Hardships Part 1

When I came home from school, I felt it in the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong, this person shouldn't be here.

 HUGE TRIGGER WARNING! 

Something that I haven't told many people, is that I'm a victim of childhood abuse. For many years of my life, it shaped me into who I was. Everyday, went on for eons. I didn't know what to do, how to fix things, and I thought that everything was my fault. I feel like my childhood was taken away from me. 

I'm one of the lucky ones to have made it out, with minimal scars. 

I'm making this a three part series. Part one, will discuss the hardships, pain and abuse that I endured. Part two will be about how that affected me, what I went on to do, and how I started looking for help. Part three will discuss what and who helped me. The choices that I made, and how I found myself.

I think this is important to share. If I can help one person see, that there is hope, perhaps I can make a change. It's a small ripple, in a sea of problems. 

If you are feeling suicidal or in need of someone to talk to, please call 

1-800-273-8255, The national suicide prevention hotline. It's nothing to be ashamed of, they're there to help. 

I had a friend, who was suicidal. 

I ended up calling the police station near them, and that friend was able to get help. They live a healthy and happy life today.

*Names are changed for privacy

Part 1: The hardships.

When I was a toddler, my father left. 

The short story is that he started doing heavy drugs. My mom ran away from him, and moved to the Okanagan a few years later. He followed her and stalked us out..

At this point, I actually have three scattered memories of my dad. 

1: Him teaching me the alphabet, but I got it wrong and he was furious. He picked me up, threw me on the bed, and locked me in my room until mom came home.

2: I woke up to mom and dad fighting. Walked in to see him throw an apple at her. Afraid that I would be in trouble, I ran back to bed.

3: After Mom thought that dad had finally left town, he stalked us. I was at a reading group with my grandmother. Dad was standing in an aisle, with a mirror, watching us. He wasn't even hiding, I remember seeing him standing across the room, at the end of the shelf.

My mom ended up calling police on him, and he was deported. 

She's Canadian, he's American.

Aside from a few scattered letters here and there when I was in elementary school, I've never heard from him, and you can't find him on any social media.

My mother was actually amazing for a few years after that! She was actively involved in my school, she used to draw me cartoons everyday for my lunch box! Those years, were absolutely incredible. In first grade, When I came home from school, I felt it in the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong, but I couldn't place it. My mom lead me to the deck, and introduced me to her friend.

We will call him Dean, and he was her friend from school. I pulled her aside, and told her that I had a bad feeling about him.

She reassured me that he was fine, he ended up staying with us for a while. 

A while, turned into, on and off for the next 9 years or so. 

They were in a relationship for many years.

Within the same town, we moved at least 7 times in those years. 

My mother started drinking, and smoking shortly after Dean moved in. 
At one point, she stopped brushing my teeth, she never enforced it and never explained why it was important. She bought junk food and pop whenever she got groceries, She also stopped coming home a lot. 

It started to become really bad, around 4th grade. 

A lot of the time spent away, she was actually working. But she would go days without coming home and eventually, weeks.

Mom also became aggressive, and she would have wild mood swings. Her boyfriend was the same way. He never hit me, I just got yelled at a lot, and called names. My least favorite, was when randomly I would catch him staring at me. When I tried yelling at him about it he would laugh at me. I tried telling my mom about it and calling him out, he would deny it and she took his side. To this day, if someone is staring at me, my initial reaction is anxiety. 

Most of the time they would be fighting each other. It was bad on both ends, I've seen my mom with a bloody nose, and bruises, more times than I can count. But I could say the same for any man who ended up with her. My mom was verbally, and physically abusive with me as well.

I spent a lot of time with my back against my bedroom door, trying to keep my mom out. She's punched and kicked holes in many doors just so she could spit on me, hit me and throw me around.

