Breaking the Silence

What is love?

Love is patient.

Love is kind.

Love is not jealous.

Love is not boastful.

Love is not anger

Love is not jealously 

Love is not pain

Love is not controlling 

Love is not hateful 

Love does not leave marks, bruises or pain.

Four women a day are killed by domestic abuse in America.

It’s a fact no one wants to talk about.

Who wants to hear or believe that the sweet, church going father and husband, dressed in a nice suit, with a good job comes home and beats his wife and children?

Nobody wants to hear it...except the victims.

We don’t have a choice.

We live it. 

The women who hold on hope that their man would eventually change or the ones who were too fearful to ever speak out. 

I will speak out for you until you can.  

I see you.  I see you be called names, tears welling in your eyes.

  I see you pull it together for your children in the hopes they don’t see the pain in your eyes.

I see you.  I see you wear long sleeves to hide the bruises.
I hear you making excuses to your friends and family.

I see you, smiling and brushing off the concerned comments about the marks on you. 

I see you, covering for the man you love even after he beat you. 

I see you, beautiful woman.

I see you, because I am you. 

Most of my life I have been lied to and abused.  

Abused in every way.

I will not be silent anymore.  

I will break the silence.

This cycle of abuse in my own life ends now.

Ladies, speak out.  Speak truth.  

It’s time to be done being a victim, and become a victor.

If you, or someone you know has been a victim of domestic violence please call the confidential Domestic Violence hotline at 800-799-7233

Is This Your First?

 I am now reaching the end of my third pregnancy.
I feel like a beautiful life giving goddess and also like a large waddling sea creature that has forgotten what it's like to look down and see my toes.

Three times now I have been blessed to be able to carry life inside of my body.  I've been blessed to watch my belly grow, and to feel the first little flutters that turn into full fledged uncomfortable acrobatics.  Three times I have prayed over a child I have never met, carefully pondered and chose the perfect names, and shared in the excitement with my friends and family.

It is a beautiful thing to be a more seasoned mother, dare I say, a veteran.

I do not fear the pain of labor and childbirth, for I know that like all pain, it will only be temporary.
I don't dread the sleepless nights that lay ahead, for I know that one day my son will fall asleep on his own and I will long again for the quiet bonding time, as there is nothing quite like it.

This is my third, so I am conditioned to well meaning strangers commenting on my belly, or asking me questions I wouldn't normally get asked.

When are you due?
Are you sure there's just one?
Is this your first?

.....Is this your first?

A simple, seemingly innocuous question never fails to hit me like a ton a bricks.  My heart aches and a new wave of grief overwhelms me.

You see, my second child, my first daughter, was born sleeping.

So here I am, minding my business somewhere out in public and a nice stranger smiles at me and asks if this is my first.  I always smile brightly back and say proudly, "Nope! This is my third."

All the while this simple question has my heart pounding and I am again made painfully aware that instead of having a wiggly balling toddler with me, I stand alone.  Instead of high pitched giggles there is an almost deafening silence.

Now, most people leave it at that but some naturally ask about the ages, genders etc. of my other children.  Typically I say I have an 8 year old son and a daughter who passed away.  I seem to get more questions when I'm by myself; when my son is with me he is always quick to answer that he has a baby sister who died and a baby brother on the way.

I have a tattoo in honor of my daughter, Savannah.  The idea came from a decoration that was hung up in her nursery.  I absolutely adored the scripture, and wanted it to hang where she slept as an encouragement for the woman I wanted her to grow into as well as a reminder to practice what I preach.

The scripture comes from one of my favorite books of the bible, Proverbs.  Proverbs 31:25 says, "She is clothed in strength and dignity, and laughs without fear of the future."

I will be the first to admit that I have certainly not always been the type of woman described in Proverbs.  I have looked at my own arm covered in scripture and been heavily convicted, but I will say that I strive now everyday to be that woman.

I strive to be a woman of strength and dignity even in tough situations.  To be able to talk about my daughter with grace, even when most don't realize the strength it can take to answer an easy question.

