Hope

When I was a little girl I very distinctly remember that I loved playing with baby dolls. Up until maybe even 11 or 12 years old I have those memories of cradling and feeding and changing the little dolls that would creepily close their eyes when you laid them flat. What is even more amusing is knowing that the thought of actually being a mother or actually having children of my own someday never even occurred to me.  I never wanted to be a mother. I never had that picture in my mind of what my children might look like or be like. I never longed for the day I would be able to hold my child for the first time. Witness the first breath, first words, first step. I also never really knew why. The sacrifice just seemed so great and the desire so small.

It wasn't until recently when I was hovering over a pregnancy test desperately praying for it to be negative that I even began to think of the real possibility of having children. It was such a fearful feeling... that sense that a train is headed at you while your car is stuck on the tracks. Knowing that if I were to have a child... things really would be okay... but they would not be at all what I expected. Not at all what I had wanted or even hoped for.

And then... only one blue line appeared... and suddenly I felt this overwhelming sorrow... a sense of loss so great it brought me to tears. Indeed the train had hit, but the impact was much different than I expected. Motherhood was now something I very much wanted and the desire terrified and confused me. I didn't know what to do with it all. This strong sense that I was not ready to be a mom... that the timing was not right.... but the overwhelming wish that I could be.

Over time there was this deep searching that took place. Discovering the root of those intense fears I had about one day raising a little person. Everyone I spoke with would tell me, "Oh don't worry you won't be like your mom"  and I got it... I understood why they would say that.

But it didn't help... the fears only grew and began filling every space left unattended in my thoughts. It wasn't until I spent the day with my mom that it dawned on me just what it was.  We were talking about something as mundane as personality tests. I mentioned myers briggs and how much I loved that one... how it had helped me figure myself out. When instantly I was met with such strong resistance. Proclamations about how worthless that one was compared to my mom's favorite numerology system. And it only continued from there... bikram yoga is better than ashtanga... running isn't good for me... etc.

Every single thing I did had a flaw... something that needed to be corrected or trumped and when I made it home that evening I felt completely deflated... emotionally exhausted from the battle it was to just simply exist with my mother. It dawned on me that day that my fears about becoming a mother had nothing to do with being afraid of being like my mother... I was afraid of becoming the person that she always made me feel that I was.

A failure.... stupid... worthless... not good enough... a burden...

These are the words that have spun in my mind for so long and despite the nice birthday cards and the backhanded compliments I never really got over it. I never really believed that what my mother said... how she made me feel was completely invalid. That maybe her words and her actions were more about her and where she is in life than about me and my value. Maybe... just maybe... my fears about being a mother were rooted in completely unfounded proclamations... and not in the ability I have to love and raise another human being. That maybe the deep, deep desire I had for my mother to tell me, "YES, you can do this!" wasn't going to come but that it would still be okay.

And maybe... just maybe... someday I can have the ability... the chance to raise a little person. To love them and protect them in the ways that I wasn't... and in the ways that I was. To give this longing in my heart a voice. To believe in my worth and teach my children their worth too. And at the very least... to know that I am not living out of fear but out of hope instead.

The road so far has been incredibly bumpy and the sacrifices are much greater than I expected. Even at this stage of the journey there has been so much emotional, physical, and mental tenacity required. I have had to be more brave now than I think I ever have and I feel this shift inside of my being. This raw fierceness of protection and love and fear.... and yes, most definitely hope. Knowing that from here on out my life will never be the same... but that it will most definitely be richer and fuller because of it. And despite being terrified still every day that I might not be able to protect enough or love enough, I at least know that I am brave enough to take that first step. And soon... it will all be worth it.

I love you my little munchkin. I'm so excited to be your mama :)

The Letter

The other day I was cleaning out the boxes in my office closet that had been with me since I was 15 years old. Years of moving, transferred from house to house and box to box. I had over a decade worth of letters and cards that had chronicled my life through the eyes of those around me. As I sifted through and tossed the generic "Happy Birthday! Love, Aunt Sue" cards into the trash I came across an open envelope. 

