no matter how she feels. She has shown me, not just by her words, but by her actions, how I hope to be one day. I have to admit, my siblings and I haven’t always been the easiest to deal with. But no matter what surprises come her way, she is there for us, with her unconditional love and support and eyebrow raises. She hasn’t always agreed with our decisions and trust me, she lets us know with her hands on her hips because she is so angry, but she also lets us find our own way and is always there for us when we need to find our way back home.

Today, Mother’s Day, and every day in between, I want you to know that I love you and I thank you for being you and allowing me to be me, even if I do crazy things and I’m not perfect. Your constant love and support have shown me it is okay to be perfectly imperfect.

Growing up

When did becoming an adult start to suck? Excuse my language, mom. But it’s true. I remember when I was younger and all I wanted to do was grow up and be an adult, have a car, my own place, be able to make my own rules and live on my terms. I would roll my eyes when my parents laughed and said “You’ll see one day,” or give me the ever so popular “Money doesn’t grow on trees” speech. I would run to my room and belly flop onto my bed and break into tears and scream that I couldn’t wait for the day that I would be on my own; all because they wouldn’t give me money to meet my friends or a ride to the mall. Man, I was such a brat, a cute one, but a brat nonetheless. What I wouldn’t give to turn back the hands of time.

In 1999, Destiny’s Child came out with a hit song, “Bills, Bills, Bills”. I was 16 at the time and I didn’t have any bills nor the responsibilities. I had a job, but worked very little so my paycheck reflected that. At that time though, I didn’t have anything to pay for besides gas and my extra activities so I was okay. I was able to do what I wanted to do when I wasn’t working and I didn’t have the responsibilities to worry about. Yet, all I wanted was to grow up and be on my own and feel like I was an adult. Now I am one and it’s not all it was cracked up to be.

Yes, being an adult is empowering because you do get to make your own choices, you get to vote, you get to decide how you want to spend your free time, and your career choice is up to you. Being a grown up at our age for many people may even mean you have a family to take care of. When we were younger and in school, we were taught how to calculate formulas like: Solve for x; y2 + (75-8x-the circumference of the sun÷34^7) + the area of the continent of North America – 274. Which, let me tell you, I use daily. I couldn’t tell you the last time I needed to know any of the symbols on the periodic table of elements unless it was a question on Trivia Crack. The things I learned in school did prepare me for some things, but they didn’t prepare me for life. They didn’t prepare me for becoming an adult. They didn’t get me ready to be on my own in the real world where I would have to make my own choices and make hard decisions; the decisions that would eventually teach me who I was and want to be and who I didn’t want to be. Should I hang out with this crowd? Should I go to that party? Try this alcohol? Smoke that joint? Would that make me fit in or make me look like a follower? Life. Life taught me all that hard stuff that an algebraic equation or dissecting a reptile couldn’t teach me. School didn’t teach us how to get over heartaches and how to mend friendships or how to be a good parent. We learn that over time and through our different personal experiences. Growing up is a responsibility much like having bills to pay and having a family to care for. Being an adult sucks and it’s scary and we can’t stop it from happening but if we can look back on all those moments that helped mold us into who we are or who we are still becoming and be thankful and humble, that is when you know you are growing, and that is just beautiful.

Honesty.

So I have a friend who has been “seeing” a guy. She is not ready to start anything because she recently got out of an unhealthy relationship. She was honest with the new guy from the beginning and his feelings developed a lot faster and stronger and eventually became too much for her. Again, she was honest and told him she wasn’t ready and needed to step back. He didn’t understand and confessed how much he cared about her, undoubtedly, pushing her further away. When she was telling me this, I couldn’t help but laugh and recall a very similar “situation” of my own. I was recently “getting to know” someone. Things were going great and we both agreed we didn’t want anything serious because we weren’t sure what we wanted but we both really enjoyed talking to each other. Long story short, it didn’t work, obviously because here I am writing about it. Anyway, unlike my friend’s situation, I was the one that didn’t understand when the guy was trying to be honest with me about where he was coming from. I remember being on the phone with him and I got very upset because he couldn’t understand what I was trying to say. When in hindsight, I was the one that couldn’t understand his honesty.

It took me having that conversation with my friend to realize that being honest with someone has become something it isn’t meant to be. Honesty is supposed to make the other person feel good and respected, not hurt and confused. But when it is something that you don’t want to hear…that is when it becomes the devil. It stings. It cracks the heart. It leaves you upset on the phone, or email, looking like a complete fool. He was nothing but honest with me, which I didn’t understand. Let me back up and clarify. I respected his decision and I absolutely respected him for being honest with me and I wasn’t trying to change his mind. I wanted an explanation. I needed one. HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to feel hurt and confused. I was absolutely mad at him. But for what? For being honest with me? One of the top qualities I look for in a man is honesty, so how the hell can I get mad at someone for doing exactly that. Looking at it now, I was mad at the situation. I was hurt because I didn’t understand. I still don’t. But I will say, we were both honest with each other and so was my friend in her situation. So in the end, yes, the truth hurts. It may sting and it may crack the heart, but overtime, the hurt and sting will lessen and the cracks will heal and you will see that when that person decided to be honest with you, he or she respected you enough to tell you the truth. Now, you have to have respect for yourself, be grateful for the conversations you had and time spent together, and keep it moving.