I never once reported it though. A few times, a neighbor had called CPS on us. My mother found out, and she started manipulating me. She sat me down and told me that I was her only reason for living. Without me around, she would walk into the mountains and kill herself. She then told me that the neighbor called CPS. That social services would take me away, and I would never see her again. She started making them out to be villains, and she trained me on what to say. Every time one came to the door, I would answer it. Mom would hide behind the wall, and watch. It was always, "Mom is in the shower, everything's fine here, I'm totally happy! Yes I'm eating enough. Sorry to waste your time, have a good one!" After they left, mom would be pretty nice to me.

CPS was called at least 5 times though, so I don't understand how they didn't see anything wrong. My grades were mostly in the C's, I wore sweaters in the summer to hide bruises, I just slipped though the cracks.

When she was home, Dean, herself and their friends would all smoke inside. Usually the windows were shut. I remember one time, when I finally got the guts to say something. I asked my mom if she could, "Please open a window, because my eyes are watering and I feel like I can't breathe". The entire condo was thick and hazy with the plumes of smoke. She flipped out at me. "It's my life! I'll do what I damn well want, and you're just going to have to deal with it!!" I realized that my opinion didn't matter, and I should just keep quiet.

This would be a common occurrence in my life. I was always a quiet person, until I got to know someone. Then I was a typical, hyper, joyful child. With my mom, I learned that there are certain things I can't say.

More than once, I walked in on her and Dean having sex in the living room. They really never did try to hide that.
During a weekend where mom and Dean we're broken up, she took me to a beach party. She hooked up with a guy and made us all share the same tent. After 5 minutes of me pretending I was asleep, they had sex right beside me.
Meanwhile, she would constantly call me a slut, because I had a middle school boyfriend. Aoo we ever did was kiss and hold hands, but being called a slut everyday, really took it's toll on me.

One time, she was gone for almost a week. When she got home, I told her that we really need groceries when she gets a chance. I had been living off of potatoes, pancake mix, beans and eggs. I don't remember what she said, but it probably involved calling me a greedy selfish b****.

There was always a lot of guilt placed on me.

I started getting abscesses, I remember at least four horrible ones when I was younger. I wanted to bash my own head in from the pain, I would compare it to labour pains. Being through both experiences, equally terrible..

I tried to run away..

Dean and Mom were fighting again, I just couldn't take it. So I bolted out the door. My mom chased me with an absolutely crazy look in her eyes. I don't think I've ever been more terrified then I was at that time. She slipped on the dirt road, and I was able to get away. I was scared though and didn't want to go far. I hid in a ditch for half an hour, and then made my way to my friends place. When I got there, I was so distraught. Her mom sat me down and listened to me for a while. My mom knocked on the door, pretty soon after I arrived. She started screaming at my friend's mother. Calling her all sorts of things, and demanding that I come home. I went with her, it wasn't fair for my friend and her mom to be involved in that mess. 

As soon as I got in the car, I was surrounded by three adults. My mom, Dean, Tom and Sarah. (My mom's friends)

Immediately, everyone was shouting at me. My mother was shoving her bloody knee in my face, and telling me to "look at what I did". Dean was yelling about how poorly I treat my mom. Tom was screaming, something, I honestly forget. Sarah wasn't yelling, but she was guilt tripping me. I think that was a huge moment, where I just shut down.

I didn't want anyone involved, because it was all so messy and stressful. I didn't want to place that burden on anyone. 

I felt like I was trapped, and could never get away. 

I was angry too though, this group of adults, hadn't thought about why I might have run away. 

It was all about, how I hurt my mom's feelings.

But no one seemed to wonder, what might have made me run in the first place. 

I didn't want to live anymore.

One day, on a day where mom was calm, I told her that I was depressed and I wanted help. My aunt had offered to pay for art therapy. Mom snapped and said "I can't believe she's snooping in our lives! No doctor is going to get into your head!! I'm depressed too, deal with it."

Deal with it. 

I did deal with it, just not in a healthy way. I started cutting my thighs, lower legs, the sides of my wrists, the inside of my hands. I didn't want to die, I was too scared for that. I just wanted someone to come up to me, and save me. 

