#every time her parents are at roller she gets ptsd from their one open music performance

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

Nina acts like her mom is gonna pull up a photo album with embarrassing childhood photos to show Ámbar or smth

[goodpeachtea]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘥. (𝟎𝟐)

 Summary: People could say that Baby was crazy, so they could say that hell is more preferable than spending a day with her. Baby agreed. But no one could say that the girl was not a genius or that she was like everyone else. Baby Jones was special - yes, she could be a nicer special type, but anyway, special.

Couple: Spencer Reid x OC.

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: PTSD. Panic attack. Mentions of suicide, drugs, torture and kidnapping. Cigarettes. Under-age drinking.

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            (𝟎𝟐). 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖧 𝖠𝖭𝖭𝖨𝖵𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖠𝖱𝖸

   BABY’S CHRISTMAS WERE NEVER FORECASTED. This phenomenon happened because December 25th was not just what everyone celebrated as Christmas, but it was three more things: Baby Jones’ birthday, the anniversary of the death of her family, and the anniversary of the day she was kidnapped. Believe what you want, the little redhead has every right to enter a state of depression, anger and madness while it snows outside and normal children celebrate the date with their absolutely alive parents.

   That day for Jones was always a roller coaster of events. On the first anniversary of the-day-that-everything-went-wrong, in 1998, the 9-year-old, so young but so broken, tried to commit suicide. In the second, all the ideas that went through her head were homicide. In the fifth, Baby Jones caused a commotion and despair by fleeing the Sunshine Orphanage to visit 19 graves in Washington, covering 10 miles. In the ninth, Baby ended up in the emergency by alcohol intoxication.

   The Tenth Anniversary was the current one. Honestly, Baby was really committed to the (almost) promise she made to David Rossi. She was, really. If you asked her what happened that day, she wouldn’t be able to explain. Not because she was drunk, drugged or insane. She was none of those previous things - so I don’t lie, I will say that at least she was not at the apex of any of those things. Baby was just so sad that something needed to be done. And she did. Oh, she certainly did.

   Everything could have happened. Literally, everything. Nothing was a limit for Baby Jones, especially a Baby Jones at the peak of her grief. What happened was particularly unique. Of all the scenarios that the (now) short-haired redhead could imagine, she didn’t expect to end up handcuffed in the FBI building on Christmas Day.

DECEMBER 24TH, 2007.

   Baby hated snow. Don’t come up with all that magic, beauty and blah blah blah. For Baby, almost nothing was worse than Christmas Eve and everything that involved that day - the tree, decorations, snow, music and the hated Christmas spirit. The only Jones alive made a point of trying to bring everyone down with her in those days (she didn’t try very hard, but she didn’t pretend to be happy to cheer up the rest of the kids) and of course she couldn’t, because “Christmas is such an incredible time”. In December, she just wanted to die.

– You’re so boring, Baby! – Exclaimed Max, a 7-year-old boy who also lived in the Sunshine Orphanage, nudging the older one, who sighed deeply, concentrating all her strength so as not to strangle him. – You should help us decorate the Christmas tree, we never have something like this here. It’s fun, I promise! Stop being a killjoy!

– Max, have you heard of the phrase “fuck off”?

   Baby smiled when she saw the brat’s astonished face when he heard her swear, watching him run away from her and towards one of the women who took care of the children at the Orphanage. “Denise, Baby said a bad word again!”, he shouted as the redhead rolled her eyes and muttered “blabbermouth”. Denise, a blonde woman who loved all the control she could exercise over children, gave Jones a sharp look, who showed her tongue as a naughty child - and it’s very difficult to find differences between Baby and naughty children.

– Go straight to your room. Congratulations, you just lost your dinner!

   The almost 18-year-old teenager raised her eyebrows, holding the older woman’s disapproving look at her. She got up from the couch she was on, showing the middle finger to little Max, who was laughing at the girl’s misfortune. “If you want to eat breakfast, I advise you to improve this behavior, young lady!”, the blonde said, with an angry expression. Baby J. smiled fakely at the woman as she walked up the first few steps, watching the other narrow her eyes. The girl with golden red hair went up the stairs, mumbling “bitch” as she went to her room.

   Baby slammed the door of her room hard - not to provoke the controlling blonde downstairs, but out of pure tension that agonized her head and body. She locked it quickly, closing the windows and lowering the blind, knowing that even if she smoked the smell would dissipate and no one would bother her for hours on end (besides she herself). Bored, she looked around her, watching her room for something to do.

   The teenager with hair that reminded the dawn and freckles that were golden specks on her skin arched her eyebrows as she captured an idea from her brain about what to do to pass the time. She bit her lip, carefully locking the door, listening to the sounds of plates and cutlery downstairs. She knelt beside her bed, searching with her hands for the notebook that were taped to the wood of the furniture.