And for you, I know you are reading this, thank you for being honest with me.

Single and Fabulous

“Being single used to mean that nobody wanted you. Now it means you’re pretty sexy and you’re taking you time deciding how you want your life to be and who you want to spend it with.”
Carrie Bradshaw (Sex and the City)

I can remember hearing those voice overs from Carrie while I watched the show and not fully understanding what the hell she was talking about. Carrie Bradshaw had it all; the clothes, the great apartment in NYC, the men, the job, and the shoes! I was too young to fully comprehend what she was writing on her laptop while sipping on her delicious looking Cosmopolitans at 10 o’clock in the morning because, well honestly, who doesn’t have that luxury? But, with re-runs of the show on now, I catch myself watching them, with my Cosmo in hand of course, and having those Ah-ha moments a lot more then I should.

I’m single. I don’t have a +1. I’m not a “Teri and….” on guest lists. I could check the “Single” or the “Divorced” box depending on my mood. I’m usually a third, fifth, etc…wheel. My last real date was with my nephew. I could probably go on and on but I’m thinking you get the picture. Society had me trained to think that because I am single, there must be something wrong with me. I had 2 serious relationships before I got married, I failed at my marriage, and I’m back to being single. Am I doing something wrong? Am I not good enough? Maybe there isn’t someone out there for me. Am I being too picky? Am I too guarded or am I making myself too available? Or, call me crazy, but maybe I’m just being a female and thinking way too much into this whole being single thing. Sorry to put us on blast ladies.

Perhaps it’s not just the female species that has it all wrong. Maybe it’s just society as a whole that has blinded us to what’s really important: life. Living life. Loving life. Maybe I’m not in a relationship because I just don’t want to be. So in yo face, society. Being single is a choice. Don’t get me wrong, if someone comes along that I think is amazing and that I would like to get to know better, I will put forth that effort. However, that still doesn’t mean I want a relationship RIGHT NOW. That means I would like to take things slow and get to know you. Since my divorce, I realized a lot about myself and I have some things (obviously) that I need to work on for myself before I can bring anyone else into it. I want to travel by myself, which I think is the greatest way to learn about yourself. I want to have fun with my friends and go to concerts and sit around a bonfire. I want to enjoy spending time with my family. I want to read more. I want to sleep in a van down by the river. Okay, I’m kidding about that last one. I want to go camping and sleep under the stars. I want to hear stories from people I don’t even know because I love seeing how people talk about things they are passionate about. It would be amazing if I found someone to do these things with, but I am okay doing these things myself and with my friends. Being single will not stop me from living life; loving life. I know I will find someone that is perfect for me and can handle me at my worst, my best, my outspoken times, my quiet times, my annoying times, and my ever so cute endearing times. But until then, I’m working on the relationship that really matters; the one with myself and that is just fabulous.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

For the longest time my mom would wake us up on this very day, every year, and give her best Irish accent and say “Top of the morning to ya!” I would find it hilarious because she would love it so much, although I’m not sure what she loved more; talking with the Irish accent or having an excuse to wake us up in such an obnoxious but cute manner. See, for the longest time we thought we had Irish ancestors, then we didn’t and we were Scottish. Then we were a little Irish and Scottish. So, I think that’s where we ended up. Honestly I lost track of how many times we thought we might have been Irish. But on March 17th, aren’t we all Irish? Sure, you can look at that as go out and get plastered and have a whale of time. Or you can look at it as I’m choosing to and consider yourself lucky. When it comes to lottery tickets, raffles, casinos, or even Go Fish, I definitely don’t have the luck of the Irish on my side. But when I look back on my life and where I am now, I can confidently say I hit the jackpot when it comes to my family, without having to chase a little leprechaun.

I know everyone says they have the best parents in the world and chances are they might. However, my parents….I don’t even know how to describe. They were and are the perfect combination of best friends/parents. They didn’t smother us, but yet we always knew they were there. They pushed us to do our best in everything, but were behind us if we decided it wasn’t for us. What my dad lacked in “book smarts”, my mom made sure she had it covered. What my mom didn’t know about the mean streets of Struthers, my dad let us know about. When I thought I was big and bad and packed the black plastic bags and was ready to leave home because they took my pager from me, they always let me do what I had to do, and then they always let me back. Honestly I never got more than the front door. But I was trying to make a dramatic point. But I was the one that was missing the point. They were and are always going to be there for us. My parents made sure we always had a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs. I know I have said things to the both of them in my childhood days that have hurt their feelings and all I can say now is that I am sorry and thank you for loving me, for loving us, unconditionally.