I skipped a lot of school in grade 9, I was too depressed to get out of bed. 

For grade 10, I wanted a new start. I decided to really focus on school! 

Well, my mom had a habit of not paying rent for months at a time. He work is seasonal, She didn't have enough money for rent, groceries or school stuff. But there was always beer in the fridge, she always had smokes too. 

Priorities.. Right?

After three months of no rent, we had to move somewhere else in town.

During the second semester, Swine flu was all over the news. My mom refused to let me go to school. She wouldn't call the school to tell them why I wasn't there though. 

She wrote a note, I gave it to the principal when I was able to return. I explained why I had missed school. She told me that they looked at my records, and knew that I missed a lot of school in grade 9. Because my mom wouldn't call or come in, the principal thought that I was skipping. I was given Saturday school, so that I could catch up. But I had two teachers, flat out refuse to give me my missed work.

So, for two Saturdays, I sat in that library, and stared holes into the wall. 

When the third Saturday came, I stopped going. Not only to Saturday school, but regular school as well. 

For the next two years, I lived in a haze of depression, I had given up on life. 

My mom was with a new guy, Greg, and he was good at first.. 

We moved in with him, I got the entire basement to myself. But when he got drunk, he was just as bad as Dean. Maybe worse, because he was manipulative and sexist. Everyone saw him as a really great guy, we were the only ones to see the real him. 

Now, throughout my life, I had one good male role model in my life. Barry, he was my guardian angel. My mom would abuse him too, but he always stuck around. I don't know if it was for me, or mom. Maybe both of us, he really was an amazing person. 

He passed away in 2014 from lung cancer.

His voice went high pitched from the procedures, and he had to tolerate my mom making fun of him. 

When things got really bad, he would drive me to my grandmother's, and I would stay with her. Sometimes for days, sometimes weeks. She has been a constant savior in my life.

One particularly bad night, Greg and Mom were wasted, and fighting again. I went upstairs, broke then apart, and told Mom to sleep downstairs, and Greg to just go back to bed. It worked for 5 minutes. Until mom heard Greg move upstairs, and she ran up there to start stuff again. When I went back upstairs to break up the fight, I just couldn't find a way to do it. Something came over me, and I let out a long scream. Twenty minutes later, the police showed up. 

They took both adults away in cuffs.

An officer gave me a ride to grandmother's, and I stayed with her for over a month.

I heard absolutely nothing from my mother for those weeks. 

I found out down the line, that she was out of holding, the very next day. 

I started working full-time at Tim Hortons, I wanted to have money so I could move!

After a few months, I became a night time team leader. I ran the night team with 2 others and we would close the store 5 days a week.

After moving a few more times, and my mom getting her two front teeth knocked out by Greg, I finally was able to move into a place with my boyfriend at the time. 

Though my abuse from mother, was put at arm's length, I had no idea that my hardships weren't over yet. I didn't know how hard it would be, to heal from those years.
Or how costly, I would end up having more abcesses than I can even remember. 

Part 2 will be coming out next Saturday evening. I'll go into the consequences I faced from the years of abuse and my quest to find the right kind of help.

Saying all of this, my mom is also a survivor of abuse. The way she acted and the actions she took, were the result of that abuse, and her not seeking treatment. As horrible as she made my childhood, she really couldn't help it. I've forgiven her a long time ago. I'm still a little upset of course, but she's still stuck in that rut. I'll never hate her, I just wish that she loved herself enough to get out of it.
We don't talk anymore though.

~Katie~

The Struggle: My Journey With Breast Milk

 As most women do, or try to do, I initially chose to breastfeed. 

Now at first, I was one of the lucky ones. No latch problems and no pain. The hard parts were; leaking, how often I needed to feed, and not being able to do much of anything while Felicity was latched.

But those are pretty typical problems.

I'm going to be completely honest here.

My issue is that I never really enjoyed breastfeeding.

