Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Susan Ashley

I fell in love with my daughter when she was growing inside me. I couldn’t believe I could love so much. I was seventeen. I was kicked out of my father’s house. I had no money. I had very few possessions. As I was leaving my dad’s house he mumbled something like, “You are white trash. You will never finish high school. You will live off welfare and if you’re lucky you’ll end up in a nasty trailer park. Your baby will be just like you. It’ll have nothing and it will be your fault.”

I moved to Missouri in a small town, where my mother lived. My daughter’s father followed a month later. I was taking a home economics class. In this class, I learned that statistically my father was right. I probably wouldn’t finish High school. I would probably live on welfare and my baby, still growing inside me didn’t have much of a chance.

I moved back to Indiana. I was 8 ½ months pregnant. All of our belongings fit in a two door car. We moved into a very small one-bedroom apartment.

I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy daughter on July 10, 1993. When she was just hours old, I started crying because I knew that I already screwed up her life.

She started her life sleeping in a laundry basket. I married and divorced her father before she was 2. We moved six times before she was 5.  

I did some things right. I got my GED. I worked hard as a photographer. I read to her every night. (I love statistics and I read that reading to your child improved their chances academically.) There was always plenty of food and books in our home.

I got a lot wrong. Our power and phone were shut off more times than I care to remember. We were homeless for a short period.

I read another statistic that said the more college a mother has the more chances her child has at going to college. I enrolled. Susan was in middle school.

Some mothers dream of the day their daughter gets married, not me. I have always dreamt of the day that my daughter beat the statistics, despite me screwing up her life before she was even born. I’ve dreamt of the day she would graduate from college.

I love statistics but I knew I wasn’t raising a statistic. My daughter has proven over and over again that she can accomplish anything. She continues to rise above everyone’s expectation.
She graduates from college in a week and half!!!! I can’t begin to explain my joy and excitement. I am so proud of her.  I feel incredibly honored to be her mother. She is graduating with a degree in marketing and a minor in public relations. Did I mention she is graduating debt free? She is also getting paid to get her master’s degree.

Statistics
41 percent of young adults with LD complete post-secondary education within eight years of leaving high school, as compared to 52 percent of young adults without LD.
Children of teen mothers perform worse on many measures of school readiness, are 50 percent more likely to repeat a grade, and are more likely than children born to older mothers to drop out of high school.
Many children born to teen moms have behavioral problems, juvenile delinquency and conflict with authority.
Two-thirds of families begun by a young unmarried mother are poor. More than half of all mothers on welfare had their first child as a teenager.

Daughters of teen moms are three times more likely to become teenage mothers themselves.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Fat, Again

I am fat, again. It is so difficult to be back here. I promised myself when I started this blog that I would get below 200 pounds and never return to the 200s again. I promised myself that I would treat my body with the respect it deserved by exercising and eating healthy. I promised myself that I would work on my emotional crap by painting, running, and being more open with those around me.
I lied but I also felt that I was told a lie. I did everything I was supposed to do and it felt amazing. Then I was betrayed by own body, at least that’s how it felt.

It started over three years ago. I had a crazy pain caused by a rather large gallbladder stone. After surgery this happened, http://speakingaboutthat.blogspot.com/2013/04/tw-trigger-warning.html . I ate and ate some more but I also tried to cope with the memories in all the new positive ways I taught myself. I started getting depressed and crying all the time. I started screwing things up and forgetting to do really important things.

I ran my second marathon. (I was still trying.)

I ate.

Running became a challenge because I couldn’t feel my left side of my body. I started getting migraines and I was exhausted all the time.

My b12 and vitamin D levels were “dangerously low.” I was given vitamin supplements and b12 shots. I felt better but still exhausted.

I ran a half marathon (still trying). Had another surgery to repair the giant hole the first surgery left in my stomach muscles.

I ate.

I was tired.

I went work, ate, and slept. I had no energy.

Summer break, I slept, a lot.

My father died. I was grateful, numb, confused, and angry. I called my step mom to give her my condolences. She asked me how much I weighed. I had not talked to her in years and this was the question she asked.

I ate.

I slept.

I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t do more. Why I couldn’t just get up and start running? Why I was hungry all the time? Why I was always exhausted and in pain? Why wasn’t I coping with my life anymore?

I went to a new doctor. He ran some new blood test. My iron was low, as was my B12 and D despite being on heavy doses of supplements. He also discovered that I wasn’t absorbing protein. He suggested that I stop eating gluten.

Two weeks after that I started feeling better.

It’s been two months since giving up gluten. I am not as hungry all the time. I am only sleeping 8 hours. I have a little bit more pep in my step. I am still not running but I have hope. I have so much hope that I signed up for a race April 2.


I am still fat but I am starting not to hate my body or myself for the extra fluff. My body and I went through and SURVIVED a lot these past few years. The fluff is my armor. It is my emotional crap and my bodies cry for nutrition. I hope I can start down a healthier road. I also hope when I look in the mirror it’s not with disgust with how I let myself go but instead with awe of how I survived.