When I say us, I mean myself and of course my older sister and my younger brother. Let’s be honest, who are the real lucky ones to have such an amazing sister like myself. Without them though, I don’t know where I would be. Cathy paved the way for me. Not only with my parents and in high school, but in life. While she was in high school and I was in about 8th grade there was a divide. I wasn’t allowed at parties she threw at our house when our parents were away and I wasn’t allowed to be with her and her friends basically doing anything. I remember thinking I have the meanest sister in the world, the universe. Why couldn’t I hang out with her? But, as the years went on and we grew up and grew closer, the more I learned and the more I caught on. She wasn’t telling me no because she was mean and because she didn’t love me. She told me no and kicked me out of her parties BECAUSE she loved me. She was protecting me. She was being the big sister. Now we are both grown up, even though I think she hates to admit her little sister isn’t so little. I have to make my own choices and do what is best for me, even if she doesn’t agree. We are two different people and that’s okay. She is more cautious and I’m more carefree. I’m sure we can both learn a lot from each other. Some days I just want her to relax and I’m sure there are days she wishes I would just grow up. But I will always need her, no matter the day, no matter the circumstance. Now Mark, my little brother is something else. I have never been more proud of someone then him. Growing up, he was terrible. I mean I have heard of terrible two’s but this lasted till he was about 12. He gave my parents a run for their money and many babysitters. I would have never imagined he grow up to be the man he is today. He left home for Columbus with his girlfriend at the time, now his wife, shortly after high school and has been making this family proud ever since. He is the smartest man I know, I just want to know why those genes skipped me?! He has lived in different places and taken on so many different jobs that I can’t keep up. He has never settled for less than what he deserves and he deserves the world and so much more. He is always chasing bigger and better things and I have always admired that about him. When I lived in Texas, I can say he and I got a lot closer and I learned a lot about him and the man he has become and I know I don’t tell him all the time, but I truly adore him. It is an honor to be his big sister.

So, maybe tomorrow when you aren’t getting plastered and doing numerous Irish Car Bombs, take a minute and think about the things or people in your life that you are lucky to have or had. I say tomorrow because I have gotten emotional while drinking and I don’t recommend that for anyone. I have a lot of other people that I am lucky for, but I think this was enough reading for the day.

Be lucky. Be blessed. Be careful.

My Addiction & Regret

Regret. We all have it. At some point in our lives and in some form, we all have some regret. Whether it be saying something to someone, wearing something, cutting your hair a certain way, dating someone, doing something, or even eating way too much. It comes in many shapes and in many sizes. Sometimes we learn from what we did that filed us with that regret and sometimes we are just addicted to the way it makes us feel in the moment that we don’t feel the regret till after, which makes us do it all over again. It’s a vicious cycle. Damn vicious.

In high school I had an eating disorder. It started off by me not eating or eating very little. Then I would eat more and throw it up. Things in my outside world at that point were out of control, I felt like I could control my weight. It is so cliché when people say that I know, but it’s true. I needed that control because I felt like I couldn’t handle what was going on around me. Maybe it wasn’t about the control that I needed but more about the attention looking back at it now. Either way, for a short while, I was addicted to that feeling. It was a rush, a high, knowing that I could eat whatever I wanted to because I could get rid of it. Did I regret it immediately afterwards? Absolutely. But that only made me crave it more. Everything around me was so chaotic I blended in the background so maybe I just wanted someone to notice that I was there. In no way was it anyone fault but my own. I knew what I was doing. I knew if I just spoke up the right way, things would change. But I handled it wrong because I didn’t know what to do at that time. I told my boyfriend who then either told my parents or made me tell them, I can’t remember, but I did end up going to see a doctor. I felt like I disappointed my parents which made it worse. What was I doing? My parents loved me and I was hurting myself when I had their attention all along. I stopped after one session.

My addiction to that rush, that high, was nothing. I thought I wanted control at the time but now I know I just wanted the attention and I’m mature enough to admit that. I regret going about it the way that I did because I feel like I hurt my parents in the process. The thing I learned about regret is that you can never go back in time and change what you said, what you wore, how you cut your hair, or change your actions. Instead, you can learn from it, grow from it, and become better from it.

1995.

I'm going to bring you back to a certain point in my life, although I didn’t fully comprehend what had happened then, looking back at it now, it was the first time my family, the family I thought was untouchable, broke.

My grandfather passed away on February 15th, 1995. I was young. I knew what happened & I understood what happened. I remember walking in the door from school and my mom and dad sitting at the table. Anyway, I walked in and my dad had me sit on his lap and he told me. I cried and then we went to my Nona’s. I will never forget when I went there that day. I sat on her lap and she was hugging me so tightly. I can remember feeling as if her arms were just swallowing me as she held me against her chest. She was screaming in my ear and rocking back and forth, “He’s gone, He’s gone.” See, the thing about my grandparents is that they were absolute soulmates. My Nona literally had a broken heart and on June 20th 1995, just 3 short months and 5 days after my Grandpa passed, that broken heart took her from us. Unfortunately, I was so young, I don’t remember much of my grandparents besides the stories and pictures that people share.

Did you ever see the movie “Soul Food”? When I first watched that, Big Mama reminded me of my Nona. She was the glue. She was the foundation. We would go over there all the time for dinner. Holidays were unreal. Christmas Eve & Christmas day, I couldn’t wait to go over there. Santa would come and I would get so excited when I would hear the clanking from him, or her, walking down the steps; not ever noticing that my dad, Grandpa or Grandma would take turns being Santa. My Nona is who started my addiction to chocolate milk. I can remember one time I was running in their house and I ran into the doorknob of my Grandpa’s TV room. My eye was gushing blood and my dad put me on top of their counter in the bathroom and the counter was really long and I can remember looking at my Grandpa and feeling bad for him because he was all the way at the end and couldn’t see what was going on. My Grandpa would chase my brother around with a yellow yard stick that he hid next to the refrigerator and my Nona would ALWAYS have Juicy Fruit gum to give us that she kept in a jar in the cabinet right by the door to the garage. I can remember running in their front yard because it was really big and throwing rocks in the pond that they had in the backyard. I can remember how red my Nona’s face would get when she would laugh and the hair that grew out of my Grandpa’s nose. I can’t remember their voices. I can’t remember anything they told me. I can’t remember the last time I saw their faces other than in pictures, but the memories I do have of them will hopefully last a lifetime.

