I have sat down to write every single day since my daughter was born. I even brought my computer to the hospital so that I would have something to do that wasn’t mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. I have over 60 drafts of what I wanted to say. Nothing just seemed right. I finally figured out why.
I am not ready.
I was on the phone with my best friend talking just about life. We have one of those friendships where we can go months without talking and pick up like we just saw each other yesterday. We were talking about up coming weddings, the babies, and life after the Navy. And I did something that I have not done in a long time. I broke down. I shared what had happened in the hospital and my fears. That is when I realized something.
It has been six weeks since I brought my little pickle into this world. Six weeks of healing. Six weeks of sleepless nights. Six weeks to really think. And even though it has been six weeks, I am not ready to share my story.
I know. That is weird for me. I am usually an open book. Not much phases me anymore. I don’t care what people think of me. This time though, I need time to process. I am struggling. And I am not okay.
I faced the hardest moments of my 25 years in 2018. One of the happiest days of my life will forever have a rain cloud attached to it that I know will never really go away. When I am ready, I will share. Until then, please check on a Mama today. You don’t know what kind of hell she’s been through.