In the bustling city of Huntington, Amanda had always felt like an outsider, a piece that never quite fit into the puzzle of life. Surviving a tumultuous childhood marked by trauma, her journey began with the heavy weight of her past. Experiences of abuse and betrayal had woven a complex tapestry of PTSD, anxiety, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and oppositional defiant disorder into her daily existence.

Amanda was a survivor; her resilience was forged in the fires of her struggles. After each nightmare she faced, she would find herself in therapy, seeking to untangle the knots of her pain. Her therapist, Dr. Lewis, a compassionate and wise woman, became her guiding star. Together, they explored the darkest corners of Amanda’s mind, shedding light on the shadows that loomed large.

One day, while sitting in Dr. Lewis’s office, Amanda recounted a recent episode of overwhelming anxiety that had left her paralyzed. As tears spilled down her cheeks, she expressed the fear of her past overshadowing her future. Dr. Lewis listened intently, then gently encouraged her to turn her pain into power. “You have a story worth telling. Your experiences can inspire others,” she said.

Motivated by their conversation, Amanda decided to channel her emotions into writing. She began to craft a memoir, narrating her struggles with honesty and vulnerability. Words poured from her heart, each sentence a step towards healing. As she wrote, she found solace, and with each chapter, the weight of her past began to lift.

Gradually, she built a community, connecting with others who faced similar battles through support groups. There, Amanda met Carol, a fellow survivor whose laughter was infectious despite her scars. The bond they formed allowed Amanda to glimpse hope in the eyes of another. Through sharing their stories, they discovered the strength of standing together, breaking the silence that had long surrounded them.

Amanda also found comfort in creativity, immersing herself in painting. With every brushstroke, she transformed her chaos into color, creating vibrant images that represented her journey. She titled her pieces “Mosaics of Strength,” each one a testament to resilience and beauty rising from brokenness. Her art caught the attention of a local gallery, leading to her first exhibition, where she showcased both her paintings and readings from her memoir.

On the night of the opening, Amanda stood in front of a gathering of friends, family, and strangers, her heart racing. As she read excerpts from her book, her voice trembled but grew more confident with each word. The audience listened intently, moved by her honesty and courage. By the end, tears glistened in their eyes, and applause erupted, filling the room like a warm embrace.

Despite the challenges that lay ahead, Amanda felt empowered. She understood that healing was not linear, and there would still be difficult days filled with anxiety or depressive episodes. But now, she had a toolkit—therapy, art, and a supportive community to lean on.

As she glanced around the room, she realized that she was not just a survivor of her past; she had become a beacon of hope for others. Amanda learned to embrace her journey, celebrating her survival with every step forward—a mosaic of strength, uniquely beautiful in its imperfections. With a heart full of hope and a voice to share, she reminded others that it’s okay to seek help, to share their stories, and to believe in the possibility of brighter days.

Dear Community,

This topic I wish to share hits me hard since I’m a mother myself. I want to know what you think about being a mother. I will admit that the parenting choices I made in my life weren’t the best, but I have acknowledged and regretted what I got myself into. However, this isn’t about me today; I want to discuss what you think about a mother who has three kids and another one on the way. Do you honestly think she should be having another child right now?

My story is about a woman in this current time who has two girls and one boy. In my opinion, she shouldn’t have another child at this moment. The reason, you may ask, is that this is what she does all the time: she currently works in healthcare, her partner works at an amusement park, and she draws money from one of her kids. Yet, she complains that she’s always broke. How is that possible? I mean, come on—my husband and I are living on a monthly income, and we have no car, but she can still go to work, go shopping, eat out a lot, or go play at a bar.

Another parenting issue I see is that whenever she wants to clean the house or do something, if it’s an activity that the kids can’t be involved in, she thinks that Daddy has to take them, no matter what. Being a mother, I understand that if you have to work, that’s one thing, but if you don’t, why can’t you take the kids? What’s so important that they can’t be involved in what you’re doing?