Regardless if I knew them as much as I would have hoped, they helped shape who I am today. Their blood is running in my veins. I learn more and more about them each and every day. By having those family dinners, they made me understand how important family is and how lucky I am to be a part of the one I am. Some of us may fight, some of us may not agree with one another, and some of us may not talk to each other on a regular basis, but at the end of the day, we are family, and that is something my grandparents taught me that I will never forget.

Mistakes & Judgement

How fair is it that people still get judged on their past? Sure, some people are incapable of changing. But, how fair is it to judge people that HAVE changed based on things they did 20, 15, or 10 years ago? I know that I have done some pretty messed up things in the past that I would never even think about doing now. I know people that have cheated and are in committed relationships now. I know people that have had several run ins with the police that are now police officers. I know people that have had trouble with drugs and alcohol and are amazing people, friends, and parents. People grow and people learn through their mistakes so how fair is it for us to judge them on things that they did when they were younger? We don’t always know the circumstances or the situations or what was going on in their heads when they did what they did. They probably don’t even know. The point is that they learn from it and they grow from it and they become better people. We can’t sit on our high horses and point fingers at anyone because the truth is, I bet we all did some things we aren’t proud of.

I am in no means innocent. I have done things I am not proud of when I was younger. I didn’t know any better. I wish I could go back in time and change it. I was lost and searching for any kind of relief and I was selfish. I will have to live with the choices that I made during that period for the rest of my life and that is no one’s fault but my own. I was wrong and I am sorry. But, I did learn from it. I learned about the person I never want to be. I learned that I am better then who I was pretending to be. I learned that I am going to mess up from time to time and it’s okay and that I can’t bottle up my emotions from the past because they will literally suffocate me. Most importantly, I acknowledge that I made mistakes in the past and that I am not a bad person. So, how can I sit there and judge someone based on something they did light-years ago? I can’t. I can acknowledge that they made mistakes, yes, but I should also acknowledge that they aren’t that same person now and chances are, they are pretty amazing.

Our experiences are what make us who we are today and so do our mistakes, without them, how would we learn and become better?

Beautiful You MRKH

As some of you could see, I have an opportunity to be part of a research project for women with MRKH. The researchers would take some blood samples from me and any of my immediate family members that would like to participate to study our DNA. They want to try to find the cause of MRKH and IF it could be prevented. I wasn’t specially selected, I volunteered. I am part of a wonderful “Sisterhood of Warriors”, if you would, of women from literally all across the world that have been blessed with this. I honestly didn’t know it existed until I was looking up more on the syndrome myself and I saw all these women. I couldn’t tell you how excited I was to FINALLY have a group of people that understood. I know I have my friends and family that I could talk to here and they have been more than supportive, but it’s just different when there are people that are actually going through the same feelings and emotions.

I am part of the Beautiful You MRKH Foundation. It is a wonderful organization that encourages us lucky ladies to be proud of ourselves and to remind us how beautiful we are even with MRKH. The one thing I really love and feel like I should also be doing, is the foundation encourages us to talk about the syndrome and bring awareness to it. I would LOVE to tell someone I have MRKH and not have to explain it. I want them just to say, “Oh, so you were born without the proper parts of the reproductive system?” Hell yea I was and I rock it! I wouldn’t actually say that, but I would be screaming it in my head. Every doctor appointment and trip to the ER, “Is there any chance that you may be pregnant?” Of course I could just say no and leave it at that. However, these are medical professionals. Why shouldn’t I tell them I have MRKH? Because then they question me as to what it is and I tell them. “Oh, I have never heard of that before,” is what they usually respond with. Who knows what happens after that conversation. Maybe they forget about it. But, maybe they don’t. Maybe they tell another co-worker who has never heard of it and so on. Maybe they both go home and research it. Then, maybe 2 years from my visit, another 17 year old girl comes in and has never had a period because she also has MRKH. Imagine how that little girl will feel when that doctor or nurse doesn’t have to question her about it because he or she already knows what it is.

That’s why I’m doing this. That’s what the Beautiful You MRKH Foundation is about. I encourage you all just to look at their page and see what they do. They have helped me be proud of myself. The foundation has proved to me that I am not alone in my feelings and that other women all across the world are affected by this. Maybe, one day, MRKH won’t be something women are afraid to talk about but instead, are proud to have been blessed with.

www.beautifulyoumrkh.org

Jealousy.

I have had a lot of people private message me since I started this blog. Many told me how awesome they think it is that I can talk about this, which I appreciate more then you ever know. For the longest time I thought I had to keep this private and only share with those that I wanted to share with. Well, screw that. Writing has been so much fun for me and it feels so incredibly amazing to talk about the fact that I have MRKH. One of my reasons for wanting to share was to hopefully be able to speak to someone else struggling. Maybe not with the fact that they don’t have a uterus or a vaginal canal, but just anyone feeling like they don’t belong or were alone. Recently, I received a private message and she asked me a question that I think about every day because I am literally surrounded by it. Sadly, this woman lost her baby a few years ago and although I don’t know how that feels, I can relate.