It had unfamiliar writing all over it and it wasn't a letter I had remembered even owning let alone reading. It was from my dad and it was addressed from jail, dated in 1991... I was 6 years old.  There was this moment as I opened the letter where everything else went blank. Almost as if I forgot what I had been doing up until that second. The wind had left my lungs and I felt that clenching in my chest. I slowly sat down on the floor and began reading the words on the pages. The apologies and the desperate pleas to not be afraid. The six places he told me I love you and the three where he said not be afraid. I counted each one... soaking it in just as desperately as he had written the words.  The few memories I had were all there... even the swans he had taught me to draw as a little girl. 

 There I was.... just a few days before my 29th birthday as I sat on the floor of my office, sobbing over the words. Tear drops staining the page, blurring the ink into incomprehensible puddles. The questions that had always been in the deepest parts of my being were right there in a box, on a shelf... in my office... all along. Did my dad love me... or more poignantly 

Am I lovable?

Most of my life has been lived with the desperate desire to be captivating, pursued and longed for. A hope that one day the void of not having my father's love would be filled. The wound of being abandoned somehow healed over. It never ceases to amaze me just how much that father wound has managed to impact every part of my identity. Just when I think I have overcome the breath of it... there it is. I know I have come so far and I know I am not alone in this struggle. It doesn't take a broken home to struggle with issues of worth but a broken home and an abusive father only magnifies the hurt. 

“We desire to possess a beauty that is worth pursuing, worth fighting for, a beauty that is core to who we truly are. We want beauty that can be seen; beauty that can be felt; beauty that affects others; a beauty all our own to unveil.” 
― Stasi Eldredge, Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman's Soul

So today, I am reflecting on that desire, that hurt, that loss, that wound. I am praying that somehow it will heal enough to not sting so much. I am praying for the strength to believe in my own worth... and I mourn the ways in which I have not loved myself enough. 

And maybe along the way... in sharing the journey... others can be healed too. 

Hannah

It is my first day off so my sleep is broken and I am awake at 4:00am.

I tried to close my eyes ...willing my mind to rest

but all that could cross my mind were the events of this week.

This week I took care of an alcoholic of 40 years. 

He had come down with a horrible bacteria infection that rendered him too ill to drink. 

His estranged wife explained a little of what had led up to this point 

but she had been through this before and could not stick around.

His daughter however arrived at the unit in a fluster of anxiety and fear.

Shuffling from side to side, adjusting her Raiders beanie every few seconds.

Hannah was her name.

I smiled, "I'm a Raiders fan too. My name is Andi and I'll be your dad's nurse until 8:00am".

She smiled and then quickly began asking very specific questions about her dad's health.

She followed up the questions with an immediate proclamation, 

"I am the one who takes care of him so if you have any questions..."

she trailed off, still nervously fidgeting and shuffling her phone from pocket to hand and back again.

She began to tell the full story ...of how it all began.

She was adopted ...like me

He was sober briefly ...until it went sour around her 8th birthday.

She has been taking care of him since she was ten years old.

Her mother gave up and has been living in a different section of the house for years now.

Hannah knows every detail of her father's history because she has been taking care of him since she was ten years old ...ten years old.

He wanted to sober up after being ill so she had been managing his withdrawals at home.

Every time he'd shake she'd give him a shot or two of vodka.

But the withdrawals became unbearable and he began vomiting and soiling himself and passing out. 

So she brought him into the Emergency Room and here we are.

I looked this little girl in the eyes and asked her, "How old are you?"

"I'm 18."

I closed my eyes and put my hand on my chest and had to pause for a moment.

"Hannah, I don't know if anyone has said this to you but I am so sorry. You don't deserve this because he is a grown man and he is your father and I am so sorry." 

I couldn't hold it in anymore and I began to cry.

Partly because I am devastated for Hannah 

but mostly because Hannah has that oh so familiar look.
I know how far she has to go in order to be healthy and whole 

and just how painful that journey will be for her. 

She stopped for a minute and just gave me that smile that comes when you're trying to hold back tears.

That moment when you know that someone gets it and that someone sees you... and that small ache rises to the surface.

She quickly stuffs it all back into her neat little box and the subject is changed.