Obviously I love my child and we share a special connection regardless. But I never felt the joy that other mom's talk about while breastfeeding. I actually felt lonely and in fact, I was resentful. Not towards Felicity, resentful towards Jesse. I hated that all of the feedings were my responsibility.
I felt trapped, like I would never be able to go anywhere on my own, ever.
I also like to have control of most situations; a quirk that comes from a rough childhood. 
It was stressful not knowing how much milk she was drinking. But the main reason was that I wasn't my best self because I was so stressed out.

Some people would tell me to just sleep with the baby in our bed. Because then I could just let her find the boob and eat while I slept. 

But it wasn't something I was comfortable with. Because I roll sometimes and Jesse rolls constantly.

After two weeks postpartum, I broke out the pump and switched to bottle feeding at night. That way Jesse could help me out.

I decided to give Felicity breast during the day, unless I had to go out somewhere with her.

One of the first feeds!

Because of personal preference and convenience, I prefer to bring pumped milk. 

Now, we've been told by several health professionals to let the baby eat as much as she wants. So that's what I did and I only overfed her twice. Both times ended in a scene like something from ' The Exorcist '.

I ended up switching completely to bottle feeding, as a personal preference, after 3 months postpartum.

We found that around 1.5 months of age, she was eating 4 ounces every 2-3 hours.

Suddenly my milk supply dropped, and I started going from pumping 4-6 ounces every 4 hours, to 1-2 ounces. I drank so much Mothers Milk tea, took Fenugreek religiously, ate oatmeal and spinach like it was my new diet. I tried pumping every 2 hours. I even started letting her eat from my breast again.

But she started to do this thing where she would eat for about, 5 minutes. Then suddenly; she would refuse the boob. Even though she was still hungry. I tried waiting it out until she was hungry enough to want it, but that didn't work. I tried everything I could think of.
The only thing that did work; was to give her the boob for 5 minutes, change her and play for a bit. Then to give her a bottle with 2-3 ounces in it. I asked lactation consultants and nurses what I should do. They said, if it's working, just do what you're doing.

I knew that my body had just adjusted the supply to what it thought my baby needed. But it wasn't enough, and it was stressing me out. 

Comotomo bottle

The 'milk drought' was starting to cause arguments between Jesse and myself. It was an everyday agitation, everyday and every minute to be exact. I started thinking that I was a failure for not being able to feed her enough.

We started having to supplement with 6 ounces of formula; spread between two feedings each day.  I'm lucky that she wasn't fussy about boob, bottle or formula.

One day I was scrolling on Instagram and saw that someone had lactation issues and got a prescription for Domperidone. 

My doctor knew of my issues, but had never brought that up!
After I had researched a bit about it, I decided that I wanted that drug. 

So I approached my doctor about it, who was more than happy to prescribe it. 

10mg, one pill, three times a day. 

The downsides: I can't eat grapefruit, as it interferes with the medication. 

I can up my dosage if needed, but should consult the doctor first, as it can raise the heart rate.
The side effects aren't guaranteed, but they are headaches and dry mouth.

Plus, without any insurance, the pills are $18 for a month supply. 

It took a week before I started seeing results.
I now pump 6 ounces from each breast every 4-5 hours!

Spectra

(That being said; I'm not a doctor. It's always recommended that you consult a doctor before taking medication.)

Now I'm nearly 5 months postpartum, exclusively bottle feeding, giving Felicity milk baths and finally storing some milk. (However, that's going to be a whole other post.) I plan on feeding her breast milk until Felicity is 2 years old. (If all goes according to plan.)

I feel amazing now that my biggest stress is gone!

It's never easy though, every woman has her own story.
Of course breast milk has more nutritional value, but formula won't harm your baby in anyway.
Whatever you chose, it's your journey.
Personally, I'm enjoying pumping and bottle feeding. I don't mind how often I have to wash stuff.

Ladies, feel free to share your own stories in the comments.

~Katie~