“How do you keep from getting jealous when you find out your friends are pregnant?”

I laughed a little when I read that. My sister is currently pregnant. My best friend, who I consider my sister, is pregnant. Her sister-in-law and cousin-in-law are both pregnant, both who I know and love. The mailman’s cousin’s boyfriend’s little sister is pregnant. I swear, it’s like in the water. Maybe it’s the 50 Shades of Baby Boom era. Everywhere I go, someone I know is pregnant, had a baby, currently trying to have a baby, etc. So, when I got that message, all I could do was laugh.

I’m human. I have natural emotions and I said before I was going to be completely honest with all of you. I do get jealous when I find out someone is pregnant. I can’t help it. It lasts probably for about a minute or two. I get a rush of different emotions: jealously, anger, guilt, happiness, lucky, then thankful. Now, before everyone starts to judge and think I am a terrible person for feeling these emotions, please let me explain.

The first feeling I get is jealously. If you have been following my blog; this is pretty much obvious. I get jealous that they are going to get to experience pregnancy, all the good and bad. I get jealous they have a uterus. Stupid, I know which is then when I get mad. I get mad because I start to feel how unfair it is all over again. Why did I have to be born without that? I want to be a mom too. It’s not fair. Why did God choose me? Why do they get to be happy and I don’t. Which VERY quickly turns into guilt. I feel guilty because why in the world am I thinking these things?! It isn’t their fault that I was born the way I was. It’s no one’s fault. So then, my mini rush of emotions is just happiness/excitement and for the next 9 months I’m on Cloud 11 right along with them.

Like I said in my prior entry, God made me this way for a reason. I’m not ready to know what that reason is yet. One day I will know that reason. So yes, I get jealous and I’m okay with admitting that because I know in my heart I am so beyond happy for my friends and family and even the mailman’s cousin’s boyfriend’s little sister. How lucky am I that I get to share in this amazing experience (the good and the bad) with them? How lucky am I that the mommys to be allow me to be part of their children’s lives? How lucky am I that I know in 9 months, I am going to have another little baby to hug and kiss and spoil the heck out of? I’m really lucky I get to watch the babies grow up to be amazing kids. I feel lucky that I get to load the kids up with sugar and get them all wild because I’m a cool aunt (hopefully they think I am) and then give them back to their parents. When the kids get older, I’m going to be lucky that they know they can turn to me if they have any problems. And yes, I know these kids aren’t mine and no, I don’t pretend that they are. But, knowing that I can’t have kids, I feel a special connection to them.

And for that, I will forever be thankful.

Surrogacy.

If I choose to have a baby and don’t want to adopt, my other option is surrogacy. This is where doctors would take my egg (since I still produce those) and implant the sperm from either my husband or a sperm donor if I choose to go at it alone. They would then take that little bundle of joy and implant it into a woman who will then carry my child to term in her uterus. Essentially it would be my bun but her oven. Now if you remember my entry about adoption and how crazy my mind was all over the place, this is no different. Actually, this may be worse.

I get a baby with my genes. My blood. It would be a part of me and (hopefully) my husband’s. Not only would that baby be a part of me, but I wouldn’t get the stretch marks, I wouldn’t get the kicks, I wouldn’t get the indigestion, and I wouldn’t get the morning sickness. You know when you were younger and your mom or dad told you not to do something and it just made you want to do it that much more? That’s how I feel. Knowing I won’t get to experience any of that stuff that I hear so many women complain about makes me want it that much more. I WANT to experience the kicks and hiccups. I WANT to get the morning sickness and indigestion. I know, call me crazy. But it’s like the girls that have straight hair want curly hair and the curly haired girls always want the straight hair. But it’s not only that stuff that I think about when I think about another woman carrying my child. Who would she be? Would she be someone I know? Who would possibly want to give up 9months of their life to carry my child? What if something happened to her while she was carrying my child or giving birth to my child? I know they go through all sorts of tests, physically and mentally, but I could never live with myself if something happened. I mean, crazy things happen all the time. What if I picked a woman from an agency and the pregnancy made her crazy and she runs off with my baby? I know that’s farfetched but I’ve seen Dateline. Then, once I get over all the crazy thoughts, my emotions start setting in and I start to feel inadequate as a woman because someone else is having to carry MY child. Yes, I know it’s not looked upon like that. But put yourself in my shoes. Imagine trying to bake a cake. You have all the ingredients but you’re missing the most important part of the process, the actual oven to bake it in. So, you have to borrow someone else’s oven and watch YOUR cake bake in an unfamiliar oven where anything can happen and you can’t control it because it’s not yours. Crushing. And now I really want cake. Back on topic, Teri! Like adoption, this can also be pretty expensive. However, I will say this, if I choose to have child, no amount of money will be a roadblock. I’m just saying that finances are something to think about because you have to pay for the actual process, checkups, medical bills, and medicine, anything about that baby and really anything about that woman carrying your child for the next 9months, is you. 