I talk to her more and I encourage her to finish college ...transfer out of here a.s.a.p.

She nods and agrees, so there is hope for her.

This week Hannah broke my heart and I am awake now at 5:30am praying for her.

Praying that she will someday overcome the co-dependency that has been crafted into her being. 

Praying that someday she might find faith in God and peace in His grace.

Praying that someday she knows the love of a father that she never had

Praying that she gets into college and runs away from this mess

and that she begins to heal ...deeply heal.

This week I am praying for Hannah to know truth

and I weep for her ...even now, I weep.

The Road to Forgiveness

Over the years I have noticed this shift in myself. This inability to handle people who are manipulative, mean or passive aggressive. Chalk it up to age or experience or just shear exhaustion of living life the other way... living with an emotionally abusive parent for years will do that to you. 

I think I have always tended on the side of transparency and maybe even bordered on brutal honesty. Although, I'm sure if you asked Chris about my communication skills, he would tell you that I have my fair share of "shut down" moments where I am a horrible communicator. I hate that about myself and it is something I have actively tried to work on these past few years.

Still, I would like to believe that I try to give people the benefit of the doubt and even though I'm not perfect, I try to be gracious with other people's feelings. I'm not perfect but I try.

For some reason, this week has been a complete barrage of people being insensitive to just down right malicious. One day in particular was filled with back to back cry worthy moments.... and these incidences were from people I love dearly to complete strangers. It hurt... a lot. 

Over the course of the night I became more and more angry that I was being treated this way. I let it stew inside and it began to fester like mold taking over rotten fruit. 

I just couldn't let it go. I mean... It's not like I'm perfect. I hurt people all of the time and I say things carelessly too... not realizing how it might be perceived. I really do try to be gracious with others. Especially when you just never know what is going on with the other person. Again.... giving benefit of the doubt here is so key. So, why was I the brunt of so much animosity? Why were my feelings not being considered? By the end of the day I felt defeated and utterly exhausted from it all. 

 I came home and curled up in the arms of my husband and I cried and vented and cried some more... until I eventually fell asleep. 

This week has been long and it has taken a toll on me. Most of today I have been thinking about why I just couldn't let it all go. Even after people said their apologies and validation was given... I still felt this anger simmering beneath the surface. I was still hurt. I hadn't forgiven them. 

Even if there was no "I'm sorry" or validation or redemption. I still need to forgive. I know all too well that holding on to that type of resentment does no good. It harms no one but myself and the festering will only get worse and more caustic as time goes on. I still haven't sat down long enough to really sort it all out and I probably need to just pray for the grace to let go. 

Such a simple concept that is so difficult to execute. The road to forgiveness is humbling and difficult to traverse. It is a two way road. The ability to give the benefit of the doubt even in the midst of mistake. The choice to let it go for your own sake. Trusting that justice will prevail in the end. 

 I need to forgive for the sake of others.... but also for me too. Cause one day, soon I'm sure, I will need someone to do the same for me. And to be honest... I think our world can use a little bit more forgiveness... don't you?

The Heart of the Matter

I've been tryin' to get down...

 to the heart of the matter...

 but my will gets weak...

and my thoughts seem to scatter

 but I think its about...