   The notebook was almost a diary for her. There, the most personal things in her life were sheltered. Written in angled and spaced handwriting, there were no emotional reports about Baby’s feelings or her complaints about her day-to-day life. Those paper sheets filled messily and with determination were all about the informations on the Jones Case that could take her to a closure.

   She glanced at the digital clock nearby, dinner time being 7 pm. Jones then looked at the black-lined notebook, prepared to read the information and theories she had already memorized backwards, hoping to get something new so that everything would be cleared up before the anniversary of her family’s death. The redhead flipped through the pages with frequently used marks, more and more aggressive as the time went, the realization slowly slapping her in the face that her hands were tied and she would not be able to solve the crime that defined her life - and the death of 19 people. Baby looked at her watch again, widening her eyes and punching the floor she was sitting in frustration, noting that it was already 11 pm and the whole house was quiet and dark.

   The teenager felt a little better when she realized that the little orphan Sophie was not going to sleep in the same room with her that night, the two women who took care of all 10 children who lived in the house knowing about Baby’s dangerous historic on Christmas Day and preventing a possible accident with the little girl. Jones got up from the cold floor, beginning to feel her heart stir and her fingers that did not want to stop moving as she paced. Baby thought again about her failure with her family, the tenth anniversary that she would not be able to resolve her inner demons and offer a worthy end for her relatives. She punched the door with an adrenaline rush, no longer caring whether the noise would bother the other habitants of the residence.

   Everyone knew the rules that were not spoken. That day, don’t mess with Jones. It doesn’t matter if you are only concerned about her health or if you want to cheer her up. No. Do not try.    The nightmare that was that day started with the fact that during the 24 hours she endured, no time she would be able to sleep. That’s how it started. Four red zeros on her alarm clock signaled that Baby Jones was doomed to misery for the next few moments. The redhead sighed, murmuring an ironic “happy birthday” to herself, blowing out the fire from the match she used to light a cigarette. She stared into nothingness, putting death between her lips and knowing that things were going to change - for better or for worse.    All that was needed was a brief glance. In a second, she was in her room smoking and trying not to cry. The next, Baby was back. Panic invaded her chest when she realized that she was lying on the floor, her eyes going to the clock hanging on the wall with a splash of blood: 20:11.    It’s amazing how a situation can change from one minute to the next. It’s amazing how the Jones family couldn’t be happier at 8:10 pm and a minute later they faced the worst moment of their life (or the end of it) face to face. And it all happened for Baby.    A shot was the first thing that warned the Jones that everything would go downhill. The immediately dead body of Mary Jones - Baby’s loving aunt - fell to the floor with a loud thump, screams being heard throughout the suburban home. Baby Jones went to the floor under the influence of her parents, Marie Ann and Thomas, who saw an armed shadow in front of the open door. At the same time, everything and nothing went through their minds, adrenaline and agony dominating their senses. They wanted to send their daughter run away from the house, while their eyes alternated among all their children: she, Amelie, Owen and little AJ, who was on the other side of the room, with no idea what was going on. But when they looked at Baby again, all they managed to pay attention to was the stranger behind her.

   The eight-year-old girl felt hands grabbing her as her parents screamed, asking for mercy. She struggled, feeling the hot tears on her face and the tightening the long, manicured nails on her skin, leaving marks because of the fight that had already been won. It was when his father advanced on the woman with black hair as the night that the second shot was heard, Baby feeling a pain she never felt before - and probably never will again - gasping and sinking in countless feelings. Little Jones sobbed, watching Marie Ann cry over her husband’s dead body.    Baby J.’s vision was blurred, everything was spinning and her screams of horror did not stop the situation, which happened in the blink of an eye. One, two, three, four shots. No way out. The little redhead couldn’t breathe and the strong, motherly grip of the woman who held her only made it worse. Baby saw three unknown men at her home and suddenly those three were almost all the males left. Giving up on struggling, Jones only managed to cry desperately when she saw her sister walking away in shock from Baby’s lifeless older brother, Owen. 

   Baby opened her eyes, feeling the damp on her face and the lump in her throat. She felt her chest rise and fall at an accelerated frequency and her head sinking into the pillow, gulping and scrambling up from the bed, drying the tears that seemed not to end. When trying to get up, the girl fell to the ground without even a resistance, feeling the tremor in her legs and hands. Jones put her hands on her chest, unable to breathe and panicking even more.

   So she just did what she needed to do. Baby cried. Panic spread throughout her body as she sobbed and searched for air, tears making everything worse. In fetal position, she clasped her hands tightly, not from physical pain but from mental pain, feeling her nails pierce the skin.

   Baby felt like she was going to die. “Maybe it’s better this way, maybe I have to give up,” she thought, her body softening and the feeling of something in her hand that was under the bed. The only Jones alive closed her eyes strongly and deeply regretted it, feeling the tightness in her heart get worse.

