Ashamed.

In the first 8 months or so after Brenly’s diagnosis, we maybe told 10 people that we even had a diagnosis. Looking back, I think that was just the right thing for us. Some people want the world to know all the details of their life, we just wanted to process ours. I started to hate going out in public. I was terrified. Good Lord, was I terrified. What if Brenly had a meltdown? What if it was a bad one? What if I didn’t know what to do? What if someone said something? How would I react to that? It wasn’t the meltdown itself I was worried about; it was how much my heart would ache for her. I wouldn’t be able to keep it together myself. I was scared too of what would happen if someone said something. Some uneducated, “why don’t you discipline her?” kind of person. The kind of person who had no idea. No idea that this Mama was holding on by a thread. A sliver of a thread.

I turned into a shell of a person. I was void of emotion around people. But, in private. That was a different story. When I say private, I mean not even around my husband or my mom. Most of the time, it was in the shower or in the car. No one could see me. No one could hear me. It was just me. Me and my broken self. Some days, it was tears that just fell silently. Some days, it was violent sobbing. Some days, it was fear. Fear of the unknown. There were other days. Other days, it was anger. Sheer anger. Why did this happen to my little girl? How could God do this? To me. To her. Still, there were other days. Other days, it was an overwhelming sense of grief. Grief because I felt like I lost something. I didn’t know what that something was exactly, but I lost it.

Then there was Brenly. Beautiful, blue-eyed Brenly. Brenly who had no idea what was going on. Brenly who was still the same girl she was before diagnosis. Brenly who didn’t get to go to the store as much anymore. Brenly who stayed home more. Brenly who didn’t meet mommy’s friends. Brenly who stayed with Grandma when mom and dad went places, even though kids were invited. Brenly who spun in circles constantly. Brenly who repeated lines from cartoons. Brenly who still wouldn’t answer when I called her name. Brenly who gave the best hugs. Brenly who could make any day better. Brenly who had the best, most infectious giggle. Brenly who needed me.

Where the hell was I?

I was ashamed.

Not of my daughter. Not for one second of my daughter.

Of myself.

Ashamed of the feelings I was having.

Ashamed that I was uneducated. That I didn’t know what to do to help her.

Ashamed that I was hiding my beautiful girl from a world who needed her. And a world she needed.

How would I ever be the mom she needed?

To be continued…

#beautifullifeofbrenly