What frustrates me is that I understand they need to spend time with their other parent, but what if that parent has things going on too? What if your electricity is out, or your internet is down, or someone is sick in your house? Is it fair to put your kids in a difficult situation, yet you feel justified in getting mad if your kid gets sick or complains about being bored?

I mean, is it so hard to ask your co-parent questions to ensure that the house and surroundings are safe for the child before they come over? Don’t just assume that we can automatically handle things without checking with us first. Don’t get me wrong; I understand that just because you may not be around kids right now doesn’t mean you have forgotten to be a parent. You just want to ensure their safety. Is that a crime?

This is a story about a single father whose life became turbulent after a bond with his children was broken. Following the emotional turmoil, he focused on his routine—going to work, playing games, and taking his medication daily. However, he faced constant harassment about who was watching his kids.

The father struggled day by day. Initially, they had shared custody, with him watching the children on weekends. Yet, that arrangement quickly changed. It felt as though he had to drop everything and attend to the kids’ needs, no matter what. While he understood that being a parent comes with responsibilities, it seemed unfair that he had to handle all the household chores, such as cleaning or running errands, while his ex-wife continued her social life.

The emotional strain intensified whenever there were issues in his home. If he or his partner fell ill, his ex-wife didn’t seem to care. She insisted on having the children with her, regardless of whether there were enough supplies at his place or if the electricity was out. It felt as though maintaining a second family complicated his efforts to move on with his life.

The most challenging moments arose when she unexpectedly demanded to take the kids for educational purposes without considering what plans he had for the day. She would guilt-trip him, insisting that someone should accommodate her wishes no matter what else was going on. It was an endless cycle of conflict and frustration that affected his ability to maintain a stable life for himself and his children.

One Week,
That was all it took
My heart broke completely
24 hours
That was all it took
To stop doing anything that could hurt you
I did everything right
I followed all the rules
I even tried to love myself more so that I could love you entirely
One week
That was all it took
To take everything that was left of me

The days are long, but the years are short; I think that is the best phrase I can think of to sum up my experience raising my children. If I think about those words too much, it will stir up powerful emotions in me and bring tears to my eyes. As a mom of four children, an eleven-year-old son and three daughters ages 8-years-old, 3 years old, and 5–months old, I know how busy daily life can get. I know how long the days can feel, but I also know how quickly each year passes and how fast kids grow.

My days are so busy from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, and even when I take a break, my mind races through every unfinished task on my to-do list. My days go something like this: wake up, get myself and 4 kids ready. After the chaos of the morning routine, I drop my two older kids off at school, hopefully on time. Then, after the short drive home, I juggle housework and office work with entertaining and caring for my two younger children. The hours fly by and before I know it, it’s time to pick up my two older kids from school. Most weekdays we have an hour or two before one of my kids has soccer or tumbling practice. After feeding the kids, we rush to get ready and head to practice. After practice, we head home to cook dinner unless I decide to pick it up because the last thing I want to do is cook and clean up. Homework and bedtime follow dinner unless we are lucky enough to have time to play a game or watch tv before bed. Once everyone else is asleep, I spend a few hours cleaning, doing laundry, and any tasks I can accomplish before I give up and go to bed. After a few brief hours, the alarm will go off, and it will be time to repeat everything.

When life gets busy like this, each day feels so long and overwhelming, but the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months, and the year passes so quickly. Then something, usually something small, will remind me how fast time has passed. My most recent reminder was a newborn onesie. I was sorting through my baby’s clothes and putting away the ones she has outgrown. As I held a tiny newborn onesie in my hand, the memories and emotions flooded my mind, and I cried. I remember going to buy more newborn outfits because the 0-3 size ones were too big. I remember how tiny she was. I remember those newborn cuddles, and how special those first weeks were just like with her siblings. What I don’t remember is how it’s already been 5 months. I don’t remember when she grew out of newborn clothes and diapers; I don’t remember the last time I held my newborn before she outgrew that sleepy cuddling phase, and I don’t remember the last time she wore this onesie. As I put away those tiny clothes I cry, I cry because it’s emotional watching your kids grow, experiencing all their firsts and all their lasts. When I add her clothes to the bin of baby clothes in my shed, I see baby clothes from each of my other three kids. I see the sleeper my son wore home from the hospital, my eight-year-old’s first tiny outfit, and my three-year-old’s tiny newborn hat. I hold onto outfits that I vividly remember buying for each of them. I remember distinct moments they wore each outfit in the bin, and I can tell which child each item belonged to. When I look at the tiny sleepers, I can still picture my kids wearing them as babies while I held them and they slept in my arms.