– Oh, my love, don’t cry.

   She felt the fingers running through her vivid hair, the tightness on her wrist and the tears in her eyes. “Please, let me out!”, she cried out with all her might, shifting and listening to the frustrated sigh of the man in front of her. “Why can’t you just be a good girl, huh? A good daughter? I love you, Baby, but… you’re just making things worse for you”, Jones ignored the man, who was still touching her hair affectionately, speaking tenderly.

– You are not my father and you never will be! You killed him and I hate you! – She yelled in the midst of tears, the scary Ryan Copper’s face tensing and his jaw clenching.

– I don’t accept this behavior under my roof! I struggle, I fight, I do everything to give you a great life and that’s what I get. – He squeezed the girl’s orange hair, pulling her face closer and staying millimeters away. – If this behavior does not improve by tomorrow morning, you will have serious problems, young lady. Honey, feel free. 

   Blue eyes blinked in fear, shifting her attention from the man who went from one extreme to the other in a snap of the fingers to the woman with black hair and a disturbing smile, a knife in one hand and a whip in the other. It was only Baby’s first day there, but she knew she wasn’t going to last long and maybe she would never leave that filthy, empty cellar again. Baby Jones heard the whip crack before she felt it burn on her skin.

   She opened her eyes, pulling what was under her bed into view. Baby felt the dust on the piece of photographic paper, smiling weakly and feeling the agitation in her chest lessen. She saw her parents hugging each other tightly, smiling at each other. Her mother, Marie Ann, had a big belly, sheltering who would become AJ in the future. The older brothers were on the floor, laughing and fighting over something and Baby was beside them, concentrated on a Rubik’s Cube.

   Her breathing was soon regulated and she bit her lip in a failed attempt to hold her tears, looking at that photo and soon holding it close to her chest. “I miss you”, Baby J. whispered so low that even she couldn’t hear herself. The girl spent about an hour in that position, crying and calming down, in a cycle, again and again. When she finally had the courage to get up, she felt dizzy, remembering the horrifying touches in her hair from one of the men who had kidnapped her. That affection seemed so real that it scared Baby more than anything. She felt a chill on her back, terror. The girl could feel everything even after 10 years. Those despicable hands in her hair, face, arm.

   Baby rushed to the bathroom, kneeled on the toilet coughing and throwing up. The day hadn’t even started and it was already one of the worst in Baby’s life (and that was a tough competition). The teen weakly got up, looking to herself in the mirror and just knowing what to do to repress that memories of the touches. Being a nervous wreck, she rushed to grab the scissors she always used to cut the hair of the other kids in the house - as lovely as this may seem (and it is), Baby make sure to threat the youngers with the sharp object, not wanting to be seem as a big sister. The tears were nearly stopping while cutting sloppily more than 10 inches of red hair, not caring by the mess she made on the sink or the length her hair was going to be. Jones didn’t really care for her hair, but made sure the pixie cut was acceptable.

– Booze. Yeah, I need booze. – The eighteen-year-old girl whispered, rubbing her eyes and preparing to be extremely silent.

   In a house with so many children - and one of them being the problematic Jones - the two women who lived there needed a little alcohol from time to time (having to hide for the same reason that they needed to have it). Baby grabbed her bag, making a grimace at the sound of a creak and snore as she opened her bedroom door, freezing for a moment, not wanting to be caught and punished. She went down the stairs carefully, kneeling on the floor and facing the last step when she reached the first floor. “Eureka!”, murmured a excited Baby, “or should I say “tequila!”?”.

   When she sneaked out of what they said was her home, it didn't take long for Baby to end up in the same spot of a few previous nights, when she got a call from the longtime acquaintance, David Rossi. This time, her brain didn't work the same way, especially after several sips of the alcohol in her hands. Baby Jones had her (not so) great idea when she was halfway through the bottle, getting dizzy when she got up quickly, totally excited about what she was going to do. Come on, she was already eighteen! Jones could do whatever she wanted, right?

   Baby J. took the first bus of the day out of Alexandria with the money she had saved, sitting away from the few other passengers and sipping from the bottle of tequila hidden in her bag from time to time. In a little over an hour, the young and not-so-innocent girl headed for her final destination.