So, as you can tell, I want to be a mom. However, I’m realizing that just because I want to be a mom doesn’t mean I am ready to be one. I’m not going to be selfish and go through the long process of either options. Like I said before, it’s not just about me, it’s about that child. I still have a lot of research and learning to do. I wish I had it easy and I could just decide which road I want to take: adopt or surrogacy. But I have to figure out which one is right for me and it may take me a little bit longer but right now, I’m okay with that.

For you.

Recently, a married couple I know and love, tried twice to conceive through artificial insemination and twice they were unsuccessful. I spoke to her and something she said hit home with me. She said, “God is cruel. Just not meant to be I guess”. I wanted to cry for her when I read that. Although she CAN carry a baby and she DOES have all the necessary working “parts”, I felt for her. I went through all those emotions when I first found out I would never be able to carry a child. I thought maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mom. Why did this have to happen to me? But the truth is, I may never know why and she may never know why it didn’t work. But maybe it’s about finding out how strong we are and maybe THAT was God’s plan.

This entry is for her.

I already said before that I am not a very religious person, however, I do believe in God and that there is a reason for everything. Everyone has their share of bad days, weeks, hell, my family has had it for years. Yes, it’s not fair. But that’s also life. This beautiful & crazy disaster of a thing called life. You have to believe that one day, all the bad storms you went through will be worth it. One day, if I choose, I will have a baby. Maybe that baby will be mine or maybe that baby will be one that I adopt. But, I am thankful that God gave me that choice and it’s up to me when I am ready. Talking to her made me realize that everyone has their own struggle. Whether it be not having a uterus, not being able to conceive, trying for 7 years,  or even going thru a rough pregnancy and having to watch what you eat. It made me realize that I am not alone in this journey. Even though we may be taking different paths with different obstacles, the destination is the same: becoming a mom.

And for you, your day of motherhood will come. Whether it be by trying again or adopting. It will happen. Don’t be sad because you had a few setbacks. Trust me when I say I know how you feel. Yes, it sucks. Yes, it’s not fair.  You have to look at these trying times as test of your strength. But if you want to be a mother, you will.

Miracles can  happen.

I love you both.

Adoption and What If's

After I grew up and realized nothing I can do or how I was acting will change what I was born with, or without, it was time for me to learn a little bit more about my two options if I ever decided to have a child.

When I start to think about adoption I just get so overwhelmed. I can’t tell you how many times I looked on sites, signed up for newsletters, I even looked at pictures of potential children. When I was younger and I heard people adopted I had NO idea what even went into that process. As I grew older I looked at adopting a child as my way of helping him/her. Maybe they couldn’t have the life I would provide for them and God knew this. I am not much of a religious person (sorry mom), however, I do believe there is a reason God made me the way he did. Maybe it was for me to help children and become the next Angelina Jolie and just go on a wild adopting spree. But if that was the plan, it would have been nice if he provided me with the income to do so! I’m going to do my best and bring you inside my mind when I start to think about adoption. Buckle up, it might be a little all over the place.

Domestic adoption? International adoption? If I go international, I have to narrow it down to what country and that’s based on what country is even allowing adoption into the United States. Then I have to worry about money because normally you will have to go to that country once or twice before you bring that child home so that can cost a pretty penny. What gender would I prefer? What race? What age? That stuff does not matter to me. Actually, that was just a lie. Age matters. I want a baby. Which may make it even harder for me because I heard babies are harder. Then I start to feel guilty because I think of all the other children that are older and are still in foster care. What about them? If I went international, what if I was in the middle of the process and that country suddenly stopped adoption with the United States? Would I still get my baby or would I have to start all over again after I potentially may have already met and fallen in love with him or her? What if I put my name on “the list” and it takes seven years? What if I put my name on “the list” and the process takes 6 months. I live with my mother. She is an angel, but I don’t know how she feel about having ANOTHER baby running around the house. I’m enough to deal with. What if the child doesn’t adapt well to me? I can’t send them back. This isn’t a trial. If I adopt, that child is choosing me too. What if I decided to go with a domestic adoption? Would I go thru a private agency or the state? Ugh and don’t even get me started on narrowing down WHICH agency to use! You know how many agencies are out there? How will I find which one is perfect for me and fits my needs and my wallet? That sounds terrible but let’s face it, this is expensive and I’m single. Oh yea, let’s throw that in the mix, I’M SINGLE! What if I adopt now and I find someone and they don’t want kids? Well sorry mister, my child comes first. Do agencies even adopt to single parents? How in the world would I even afford to go thru the process AND care for the child? Can I even do that by myself? I know a lot of single parents and they are amazing, but could I be one of them?

Yes, I know that there is someone out there for me. Yes, I know that once I start the process, IF I choose to go the adoption route, it will all start to fall into place. Yes, I know that once I choose an agency to work with, they will help me figure out how to do everything and finances and what have you. After all, that is what they get paid to do. But, what if, after all these questions running through my head, what if adoption just isn’t right for me?

The truth is...

Sorry I didn't post last week. We are all human and life got in the way.

My favorite childhood movie was Big Bird Goes to Japan. I would watch it all the time. Big Bird got lost while in Japan and a mysterious young woman tries to help him find his way back home. But in the end, it turns out the young woman is in fact a Princess. In the final scene, Big Bird is flying home and you can see the Princess being ushered away across the moon. It is rather sad because she does not look happy about it. However, Big Bird found his way home and that was the point of the movie after all. For my 18th birthday, my parents found that movie for me on VHS and I watched it.