I can’t control the memories and emotions flooding my mind and weighing on my heart. Memories of sending my son to preschool seem like they were last year, but next year he starts middle school. What seems to be a short time ago, I remember my 8-year-old daughter was learning to walk and now she has mastered walkovers in tumbling. I remember my 3-year-old daughter learning to talk and now she can have a full conversation with you. I have been through this realization before, and it is emotional for me every time. Life gets busy and I don’t take the time to realize how fast they are growing until something little reminds me. Something like a newborn onesie reminds me to take time to enjoy every moment I can with my kids and make lots of memories because they will never be this small again. As I wipe my tears and put away the baby clothes, I’m reminded of how fast kids grow. And I tell myself to remember this important lesson. The days are long, but the years are short; Embrace the chaos of motherhood because one day soon you will miss all of this.

Crying
Diapers
No sleep

Your EYES

Screams
Anxiety
Hair pulling

Your LAUGH

Hunger
Dehydration
Not clean

Your CUDDLES

Depression
Tired
Worries

Your TINY FINGERS

Anger
Restless
Headaches

Your SMILE

Your Scared
Your Hungry
Your Learning

I’m HERE

Nurse
Cook
Maid

I’m MOMMY
in love with every part of you……….

You can see us on street corners
Or down the dark alleys
We are hardly a sight for sore eyes
We are dirty and vacant
With ripped clothes and sad faces
We wear this as our new disguise.
See some time ago
We were regular people
Until something in life got us down
Whether it heartbreak or money
Family or lack of
There’s something we needed to drown
The voices in our heads
That tell us we aren’t worth shit
Or The memories we just can’t move on from
Maybe it’s trauma or sadness
Or just basic madness
Fill in the blank with your own noun
It ripped us apart
And it spit out the pieces
And robbed us of all we once cherished
We were desperate for relief
So we followed the dragon
We got lost on the way; our souls perished.
Now as is probably Expected
Pretty much textbook
We burn bridges with selfish behavior
Some of us come back
And they find inner peace
And usually they call it their savior
But some of us misfits
The world has forgotten
We’re broken and fucked up
downright dirty and rotten
Someone or something has shattered our hearts
And we know that we’re never the same
So we escape all the pain
With powder or pills
And we find ourselves stuck in this game
We spiral and wander
Away from reality
And further down into the abyss
The people around us
eventually give up
Cause what’s even still there to miss?
We are just scumbags on street corners
Or down the dark alleys
We’re junkies; unfortunate souls
We fucked up, we get it
We don’t need reminded
Please shut up or spark up a bowl

That’s my pretty baby
Driving mama crazy
Lovely little lady
That’s my pretty baby

Eat your macaroni!
It’s good for your bone-ies
So you can beat up “homies” **
And Mama won’t get arrested by the police!
** [implying self defense, not man hating or bullying]

That’s my pretty baby,
Driving mama crazy,
Lovely little lady!
That’s my pretty baby…
That’s my pretty baby!

(The song is on YouTube! https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=D0z8GSFOhTc&pp=ygUdUHJldHR5IGJhYnkgY2hleWVubmUgamFtZXJzb24%3D )

Her first name,
Korina.
She could shorten it to Kori,
so she could rhyme with her sister’s “Tori”
Or if she’s more of a tom-boy and wants it to sound less girly…
Korina is my female English version of the Spanish word Cariño, meaning affection and love.