– Excuse me! Good night, I want to visit David Rossi, if possible. – Baby said in her sweetest tone, winking her blue eyes at the receptionist.    The woman smirked, raising her eyebrows, not even bothering to look at Baby. It was not the rarest thing in the world for people to try to enter the FBI building and visit the famous author who was Rossi. "Agent Rossi is not expecting company and there's no autograph session going on now, child. You can go out that door," the brunette nodded the exit with her head as Baby Jones grimaced, determined to enter that building in Quantico. – You didn't understand, he knows me. – The 18-year-old explained, still trying to win over the receptionist, even though she suspected that the facade of being an innocent and kind child would not catch on. – Miss, please leave or I will call the security.    "Hey, now you're just being ... you know what? Nevermind! Call Rossi and say that Baby Jones has come to visit. Go, see for yourself, call!", Baby crossed her arms, almost tripping over her own feet as she leaned against the desk of the secretary who was beginning to have doubts if the girl was really just a fan. Reluctantly, the brunette, Miss Parker, picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Italian-American's office, staring at Jones with suspicion throughout the process. – Sir? Yes, there someone here that claims know you, her name is Baby Jones. Yes, Baby Jones, sir. – She seemed nervous about talking to David, looking at the floor constantly, looking up at the redhead with interest. – Of course, sir. Guard! – Hanging up the call, secretary Parker nodded to a large, menacing FBI security, Baby's eyes widening. – But I did not do anything! That jerk! Rossi didn't ...?

   “Follow Miss Jones up to the fifth floor", the older one said to the guard, who waved quickly, looking at the smaller one whose smile was growing on her face. Parker handed the girl an FBI visitor's badge, trying not to doubt David Rossi's sanity by letting the girl go up to the BAU upon hearing Baby exclaim "that's what I'm talking about!". 

   The eyes of serious security remained on the petit girl the entire time, noticing her strange behavior and trying to solve the mystery about whether that slight smell of alcohol he smelled was just an impression. The ride in the elevator was quick to the relief of Jones, who soon left the cubicle and smiled awkwardly at the man twice as tall. "I need... you know, go to the bathroom," Baby laughed embarrassed to the security (her acting skills were surprisingly good when it came to trick someone).

– Go to the end of the corridor and turn right, miss.

– Thank you very much. – Baby smiled and took quick, sloppy steps to the pointed direction, looking around and smirking to herself, noticing the calm movement of the building and no people around her.

   She read the signs on the doors, looking for a specific room, hoping that the seriously frightening security guard wouldn't come looking. Baby gave a slight "hooray" when she found what she came to, biting her lips when remembering that she needed to be silent, looking around and entering the agile room like a cat. The redhead clapped her hands excitedly when she saw a room full of files and a computer full of horrible cases that she would love to have a look at.

   Soon, Jones was digging through the numerous unresolved case documents, having already looked at the resolved case reports - she liked to deduce things about the suspect and then see if she got it right. She completely ignored the computer, knowing it would have a password and that her technological skills were not enough to hack the FBI. 

   Baby thanked for not being drunk enough to not know what she was doing, but to be a little more excited and happy than usual. Unfortunately, her current condition was not enough to pay much attention to the light noise the door made when it opened, only noticing the presence of someone else there when she heard a false cough, startling her.

– Miss, you are not an agent. – Said the handsome man, a little surprised by the situation and looking at the visitor's badge attached to the girl's black leather jacket.

– Huh, are you... sure?

– Yes, I’m sure. What are you doing here, miss?

– I think I getting myself in serious problems. – Baby laughed awkwardly, scratching her neck and seeing the badge with the name Grant Anderson on the clothes of the FBI agent who looked at her with extreme suspicion, prepared to solve that problem that was having an extremely strange girl accessing FBI files.

   Agent Anderson insisted on staying close to the girl, with his hand on her shoulder, with the suspicion that she would run away from there while he took her to the office of one of his bosses. Jones threw a smile and a wink at the security guard who escorted her to that floor, even though deep down she was a little afraid that the problem she created it would jeopardize her possible BAU spot.

   Two knocking on Aaron Hotchner's door was all it took for Baby Marie Jones to be in real trouble, walking in and facing a way-too-serious-looking man and a blonde lady. Unfortunately for the short-haired redhead, in that room there was not only the BAU Unit Chief but the all-powerful Section Chief, Erin Strauss. Anderson was afraid to say anything, the bosses' sharp eyes cutting him off, but he soon managed to announce the situation to both. "This girl was reading case documents, she was stealing some too," he explained, Baby looking at him ugly, opening her mouth in surprise. "I wasn't stealing! I was just... borrowing... for an undetermined period of time."

– What?! Handcuff her. How did she get in here? – Asked Strauss, squinting, irritated by the security breach, wondering if that child could be part of an illegal organization. Agent Hotchner, however, was looking at the girl with curiosity, finding her strangely familiar.

– She has a visitor’s badge. 

– What’s her name? 

– You know I’m right in front of you and you can ask me yourself, right? – Jones asked, her gaze going from Anderson to Strauss, who didn't have a very good expression.

   “What’s your name?”, the Section Chief of the BAU sighed, seeing the girl actually think to answer, looking to Aaron and remembering him. “Bring David Rossi here and we’ll answer all your questions!”, ordered the kid, seeing the two big bosses exchanging looks. 