What does have to do with MRKH? Glad you asked. It doesn’t. But I thought that by watching it; it would make me happy. It didn’t. Truth is, for a while after I found out about my diagnosis, nothing made me happy for a very long time, years even. Sure for those of you that knew me, I appeared happy and carefree. But at that time, I couldn’t talk to anyone about what I was going through because I felt like no one would understand. I didn’t know anyone else affected with MRKH so how would anyone be able to know what I was going through. So, I did what I knew how to do and pushed it all away. I put on a brave face and went about my days. I would actually sometimes make jokes about not being able to have kids or not having my period. Looking back at it now, it was just a defense mechanism. I was never shy about telling people I was born without a uterus. However, I did NEVER mention I was born with an underdeveloped vaginal canal. I don’t know why. I think that made me seem less of a woman. The MIA uterus I could deal with. But I think, the more I am writing about this, the more I am learning about myself and I was ashamed that I felt like I didn’t have a vagina. I knew and I know I have one. I had and I have sex. But for some reason I felt like a freak. And I didn’t even realize that until right now. I masked the pain I was in so well that I had myself fooled. Like I said though, I was “the light of the party” as some people would say on the outside, but on the inside, my light, was fading. I did things I am not proud of and I wish I could take back and those things I will have to live with. I hurt people that no amount of apologies will ever make it right, nor do I ever expect to be forgiven. I guess in my own way, it was a way of escaping my own reality.

I acted a certain way because I was lost. I felt like I could forget about being a freak. I could forget about not being able to carry a child or having sex like a normal girl. If I could pretend like I was okay on the outside why couldn’t I be okay on the inside? I didn’t see myself the way others, especially my family, saw me. I had absolutely no self-worth. Like I said in prior postings, I wanted to be a wife and a mother. Those plans were shot to hell now. Since I started this process, I decided that I would be 100% truthful because that will be the best way to hopefully help me. For a split second, I do remember thinking, why am I here? I messed up. I was a freak without a uterus and had a teeny tiny vaginal canal. No man will ever want to be with me because I would never be able to carry their child. I will never be a mom and that’s all I ever wanted. But then I wouldn’t have my family. And I would take my family over anything. ANYTHING.

And then I grew up. I realized I had it a lot better than most people. There were kids born without arms and legs. Some babies don’t even make it home from the hospital. As my dad would always say, “there are starving kids in Africa and you are going to sit there until you are done,” when I didn’t want to eat. I was one of the lucky ones. I had clothes on my back and a roof on my head. Why in the world was I complaining? Back then, I was just a child myself trying to understand all of this. But understanding all of this meant learning about my options a whole lot more…

My Not So Secret, Secret. (TMI post)

So. Now that I have decided to “come out” and tell my secret with the world, I want to try to educate you as much as I can with what Mayer-Rokitansky-Kuster-Hauser Syndrome is. I don’t want to type that out every time I refer to it so I am going to call it MRKH from here on out.

After the initial shock wore off, we made another trip to Cleveland Clinic to speak to the specialist to learn a little bit more ourselves. This time my very supportive and long term boyfriend came with us so he could also learn. But yea, you want to talk about awkward?! Picture me, my mom, my dad, and the boy who was sexually active with their daughter…all talking about her small vaginal canal and lack of a uterus. Just wait. It will become more awkward. I promise.

MRKH affects 1 out of 5,000 girls. It mainly affects the reproductive system. It causes females to have an underdeveloped uterus, vaginal canal, and cervix, however, all three or just one can be totally absent, like my MIA uterus. Things about MRKH I haven’t touched upon:
     Girls with MRKH look normal on the outside (which is another reason I didn’t know anything was wrong). My breasts were developed. I went through normal puberty besides having my menstrual cycle. From the outside I looked like what I was supposed to look like according to health books and PLAYBOYS (face it girls, we all looked). Not to mention, my boyfriend never said anything. I thought I was good.
     The “underdeveloped vaginal canal” means it is shorter and narrower than normal.
     Some cases of MRKH also have minor hearing loss (which may explain why my sister thinks I talk so loud and why I tend to not hear my mom, well, that or I just have selective hearing)
     Some girls with MRKH also may skeletal problems and spinal problems, such as scoliosis.
     I also have read that in some cases, some girls may have only been born with one kidney.

Believe it or not, there was good news in our second visit. As the specialist talked to us, she explained that although I could never CARRY a child, I would still be able to have a child that would be GENETICALY mine. I have my fallopian tubes and I also produce eggs. SCORE! So, if my future husband and I decided to have kids, we would be either to A. adopt or B. have a surrogate (they would take my husband’s sperm and implant it into my egg and implant that little concoction into a gestational carrier who would then carry our GENETIC child). I will get into those two options a little later into the blog.