Roughly 1 in 160 US pregnancies result in stillbirth.  Those statistics mean less than 1% of all pregnancies.  I am one of those mothers in the less than 1%.  There is a stigma around pregnancy loss that leaves many women to deal with their loss in silence.  Stillbirth leaves many woman with feelings of failure, confusion, guilt and hurt.  Some women might feel like they can't ever talk about a miscarriage or pregnancy loss. Some don't know where to begin to navigate the heavy question of...is this your first?

I cannot fix any of that, but I can share my story and my own experiences so that the other 1% of mothers quietly hurting from loss know that they are not alone.

If you've read this and neither babies nor pregnancy have anything to do with you, consider this a reminder to always be kind.  Be kind to every stranger you meet, be kind to your friends and family, because you truly never know what could be going on with someone, and the world could always use more compassion and kindness.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Today my daughter would have been one month old.

I have been through more at twenty two than most people go through in their entire lives, but I will never let what challenges life brings take my hope and my joy.

I have been called irritatingly optimistic.


I had my first child when I was 16, and he was conceived in rape. I loved my son from the moment I knew I was carrying  him.  I wasn’t really religious, but I did believe in God.  The day I found out I was pregnant God spoke to me, or maybe a whisper, I don’t know how to describe it but I knew in my heart, in my spirit, that I was going to raise this baby and all would be well. And it was.

My son is greatly loved by so many people.  It baffles my mind the way God turned something dreadful into something so very beautiful.

That is not to say that my decision hasn’t come with extreme challenges and at times, anguish and an unfathomable amount of emotions.  But that is a story for a different day.

 Anyone who knows me, knows I have a passion for family.  I absolutely love being a stay at home mom and wife.  It might drive some crazy being home, but I truly enjoy caring for children all day everyday, and my home and my husband.  I also go so far as to occasionally care for other people's children. I was born to be a mother. 

 Last year my husband and I decided to have another child.  We hit most of the checkmarks of when is a "good" time to have a baby.  We excitedly told literally all of our friends and family, and to our surprise that next month I was expecting our daughter. 

On December 12^th when I saw that positive on the pregnancy test I was at first in disbelief, then when it sank in I literally fell to my knees and started crying.  I was overwhelmed with joy. I prayed and praised through tears thanks for giving us this little life inside me.

We told everyone right away.  I didn’t worry for a second that anything would happen to this baby.  I believed arrogantly that God wouldn’t allow me to go through another traumatic pregnancy experience. 

Everything was perfect.  I went to Walmart the day I found out and bought “I love daddy” pacifiers and a cute little bacon teether I thought my husband would like.  That Friday I went and bought maternity clothes.  I had everything in the house organized perfectly weeks before she was due.  I couponed and had diapers and wipes stocked up for probably about a year.  I had everything labeled so that when we came home with our baby girl my husband or anyone at the house would be able to find everything.  I had our bedroom set up and ready for her for months. I was so incredibly excited.

The pregnancy went perfectly.  I worked out up until the day before I delivered.  Even in my third trimester, people would assume I was so miserable, and, most of the time, I answered with a smile and said no I wasn’t. My husband and all of our families were excited, ready for this new addition to the family. I was happily, joyfully, gratefully pregnant. 

August 19th 2017 started out as any other day. I got up, made some coffee, hung out with my mom who was in from out of town for the baby, and ate breakfast.  When I sat down I noticed the contractions, I wasn’t sure if it was real labor or not, so I kept on as usual.  I remember as I was writing laundry instructions on the washing machine for my husband, having to stop and breathe through a contraction.  My mother’s eyes glistened with excitement at the possibility that I was finally in labor (I was 3 days past my estimated due date).  I wasn’t getting my hopes up, but after a few hours and a call to my obstetricians office I knew it was time to go.

 I was calm. Ready. In control.  I breathed and counted through each painful contraction on the way to the hospital.  After triage I laid on the uncomfortable hospital bed surrounded by loved ones and excitedly waited for them to check my baby’s heartbeat and put on the monitors to check the contractions.  The first nurse couldn’t find the heartbeat, and another nurse came in to check.  I prayed to God to please, please let my baby be okay. I locked eyes with my mom, terrified.  When the doctor came in to do an ultrasound my prayers changed.   The verse came to me “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”

The doctor put the cold jell on my belly, and began looking for her heartbeat, she looked up at me and my heart dropped.  Her eyes were full of sorrow.  “I’m so sorry, but There is no heartbeat”

No words can adequately describe the sorrow and despair felt when you are told your child has died. 