– “We?”

– Yeah, me and him. Trust me, you are not going to regret it, this is gonna be super duper fun! – She smiled excitedly, seeing that the three people in the room were not understanding anything and were not sure how to act in the face of the unusual situation.

   “Why I’m not surprised that you caused that much of a problem in such a short period of time?”, asked David Rossi, drawing attention and sighing deeply to see what he was up to and how the next few hours would be somewhat unpleasant. Baby, lightly drunk and unfiltered, grinned when she saw the older man enter the room. “When I was told you were here I already knew that my day wouldn't go as planned, but you could have caused a minor problem, don't you think, Baby?”.

– Well, you can say whatever you want, but you must admit that's gonna be a damn good story to tell.

– Baby Marie Jones. – Murmured Hotch, finally remembering where he knew those red hair and striking eyes, seeing the girl do jazz hands, exclaiming “surprise!”. He couldn’t forget that case even if we wanted.

– Can somebody explain what is happening? – Asked Strauss, as Anderson left the room, closing the door and seeing the curious looks of the other BAU agents regarding that little meeting.

– So...!

– You! You don’t speak a word, miss. – David pointed his finger at the youngest, who took off her imaginary hat in a gesture of understanding, the sound of handcuffs filling the room, the girl laughing, but going quiet. – Erin, sit down, please. We have a lot to talk. Tell me, how do you fell about breaking some rules? 

[sacredwarrior88]

Keep Holding On

This is a short story I wrote for National Suicide Prevention Month which is right around the corner. I hope you enjoy it.

So dark. Why is it so dark? Even if the room had been saturated with sunlight, all he would’ve seen was darkness. What’s a life anyway? What was the point of living? With everything that he had went through in his 22 years of life, from sexual molestation to PTSD to drug and alcohol abuse, it was amazing that he even lived to see that age. There was only so much suffering that someone could take before they snap.

Sure he had parents, a little brother, and a pregnant fiancé who all loved him dearly but it still wasn’t enough to quell the despair and loneliness that had been lingering in his heart and soul for many years. Nothing could stop it. Not laughter. Not music which was his biggest passion and talent. Not even love. Sure the pain may have stagnated for a while but it didn’t go away permanently. It was always there. Lingering. Lurking. Threatening to take over just like it’s doing now.

He looked down at the gun he had in his hands. All it would take is one bullet. Just one bullet and that would end it all. End all his pain and suffering. End all his misery and torture. He was tired. Soul deep tired. Dead tired. Not to mention alone. Truly alone.

His shaking hand held the muzzle of the gun to his right temple and he had to use his other hand to steady his grip because he was shaking so badly. Tears completely covered his face as flashbacks of his life ran through his mind. Good times with his fiancé and family, the drugs and booze, being sexually violated, and performing in front of others. Such a roller coaster his life was and it showed no signs of slowing down or stopping.

Although the door was locked, he knew that it wouldn’t stop his fiancé who knew how to pick locks. Practically hyperventilating at this point, his finger managed to find its way towards the trigger. Curl, squeeze, fire. That was all he had to do to end it. But why was he hesitating? Why was he so close to breaking down to the point of no return? Why was he crying so much?

He knew why. He was no fool. He was mourning the very things that were taken away from him so long ago. Peace. Innocence. Hope. But most of all power. Power to say no. To say stop. To fight back. To not be someone’s little bitch. To not feel worthless, disgusting, and pathetic. The sexual molestation and rape that he suffered when he was 8 caused all of that and opened the floodgates to a lifetime of pain and misery that he just couldn’t heal. He tried so many things to fill the void within him: drugs, alcohol, sex, music. But at the end of the day, he was still just an empty shell of a person and would always be worthless.

Steadying his mind and his hand, his finger began to curl itself around the trigger and apply pressure. Just as he was about to squeeze, there was a knock at the door. “Love? Are you in there?” Saved by the bell. Or was he? He could still just blow his brains out now. But then his fiancé would have to hear everything. “Why is the door locked? What are you doing in there?” Such a beautiful voice she had. Even if it was just for a little bit, it always brought him comfort and tranquility.

But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to answer her nor pull the trigger. Why? What was stopping him? Why couldn’t he just fucking end it?! “I’m coming in!” Even though he pressed the gun tighter against his temple in response, he still didn’t have the heart to pull the trigger.

His pregnant fiancé picked the lock in record time and he was greeted with the beautiful sight of her once the door swung open. But her face immediately showed nothing but horror at the sight she saw. “Baby what are you doing? Put the gun down please.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and she began to slowly step towards her lover, keeping her hands by her side so she wouldn’t alarm him.