From conception to birth, she introduced a new kind of love to me, another rhythm to my heart’s beat, & I created it out of my own body… It was almost surreal.
Her middle names, one her father’s middle name and the other the only word that comes close to describing what she is to me, what it felt like when she came into my life.

Heaven.
Lee.

I wanted Heaven to be her first name, but I was afraid she would dislike it as an adult because of the religious affliction or that it might cause some unintentional pressure to be perfect or something.

So I placed it in the middle, right before her father’s middle name “Lee” so that she might remember she is both Heaven and heavenly to both of us.

Korina Heaven Lee.
Mi cariña heavenly, my heavenly love
Pretty baby.

They grow up so fast… Never pass up an opportunity to gush and brag and feel pride in your child… Never pass up the chance to shower them with adoration and encouragement… Say all the things now that you will regret not saying, even if they already know.
It’s still nice to hear.

77%

I am the proud mother of two incredible boys, Kaheem and Xavier. My journey into motherhood began with Kaheem, a blessing I never anticipated but deeply cherish. Kaheem, who has Autism, has faced many challenges, including bullying at school due to both his condition and other medical issues. Yet, through it all, he has shown immense strength, teaching me what it truly means to love unconditionally.

When I first found out I was pregnant with Kaheem, it was just four months and four days before my 25th birthday. I was scared, nervous, and unsure of what to expect. His father suggested abortion, but the moment he did, my maternal instincts surged. “No,” I said. I wanted my baby—he was a blessing from God.

At the time, I struggled with bipolar disorder, PTSD, mood swings, and deep depression. I doubted myself, wondering if I’d be a good mother. When the time came, I was in labor for two days before undergoing an emergency C-section. It was then that my mother faced an unimaginable choice: save my life or my son’s, as the doctors couldn’t stop my bleeding. In that critical moment, she chose both of us.

Even now, writing about it makes me emotional. When it was all over and Kaheem came home, I learned what love truly means. He became the love of my life, and for the first time, I understood the depth of a mother’s heart. My parents stepped in to help, especially my father, who became both a dad and a grandpa to Kaheem.

Three years later, I discovered I was pregnant with Xavier. I didn’t know until I was five months along. Fear surrounded me—everyone was concerned, urging me not to have him because of the complications with Kaheem. But I refused to let fear dictate my choices. Xavier was another blessing from God, and I embraced him with open arms.

This time, my C-section was without complications. I had Xavier on a Monday and, by Tuesday, I was out of the hospital, walking around and shopping for baby supplies. I’ll never forget the older woman at Food Lion who stopped me. “When did you have the baby?” she asked. When I told her, she gasped. “Girl, you need to take yourself home! You had a C-section yesterday—you’re not supposed to be out here!” But I had already endured so much; I knew I could handle this, too.

My boys, Kaheem and Xavier, have been my inspiration through everything. They’ve stood beside me through life’s ups and downs, giving me purpose and strength. Being their mother is the greatest gift, a beautiful duty I would choose over and over again. I love them with all my heart and am endlessly grateful that God chose me to be their mom.

No matter where you two are, you’ll always have a special place in my heart.
My two little rays of sunshine that shine the brightest in the dark.

I miss waking up to you two every single day.
The warmth of your hugs and smiles made everything okay.

You two taught me patience and how to be more responsible.
The bond that we share is nothing short of remarkable.

I miss the sound of your voices and your adorable laughs.
I promise to cherish each moment, no matter how much time has passed.

I’ve always wanted a family, so I was blessed with two little angels.
Your laughter fills my heart with joy, like life’s sweetest jingles.

To my Little Potato, stay true to yourself and don’t ever change.
To my Emotional Butterfly, there’s always sunshine after the rain.

I’m sorry for leaving you guys, that wasn’t part of my plan.
I hope one day you’ll forgive me and try to understand.

You two will always be my babies, no matter what anyone says.
I’ll cherish our memories until we can be together again one day.