Perhaps it was a combination of all three slaps in the face that shaped the rock-bottom moment I needed to take responsibility for my life, finally. Two weeks after Mother’s Day in 2009, I finally decided to face my shame and start the process of getting healthier. Since then, I’ve dedicated the last eight years of my life to a child that was never born.
Instead of nurturing a growing baby’s needs, I fed myself more nourishing foods and started exercising. I committed to being healthier than I was the day before, which led me to lose 150 pounds in 11 months. Instead of teaching my child how to spell Mississippi, I stopped being a high-school dropout and enrolled in community college and began taking the courses that would eventually lead to a degree, scholarships, and a government job. Instead of showing my kid how to be brave enough to stand up to a bully, I had to gradually develop that courage, confidence, and self-awareness for myself.
At 25 years old, I didn’t know how to take care of or love myself. How do you expect a woman to raise, care for, and love a child in a healthy way if she doesn’t even know how to do that for herself?