“I can’t. I don’t wanna live anymore. I have no more fight left in me. Please just leave. You don’t need to see me like this.” The woman continued to step closer until she was only a hairsbreadth away from the man she loved so much. “I’m not leaving you. I love you too much to abandon you. Please just give me the gun and we can talk about this.” “You waste your love on me. I’m worthless. It’s too late for me.”

The now crying pregnant woman gently held his other hand and kissed it. “You’re not worthless. Loving you has never been a waste. It has been the best 8 years of my life and I’ll keep loving you through everything. It’s never too late darling. If you pull the trigger now, you’ll never get to become my husband. You’ll never get to meet your twins. You’ll be leaving behind people who truly love you and care about you. Please don’t do this.” In an act of bravery, the woman reached forward and slowly took the gun away from her lover. Why didn’t he fight back? Why couldn’t he fight back?

Placing the gun back in the drawer where it belonged, she held her arms out as if she was inviting the man towards the light and out of the darkness that he had been in for oh so long. Such a small action said so many words to him that he didn’t even know how to react to. The man embraced his fiancé and let out sobs so heart-wrenching that she was crying along with him. “Let it all out. You can tell me anything. You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

In between his sobs, gasps, and sorrow-filled sighs, the man was muttering the phrases ���He raped me. He fucking raped me.” over and over again as if it were a mantra that had been filling up over the years of suffering. “I know baby. I know. But he can’t hurt you anymore. He was killed in prison because you were brave enough to put him there.” “But he’s still haunting me. In my dreams. In my thoughts. In my soul. He took away so many things from me. How can I get them back?”

“You have to take control of yourself and your life. You can’t let him win anymore.  Don’t let the darkness consume you. You have to keep fighting.” “But what if I’m not strong enough? I’m just so tired. I’m tired of running away. Tired of acting like I’m ok when I’m really not. Tired of being alone. I can’t take this shit anymore!”

“You’re never alone in this war. I’ll be right here with you. So will your parents and little brother. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.” “But what’s the first step? I don’t know how to fight anymore.” “You just took it. You didn’t pull the trigger. That alone was a huge step in itself.  The next step to take is therapy. I know it sounds scary but you never know unless you try. I’ll be with you through every step of the way. I promise.”

The man was afraid to go to therapy because he hated the idea of talking to a complete stranger about his problems and he didn’t want to be subject to judgment, scrutiny, and ignorance. But how could he deny the light that the love of his life was offering? Bit by tiny bit, he could feel the darkness dissipating and she was the cause of it happening.

“I’ll contact a therapist in the morning. Let’s go to bed.” The woman rose up, bringing the man with her. He turned around and faced the window, looking up at the full moon which was shining down upon them. “Is life truly worth living? Is there still beauty even through all of the bullshit and hellfire?” “Yes. Yes it is. You have helped and inspired so many people and bring so much joy to them. Beauty can be found anywhere in life no matter how dark and bleak it seems to be. Your life is worth living and you are so precious to many people. You still have a lot left to do. It’s not your time to go yet love.”

Underneath the moonlight, the soon-to-be married couple shared a passionate, loving kiss that not even the world’s best actors could hope to replicate. Without so much as exchanging a word, they returned to the bed they shared, the man unsure of what was to come but with his family by his side to support him, he was slowly gaining the confidence he needed to keep holding on. Gently rubbing his fiance’s pregnant belly, tears nearly came to his eyes as he felt the twins kick. It was almost as if they were telling him to hang in there too.

The soon-to-be father kissed the woman’s stomach and the babies kicked in response. “That tickles. See? Your babies need you too. They have to meet their father.” “Do you think I have what it takes? To be a good father?” “Of course you do. I have faith and confidence in you.” She let out a heavy yawn which showed just how exhausted she was and her lover couldn’t resist repeating it.

“Good night. Are you ready for what’s coming tomorrow?” “As ready as I’ll ever be. Good night.”

The man fell into a deep, peaceful sleep underneath the moonlight with his lover, his newfound zest for life slowly beginning to creep into his very being. For the first time in his life, being alive didn’t seem so bad.

Your life is not over. Your life is important. Don’t take your beauty from the world.

Don’t pull the trigger.

Don’t swallow those pills.

Don’t tie that noose.

Don’t jump.

Don’t slash your wrists.

When you come to the end of your rope, be a knot and hang on.

To anyone out there who’s hurting, it’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help. It’s a sign of strength.

If you or anyone you know is thinking of committing suicide, please contact your National Suicide Prevention hotline. Please tell someone, anyone. Don’t suffer in silence anymore.

Hey you. Yes you right there reading this. You’re beautiful. You have every reason to live.

I’m no therapist but I promise you this:

I will listen. I will care.

Suicide doesn’t take away the pain. It gives it to someone else.

Someone else who loves you. Someone else who cares about you. Someone else whose world would absolutely implode without you.