But there is always a light, and from that moment on I have never witnessed or felt so much love in my entire life. 

My heart stopped.  My world stopped.  My baby? I was taken aback in disbelief. Thursday we had an ultrasound and she was perfectly healthy.  The doctor turned the screen and I saw my baby's perfectly healthy body and spine curved around a heart that was still. 

I honestly can’t remember exactly what happened.  All I know is that anguish, despair, and heartbreak barely break the surface of what wretched feelings I felt.  I screamed.  I cried.  I watched the hearts break of the loved ones around me.

How could this be? This happened to other people, not me.  How could we be in the tiny minority that have stillborn babies?  It should be a perfect delivery…we should be calling everyone telling them that the long awaited baby girl was on her way. 

The family around me loved and comforted me when I couldn’t even think straight let alone truly wrap my head around this devastation. 

After four more hours of painful labor and delivery, I gave birth to a baby that I knew was already gone.  How could I find the strength when I knew that I wouldn't get to hear her cry...to give birth to death? It took all the little strength left in me, through tears to do it. 

At 5:35 my daughter Savannah Rose Duncan was born.  She was the most beautiful perfect little girl I have ever seen.  I sobbed.  I was in love. She was a perfect mix between me and my husband. I held her tightly. I knew that this time was the only time I would get with my long anticipated baby.  Most of our immediate family was there by then, and was able to hold her, for the first and last time. 

 After hours spent with her, it was time to say goodbye.  I kissed her in her little cot and told her how much I loved her, and how sorry I was.

Gut wrenching.  Impossible.  Horrifying. 

My husband and I were watching our baby girl be wheeled off to the morgue.



I wanted to rip my hair out, I felt like I was about to explode.  How could life possibly go on without my baby girl?  The thought of having a stillborn baby that was healthy and fully developed the day before seemed like an incomprehensible far away concept.  But here I was. Barely surviving, without my daughter in this world.  The grief and depression settled on me, weighing heavily all over my body, mind and spirit.  I would look around, angry and confused that the world was still turning while mine had stopped. I couldn’t get up.  I couldn’t breath and it was so hard to see past this pain. I didn't want to live in a world my daughter wasn't in.



I got help with what was post partum depression, and was able to see the light.  Be the me I was before. 
To say it has been a difficult journey for me and my family would be a grave understatement. 

But God has had us in his arms.  We have had more love and support from our community and family, and even strangers, than I even knew was possible.  My marriage has been strengthened.  All of my relationships have strengthened through this tragedy, and many broken ones restored.  I have seen just a glimpse of God’s beautiful, wonderful, mysterious plan.

God is good all the time. 

I say all of this to say that truly, no matter where you are in life there is hope.  Even when you look around you and only see death and darkness.  When you want to die.  Feeling as if the pain or circumstance is too much to bear, there is always a light.

Choose joy.  Choose love. Choose God.

My daughter has made me a better person.  While my heart aches deeply and I desperately long for her to be in my arms, she is not. 

But I do beleve she is is perfectly at peace, in the arms of Jesus in heaven.

 Many have told me that I am so very strong.  I am not.  God gave us free will though, and I will always choose joy.  I wil always choose to see the positive in any situation as I always have.  Without God my heart may have hardened, turned cold because this world is cruel and unfair. 

But I choose love.  I will fight like hell everyday to get through a world where my child isn’t with me.  A world where another day isn't promised, and is full of sin and sadness everywhere. I will fight to always see the good.

I am unbreakable. 

But that comes from a great trust in God.  I choose to seek Him and see the beauty in all things, even when I don’t understand.

So now, you, if you have read this, know wherever you are the IS hope. 

Even in your darkest, most desperate place, there is hope.

I have once been told I have an irritatingly upbeat attitude and optimism.