Awkward part. Let’s talk about my vaginal canal, shall we? I was 17. I was sexually active. GASP! So, how is that possible with an under developed vagina? It’s not really. What I mean by that is…it is possible, but not nearly the way it was meant to be enjoyed. Sex for me in one word…painful. Because I was underdeveloped, the canal I had at that point was “man-made” so to speak. The more active I was with my boyfriend, the more I would stretch. The specialist suggested, in front of my parents and boyfriend, that I use a dilator. You see, if I went periods without penetration, my canal would start to shrink. But because sex was always so painful for me I would never want to engage in it, but it was only painful because I was small(ish) in that area. Catch 22. I declined. I wasn’t comfortable talking about having a dilator to try to fix something I hadn’t fully come to terms with yet.

13 years later and I’m only now starting to scratch the surface

The Car Ride Home

Okay so I know many of you are probably wondering…”how is she sexually active with an under developed vaginal canal?” I promise I will get to that.

But for now let me bring you back to the doctor’s office when she just told me I was never going to be able to carry a child. Oh and along with just being told I had no uterus and a tiny vaginal canal; in front of my mother and my father. Now at this point in the game they both already knew I was sexually active but it’s a little more embarrassing when I have to talk about the size of things and the lack of things with them there. But luckily, I have the greatest parents and they were/are wonderful with everything. My family has been through a lot up until that point and my diagnoses of Mayer-Rokitansky-Kuster-Hauser Syndrome (MRKH), was one more thing for us to tackle together.

The moment the doctor told me that news I pretty much shut up, which is a lot for me. I just went blank…numb. I blocked out everything she said after she told me I wasn’t able to have a child. I had pictured my life. I had it all planned. I was going to get married. I was going to be a wife. I was going to be a mom. I was going to be happy. One sentence changed everything I had imagined for myself.

The ride home was one of the longest in my life. I just laid in the back seat. I remember staring at my dad while he drove. I can still picture him. We were all pretty quiet. Up until that day, none of us have ever heard of MRKH. We never even knew that was possible. Especially me. Why was I born without everything I needed? Why was I the lucky 1 out of 5,000 girls that it affects? Why me? I couldn't help but to think about my parents. I wonder if they blamed themselves since I am a product of them. I didn’t want them to feel guilty for creating a broken child.

And that’s how I felt. Broken. On the ride home, I kept thinking about all my dreams and plans about being a mom were now just shattered. I could never carry a child. I wasn’t like every other girl. I was different….a freak. I remember feeling lost.

Why couldn’t I just be normal?

Wait. What?

As a teenager, I couldn't help but notice all my female friends were getting visits from their friend once a month. I still think men experience the monthly mood swing, but that's another topic. Anyway, I kept waiting for mine. Sure now I hear everyone curse it. But as a growing teen, that was your sign as "woman hood". So by the time I turned 17 and I still didn't get my visit, my mom became worried. 

Close you eyes mom. I was sexually active at the time with my longtime boyfriend. I didn't know any better. I was more worried that MAYBE I was supposed to start but I was pregnant instead. I couldn't tell you how much money I wasted buying tests just to make sure. Like I said, I didn't know any better. But I should've known then that moms are always right and she knew something was wrong. 

We went to go see the local gynecologist. I just remember the pain that I had to sit thru when he wanted to give me an ultrasound and then another. Drinking so much fluid and then having to hold it while he pressed down over and over, omg I thought I was going to explode! Then I remember one time I drank TOO much so he had me go to the bathroom so I could let a very tiny amount out. Yea okay. Imagine the Hoover Dam having a lil crack in it and it has to close before  all the water just bursts thru. That was my bladder. Anyway, after a number a tests, the local gynecologist wanted a second opinion so he sent us to see a specialist at the Cleveland Clinic. The specialist was a pediatric gynecologist so I was a lil confused because I considered myself an adult. I was technically still a minor so I had to go see the children's doctor. So here come more ultrasounds and more tests. 

But, the outcome was very different. 

Me, my mom, and my dad all sat down in the doctor's office, not a patient room, her actual office. She started to tell us that after numerous testing to try to find my uterus, they were unsuccessful because it wasn't developed. I was born without a uterus and an under developed vaginal canal. And I could never carry a child. 

Wait. What? 

This is me.

Hi. So I'm going to give this whole blogging thing a try and see how it goes. 

My name is Teri. I'm 30. Recently divorced and I moved back into my mom's house. Go me, right? No, this isn't going to be a blog about how terrible my marriage was or about me totally bashing my ex. Truth is, we just grew apart. I acknowledge I could have done things better but having him in my life made me realize things about myself and relationships in general and I will forever be grateful for the time we shared  and I will love him, always. And that's all I'm going to say about that. 

This blog is going to be about a topic that I have very rarely spoken about. Many people know that I cannot have kids. But most people don't know how or why. This blog is going to be about me opening up about how I felt when I found out when I was just 17. How I felt embarrassed and ashamed to be me. How I felt like I was less of a woman. How I felt like I was....broken. This is going to be about how I feel like I will never be able to experience what it feels like to have someone call me "Mom". This blog is going to be about my journey with Mayer Rokitansky Kuster Hauser Syndrome

Ladies, I hope on some level you can relate. Guys, some of my posts may be TMI. But honestly, I'm not doing this for any of you. I'm hoping that by me finally being able to talk about this and getting it out in the open, it will be some type of release and help me heal. You can read it or not. Love it or hate it. I'm sure many of you, relatives including, may think I should keep this private. But like I said, this is for me. I just hope you all can understand it.

-T