A lot of us think that we’re alone. And in that, none of us really are.

Don’t take the risk. It’s not worth it.

Keep holding on. It is worth it.

[chocolate-brownies]

Home birth. Epidural. C-sections. Breastfeeding. Infertility. Artificial insemination. Stepparenting. Adoption. Fostering. Multiples.

There are so many ways to become a mom. And for each method, there are a thousand times more opinions. Not all of them are so nice and some are awfully intrusive. It’s not unusual to announce the specifics of your journey into parenthood and be met with questions: You couldn’t breastfeed? That sucks. Are you sure you’re ready for three babies? Doesn’t being a foster parent scare you? You had a c-section? I’m sorry. I’d adopt, but I’d much rather have my own baby. Are you sure you want to be a single parent? Are you sure you want to parent a child who is not biologically yours? A natural birth? Aren’t you scared? Are you sure? Are you sure?

Let me first state that I am not a mom. I am, however, dating a man who has a 2-year-old son and is co-parenting with his ex, so parenting is not an idea I avoid. Motherhood fascinates me. I watch my boyfriend and his ex parent their son. I have several friends who are now carrying their first children and wondering how they will deliver. I have friends struggling with infertility, breastfeeding, and the stigma of single parenting. I know young moms, new moms in their late forties, and everything in between.

And so I had a wide range of resources for this piece. I asked moms with myriads of stories and opinions to share their experiences; their births, how they coped when the births didn’t go according to plan, their struggles with breastfeeding, the process of adoption, the adventure of foster-parenting, the level of thoughtfulness necessary for a co-parenting situation, and more.

Our choices surrounding parenting, birth, and motherhood are too often stigmatized, making the already difficult process of entering parenthood all the more challenging. And how do we break down these generalizations? We listen. 

“I define my transformation.”

Yoga teacher and Wanderlust presenter Mary Beth LaRue, shared these words with me when I asked her about her journey thus far as a foster parent. Mary Beth and her husband decide to investigate foster parenting after being told it might be difficult for her to conceive the traditional way—so without much of a fight, they decide to grow their family through foster care.

“These past 4.5 months with Baby A, who came to us at 7 days old, have changed my entire life,” Mary Beth shares.“I didn’t realize my heart could grow this large and love this little babe so unconditionally, especially in the face of so much uncertainty. We have no idea if he will stay with us or not but our job is to love and provide no matter what.”

Mary Beth discusses her foray into parenthood on her Instagram, and recently posted about the need to end the bias surrounding foster parenting.

“These children are just children,” She writes. “Not ‘foster’ children. They are kids. Just like all the other children in your life. And they don’t have the tools or resources we do to deal with the trauma they are experiencing.”

Brittanie Davis, a mama in Northern Virginia, became a mom at 23 when she decided to take the plunge and adopt a baby in need. The journey was a bit of a roller coaster; Brittanie tells me that she was working in property manager when one of her maintenance employees expressed his struggle raising his daughter’s infant—there was simply not enough money, and it would be best for everyone to give the baby up for adoption. Brittanie instantly felt a connection to the child and asked if she could adopt him.

“I always wanted to be a mom,” She tells me. “And it seemed like the perfect opportunity.”

Over the next year, Brittanie underwent foster care training, hired two attorneys, and did everything else she possible could to make sure Baby G was hers. Even after she had been granted legal rights to raise Baby G, she remained in the foster care system, and opened up her doors to children of all ages and lifestyles. A few years later she became pregnant with her second child, a girl, through artificial insemination. Over the past few years, Brittanie has had 9 plus kids living under her roof.

“People ask me all the time, ‘you’re really doing it all on your own?’ or ‘why didn’t you wait longer?’” Brittanie tells me. “They say, ‘you don’t have a husband? I’m sorry.’ But it’s not a bad thing. It always felt like the right choice.”

Intrusion extends beyond adoption and fostering. After trying to get pregnant for three years, music teacher Sarah Issa El-Khoury and her partner looked into other options. Part of this journey meant answering a lot of unwanted questions.

“People would also ask me when we were planning to have kids, which frustrated me to no end. It’s hard to answer without making people uncomfortable,” Sarah describes. “We ended up doing an IUI, which doesn’t have a very high success rate on the first try. Well, it not only worked, but apparently, the meds I took (progesterone, ovidrel, and clomid) worked wonders, because we found out about the triplets around 8 weeks.”

Her pregnancy and delivery were surprisingly easy—though she admits she was on careful watch because of the high risk associated with multiples. Sarah says, “The only real problem is I’ve ever had during my pregnancy are the strange comments that people make. People ask me if I delivered naturally or if I had a C-section, which makes me think they’re only thinking about my vagina. People ask me how the babies were conceived as well, which I think is so intrusive and no one’s business.”