That’s because I have been through hell on earth, but I have seen that any storm can end with sunshine and beauty.

I urge you, love life.  Live it.  The good, the bad.  One day it won’t matter, and we will be with the Father.

Wherever you are now, fight.  Fight.  Fight like hell and get through it.  If I can, you can.  Come out better and stronger.  No circumstance is hopeless as long as you choose hope, choose love.

I know I will, through all I have been through and having lost a child,  I will smile.

 

Our New Normal

Today was the first day of what our family’s new normal would be. 

I woke up with my husband holding me and my son had weaseled his way into our room and was laying horizontal underneath my pillow somehow. 

I woke up surrounded by those I love, and reminded myself that I am strong, and I have to be strong for me and my family.  And we have to keep moving forward.

I got things started for the day, wake kid up, start breakfast, make sure lunch is packed, the usual.

I went into my bathroom to get presentable to face the public, and seriously considered not going to the gym, which I have attended the group exercises there religiously for years. I hunched over and felt weak, and my stomach was in knots. But then I straightened my back, stood up tall, and reminded myself I am a strong ass woman who can do anything.

Daniel and I rode to school without incident. I did keep glancing back, expecting to see my daughters infant carseat.  I headed to the gym and prayed on my way.  I prayed for God to help me be poised, and strong and gracious, and that when people look at me, they see God's hand. I got out of the car after a few deep breaths and headed into the gym like a storm.  I was ready to go.  Get the burn and adrenaline rush from working out.   I feel so guilty sometimes for trying to move on, and normal our life.  But my daughter will never be forgotten, and she would want me to be happy.  I know that for sure because all my son wants is to see my happy.

 

Many people said that were happy to see me, or expressed their condolences before I got to class.  And for that I am grateful.  Grateful for their kindness, and grateful for a distraction that I wasn't dropping off my baby girl into childwatch, fretting about the last time she ate, when she was last changed, and would she feel safe with these new people.

I worked out which helped my mood overall greatly.  I know I sound crazy, but I absolutely love pushing myself, and the feeling of accomplishment when you have a successful workout.  I did literally pause a few times during the workouts.....because I was painfully aware that my big pregnant belly wasn’t there anymore.

As I left class something was wrong, off.

But I remembered my daughter.  That’s what was off.  That’s what was missing.  Savannah should have been a few yards away from me safely taken care of while I exercised.

But I persevered.  I gave that damn workout my all.

Arriving at the gym I was powerful, determined.  When I left my class I first started to head to childwatch.  I had fantasized about these moment, these times of us at the gym together so many times.  Showing off my beautiful little babygirl to everyone. When I remembered that my sweet daughter wasn’t in childwatch, but gone, my heart broke a little again.  I walked so slowly.  My face and heart leaving the gym was of despair, confusion, and regret.

I walk so slowly and kept feeling as though I was forgetting something,  That pull.  Savannah should have been here with me.  I should be walking out to the car, putting her in the carseat and cooing and talking to her as we drive home.  But that is not the hand I was dealt. 

 

I ran a few errands and went home, not unlike any other day before.  When I came home my husband was still asleep, so I cuddled with him and took a nap, which was not the plan but what I needed.  My marriage grounds me.  I’m not sure what I would do without that man. 

After we woke up we talked and watched TV and he headed off to work.  He should have left work kissing our daughter goodbye.

After he left I fretted about the house, doing random chores and paperwork, deciding that my to do list could wait. And I needed to rest and focus on myself.

I picked Daniel up from school and he was very upset.  He wasn’t himself.  Which I understand, he has had a tragedy happen to him, as well as his mom not being well enough to care for him for a while.  When we get home my mother in law stops by and we chat and I cook dinner, give Daniel a bath after. 

My son sits on our reading chair, blue dinosaur pajama bottoms on, and one sleeve in of his Bulls pajamas, I know I'll have to help him later.  

We sit down to read our two books, as we have had this schedule for many years.  Story time is always hard for me.  I am reminded of how many nights I propped the book on my big belly as I read, and knowing Savannah could hear us reading and talking. I am reminded of the picture I had in my head. 

