My daughter has mental illness. Diagnosis in number too numerous to mention.
She was born a miracle with a less than a 1% chance at life. Everyone said, “God must have a special plan for her.” We thought so too.
She grew up with a brain that had been subjected to early infant trauma that caused it to short circuit and reroute it’s neuro-pathways so everything was perceived as through a clouded glass window of trauma and then obstructed by the blackness of clinical depression.
My girl lived with a chronic fear of abandonment that added to the brain changing its normal route away from one of safety and security.
I wish everyone could know, like her Dad and I know, how much she has really accomplished. Sometimes I have ached that she just wasn’t born with some glaring handicap so she could at least look like someone who has overcome so much. Instead, she looks like a healthy beautiful young woman…and thankfully now she’s very much living her best life. BUT we know the herculean effort it takes for her to live every single day. We know the hours of therapy she has engaged in to understand herself and to enact the changes she must enact to stay alive and independent. We know the bravery of every step she takes and we are in awe of her courage and relentless pursuit.
Recently her prematurity came into the present when her bowel became obstructed from adhesions that basically have her entire intestinal tract glued to her abdominal wall. After a week in the hospital and a special diet, it resolved itself. The pain was severe. She made it through though and she went back to work caring for infants in a daycare. I am so proud of her.