Birth is natural, period.

I once dated a guy who told me that I would be a wimp if If I choose to use an epidural to birth our future (hypothetical) children.

“My mom had four kids without one,” He bragged, as if he had done the work himself. “And my wife will be strong enough to do the same.”

Um, yeah. We are no longer together. But his words illustrated another issue—there are dozens of stigmas regarding delivery. Epidural or no epidural? Home birth? Hospital? C-section? I always cringe when folks refer to non-epidural births as “unnatural.” My own mother had me in a hospital, with an epidural (as many mothers do) and really enjoyed my birth. She remembers every detail. And with the exception of an Amazon prime addiction, I feel like I turned out okay.  

I spoke with Jenna Loemeier, a mother of two little girls in Michigan whose vision of a seamless birth was disrupted with unexpected health issues. She wasn’t planning on using an epidural, but labored hard, and eventually opted in. The medicine was administered poorly and sent pain down her spine and neck. She was forced into a C-section when, once again, the numbing medicine didn’t work. After labor (baby was a-okay), Jenna was unable to breathe—her lungs were filled with fluid and she’d lost a lot of blood.

“My body was wrecked,” Jenna says as she reflects on finally being able to hold her child.” I could barely walk and I felt as though it were a miracle that I was breathing. But my angel baby was perfect. She knew me, she drank milk from me, and she was thriving. Knowing that she was healthy and happy is what kept me from falling apart the next year.”

Despite the magic that inevitably came from motherhood, Jenna still questioned her birth journey and analyzed the nitty-gritties, feeling guilty for both the c-section and the epidural.

“I couldn’t pinpoint a certain person or group of people, but I think that belly births aren’t celebrated enough,” Jenna explains. “It’s not that I don’t feel like a ‘real mom’ but there is something odd about delivering a baby by surgery from your belly. I’m so tired of hearing about how magnificent women are to birth babies when I was unable to… I don’t want to normalize c-sections, but I don’t want women who have truly needed them to feel left out either. If anyone thinks it’s the easy way out they are way wrong.”

Another area that faces a stigma is breastfeeding. The topic is so hot—is it better to use formula or be on the boob? And if you can’t breastfeed, but want to, how does that make a woman feel? I spoke to another Jenna Rae, a new mama in Colorado, who decided against breastfeeding because of the multiple medications for PTSD, depression, and anxiety that she was taking—all of which are not recommended for those who breastfeed.

“I felt an enormous stigma having to talk to medical professionals about taking medication that wasn’t recommended. I had to choose between keeping my mental health on an even plateau or doing what everyone ‘assumes’ is the right thing—not take medication, just deal with it, etc.” Jenna explains. “Even now I pack a bottle when we go places but this is a really ‘liberal’ city.’ You whip that bottle out in the park and you’ll probably get mom-shamed by every mom in a five miles radius of you.”

Catie Hatcher, a mama in Southern Virginia, also recently had a baby and opted for breastfeeding and an epidural-free birth. Labor was incredibly difficult for her and she refused epidural several times. Though Catie’s contractions were strong, she wasn’t dilating, and was told to refrain from pushing, which Catie says “was so mentally and physically difficult.” When her son was finally out, there were massive amounts of meconium in his lungs, and he rushed to the NICU minutes after he was born. She also didn’t get to leave the hospital with her baby—a mental struggle for any new mom. And because her baby was in the NICU, where the babes are fed with bottles, Catie struggled to get her baby to switch to the breast, something she really wanted to do.

“We went to lactation specialists multiple times to get advice,” Catie reveals. “We used nipple shields which basically offer a larger nipple on top of your nipple to help the infant latch and feed. And we used an option called S&S method where my husband actually had to help. Because my milk had not come in but my baby was extremely hungry—his stomach had expanded quickly—we had to supplement with formula until my milk came in.”

“I’m lucky to have a partner who cares as much as I do and was able to be around the first two weeks. Breastfeeding, while natural, is not always easy,” Catie continues. “As a new mom, I’ve found that breastfeeding is not talked about enough. There is more support now with lactation specialists, but it is still difficult and can feel very lonely when you feel you can’t feed your child.”

“The advice I give any mother to be that I come across is this: Educate yourself and believe in yourself,” Jenna from Michigan added. “No matter the outcome, you are a warrior.”

When it comes to motherhood and birth, we find lots of room for judgment. What if we swap out the criticism and make way for celebration? Motherhood takes an astounding degree of strength, whether it be birth or the mental capacity to fight off stigmas.

This Mother’s Day (and every day, really), let’s remove the filters, the stigmas, and the judgment and focus on the common thread in every venture into parenthood: love, and it’s ability to always deliver.

—

Amanda Kohr is the editor at Wanderlust. You can find her exploring new highways, drinking diner coffee, and on Instagram. 

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