Bedtime should be so hard. A newborn baby and a six year old by myself?  I remember commenting to my husband that it would be soooo difficult for me to take care of both of these kids on my own while my husband was at work. What I wouldn’t give to be struggling with a bedtime routine for my daughter and son.

 

We read our two books.  My voice cracking every few pages, painfully reminded that Savannah is not here to hear these stories.  That after this, I only tuck one child in.  Only one child gets to be read to, and prayed with, and then put to bed.

I managed to stay strong for my son.  I walked out of his room. Done for the night.  No baby would be waking up in a few hours, my heart ached I started bawling. 

This isn’t right. This isn’t how it should be.  I cry and clutch the pink dress, the only outfit she ever wore.  I sobbed at her memory, and at the possible future we had planed. I thought it would comfort me to look at her clothes hanging up.  IT did not.  It was just a sad reminder that all of that careful washing and organizing of sweet little pink onesies was for nothing. 

I went to look at her urn.  That made my heartache more,  My child.  My first daughter.  The baby I love more than anything, is in ashes on our mantel.  I cry and look around angrily that all of the baby stuff is gone.  But we don’t need it. 

As I sit here calmer and write, I look around my house, void of little pink baby gear.  I feel an emptiness in me.  It will always be there.  I have had a child die, and when she died so did a part of me. 

But through the difficulty of looking around my house, imagining what could have been, I am reminded that she is in heaven.  She doesn’t, and never got to feel pain.  She is in perfection.

So although my womb, heart, and house feel empty.  I am full.

Full of the love of God, full of the love from my son, full of the love from my husband, full of hope for the future.

As much as it pains me to do it without my sweet Savannah, I must go on. 

I will go on.  I will be steadfast and become an even better person. She has inspired me.  Taught me how precious life is.

God will make beauty from this tragedy.

Issues of a Teen Mom: What Should I be Doing?

Throughout my extensive experience as a parent (ha) I have felt a wide range of emotions.  Having my son at 16 has made my life both difficult and wonderful.  I don't know if any other teenage parent has felt this way,but often times I feel stuck between being a teenager, and feeling like I'm in my forties. It is truly difficult to try to balance being a mother, wife, and responsible adult, when you're still a kid yourself.  I am in no way complaining, I have been blessed far beyond what I expected.  I am grateful for this beautiful life God has given me, but I also want to share the times that I've felt very conflicted.

After I had my son, junior year started for the rest of my peers.  When everyone else started school, I was tending to my newborn son, which I was happy to do, but also wished I could be doing what other 16 year olds were doing.  Having him literally changed every aspect of my life.  If I got to hangout with my friends, there were multiple stops for breastfeeding and changing diapers, and it was so difficult because I felt like I couldn't just have a few minutes for a conversation.  When I was able do things without Daniel I always felt guilty in the back of my mind, like I should have been with him,  Even when I was out alone my motherhood duties never stopped, any time I was away I had to pump. I left breast-milk in some weird places that first year of his life, and I can't even count the times I've casually hung out with people while pumping milk under a blanket.

What should have been my senior year was one of the hardest years for me.  I really wanted to finish my last year of highschool in public school, but it was never easy for me to be away from him.  Another setback was not having the money for childcare.  It felt selfish to me to want to experience my senior year of high school when I could be working or finishing school online (which I did).  At that time I also watched my friends daughter while she was in school which made it hurt worse that I could't go.  Although I graduated from high school that October, it was still bittersweet to see my friends go to prom or have graduation ceremonies that I wouldn't get to have.

My husband and I started dating when I was eight months pregnant.  God must have sent him because I don't know many other 19 year olds who would accept responsibility for a child that wasn't theirs and be as devoted as him.  He was at the hospital the day I gave birth and has been there for me and Daniel every single day since.  Our relationship was kind of odd though, in our first months of dating included lots of late nights up together, but just to feed or soothe the baby.  Our dates were mainly doctors appointments and fast food, not dinner and a movie. He didn't provide Daniel his DNA, but he has provided him with unconditional love and has invested years of time and has become a better dad to him than I could have ever asked for. Although we had an interesting relationship, I know now that we can get through anything together.

During Daniel's first two years of life we had a lot of "Baby Daddy" drama.  other people my age were worrying about colleges or friend issues I was going to court for child support and agonizing everyday about how to handle my sons biological father wanting to see him, and how that would affect my boyfriend and the only daddy my son knew.  I prayed and cried about what I would tell my son one day about his origins.  I spent many nights holding Daniel tight to me and crying, thinking about all of the legal and moral decisions I would have to make. I remember looking at this sweet baby whom I love more than anything, and seeing such a strong resemblance to the man who hurt me so much.  I can't even begin to describe the whirlwind of emotions I feel when it comes to Daniel's biological father.  That is a lot for a 16 year old to handle.

During these times of distress is when God truly reveals his awesomeness.  If I did not have God to lean on, I wouldn't have been able to make it through the wild journey of motherhood.  He gives me so much hope.  Every single day I look at my son I am reminded of how God can turn any ugly, sinful situation and turn it into a beautiful thing if we let Him.


Sometimes I get so hung up on trying to be so mature and old.  I feel like a failure when I don't always have a perfectly healthy dinner on the table every single night, when most people my age are eating Ramen and pizza every night, not feeding a family.  Sometimes I feel embarrassed that we don't have our own house yet, or get frustrated when we can't be 100% financially independent. I have felt inadequate to other women I know for not having a college degree when I'm not even old enough to have finished college  . And then I remember, I am only nineteen! . I get so stuck on this idea of where I should be, when I need to have grace for myself and realize my family and I are perfect where we are.

I sometimes feel torn between wanting to be free and have less responsibility, and wanting to be a stay at home mom and wife.  I don't know whether to wear skinny jeans or mom jeans.  I feel conflicted about salads vs fries, I truly forget sometimes that I am not even in my twenties yet and don't need to worry so much about drinking soda or eating chips.  I find it both heartbreaking and funny that I will be 29 when Daniel turns 13.  I go to play groups, not study groups.  My trips to the library are for story time and picture books instead of study materials.  I feel guilty for binge watching Netflix during my free time instead of researching cures for diseases (that's what respectable adults do in their free time, right?).  I am highly anticipating my 21st birthday, but not for the reasons you might think.  I am excited because then my husband and I will meet the age requirements to become foster parents.
These are the challenges and thoughts I have had as a teen mother.

 All of these thoughts are fleeting though, because I know God's purpose for me in life is to be a mother, and be a testimony to Him.  I never doubted keeping my son and raising him because I know that I was meant to be his mom.  The time I was pregnant was the time where I was at the very bottom, and had no where to look but up.  This was the time that God took me in his arms, and really started to change my heart, so that when the time came for me to become a mother, I was ready, even at 16.  I should have been older, and married when I had Daniel, but life doesn't always happen the way you think it will.  Every time someone sees my little family they are shocked at how young we are.  It is hard to grasp that we have a strong happy marriage when we are barely adults.  It is unusual that we are good parents to our son when just a few years ago we were being parented ourselves. It is not us, we really don't know anything about anything, but it is by the grace of God that we are where we are today, and hopefully He can use us to be an encouragement to others.

Young, Tame, and a Mommy

 

Daniel and me last summer

I am seventeen and the mother of a 19 month old boy.  My life is about my child and trying to make him the healthiest, happiest boy he can be. I'm saying this because people give a horrible rep to teen moms and there are definitely great moms out there. With that being said, teen moms are less likely to graduate high school, go to college, and most fathers leave. I have graduated high school and just started college.  I am in no way condoning teen pregnancy,  teens who get pregnant have higher health risks for themselves and the baby among other things, but I do want people to know that sex isn't a joke and neither is being a mother.  It only takes 1 time to get pregnant and there isn't any 100% birth control (except abstinence or not having a uterus).  When you become pregnant you have 9 months to prepare for a helpless little person depending solely on you.  Being a parent is an extremely challenging thing, especially when you're young and need to grow up yourself.  I have a lot of learning and growing to do still, but what I do know I want to share with other expecting moms or new moms.