Forgiveness

The Heart of the Matter  

Don Henley

 I woke up early on Monday and as my eyes slowly let the light seep in a sadness washed over me. I looked at the clock just as it turned 6:00am. My stomach began twisting all sorts of ways, knots starting to form.
For a brief moment I panicked thinking that I was coming down with something. A stomach flu of some sorts... until it hit me. Today is my sister's birthday.
I haven't spoken to her in years. I wouldn't even know how to reach her at this point. This is not uncommon in my family. We are disconnected, broken and dysfunctional. The few of us that actually have communication with each other are a tiny handful and the times we actually see each other are few and far between.
I have faint memories of childhood where we celebrated holidays and birthdays... all one cohesive bunch. It seemed as if things were okay... happy even. Maybe that was simply due to my innocence or maybe it was just the inability to see the truth of our family dynamics. At that point I guess anything was better than the abuse I had endured in my previous home. Eventually the facade broke down though and reality set in. There hasn't been a holiday in years that wasn't filled with anger and fighting and frustration and plastered on smiles.
This is why we don't speak... this is why my interaction with my family is minimal and surface level if that.  
If I am being truly honest, it is for the best. I read a blog post recently on the difference between forgiveness and reconciliation. Reconciliation is a two way street filled with repentance. There is little if any of that in my family.
So... I forgive but I do not reconcile.
Fast forward to the next day... work is hectic and busy so I hurriedly settle into report. As I sit there listening to the typical rattlings of the ICU... Intubated 2 hours ago... tachy to the 120's, septic and febrile... I hear "Registered Sex Offender."
My fist clenched around my pen and I took a deep breathe in.
Not today... I don't have it in me to do this today. I have taken care of child molesters and sex offenders before but today, I just can't do it. As I look around the unit and see the chaos... our charge nurse scrambling around like a chicken with her head cut off, I realize that I won't be able to switch assignments and my stomach begins to twist and turn... here we go again.
He remained on the ventilator the entire night so luckily I didn't have to force any interaction. I took care of him to the best of my abilities and went home the next morning exhausted.
I come back to work the next night and I have the same assignment... only this time he isn't on the ventilator and now he is surrounded by his entire family. For the first 2 hours of my shift I was on the verge of tears. Face flushed with anger and fear and disgust all rolled into one big, emotional ball. I tried to busy myself in my patient's room next door, hoping to get the composure to be this man's nurse. Praying to God that I would find someway to detach my own experiences with the horror of what this man had done. Eventually, I knew I couldn't avoid it any longer and I went in to do my assessment. He was a little disoriented but pleasant and joking with his family. I went through the motions and when he was unstable I did everything I could to be reassuring for him. After we got him settled and his vitals were stable he looks at me and says, "You know what... you're a good nurse. I'm really starting to see the skill level of people here and you are a good nurse. You have a very bright future, Andrea. Thank you for taking such good care of me."
It might have been the way he said it or the fact that I was so emotionally drained... or maybe it was the sense of relief I felt knowing I had managed to hide the truth of what I felt towards this man. All I know is that in that moment all I felt was sadness. The only thing I wanted to do was run out of that room... away from him and away from it all. Away from thoughts of anger and abuse and my sister. I wanted to be at home in the arms of my husband where it was safe. Where I could cry and cry and cry... all night long if I needed to.
Instead I just smiled at my patient and said a very quiet, "Thank you." I finished what I was doing and I went into the bathroom and cried. I cried and I prayed that God would give me the strength to forgive.

The messy truth of this ICU nurse...

When I first started working at the VA as a student nurse I remember feeling incredibly intimidated by the patient population. All male.... and all men who had served in the military. For those of you who have read my blog before you probably know that I'm pretty open about my life... my past and all of the struggles I have had to overcome in order to be who I am today. I've written posts before about my family history. I grew up with an abusive father and a mother who was emotionally abusive herself. I've had my fair share of abusive relationships... I'm no stranger to emotionally manipulative and (unfortunately) physically abusive men.

Well, this is where it gets messy friends. When I took the job as an ICU nurse in a veteran's hospital I knew I would continue to grow as a person because the patients I would be taking care of were the exact patients I was incredibly uncomfortable around. They reminded me of all the men in my life who had either taken advantage of me or abused me in one way or another. Learning to have boundaries and learning to set limits... learning to stand up for myself and learning to see these men not as a threat but as very sick people in need of good nursing care.... well it has been a challenge to say the least.

It has taken some serious introspection and a lot of prayer and a lot of conscious effort to become a whole and healed person... a woman who was able to face her worst nightmare and on top of that to have compassion in the midst of that as well.

Most of the time I look at how far I have come and I am so thankful for the progress I have made. The mere fact that I am actively living a healthy lifestyle without being self destructive is proof in and of itself. Still, there are some days where my past and those deep rooted fears sneak up on me. They pop up as a reminder that there is still much healing to be done and that the journey... well, the journey is far from over.

Today was one of those days. I had a patient who was demeaning, anxious and provoking. A patient who questioned me and my abilities as a nurse. He had his own history with drug use which doesn't make things easy when you are in the hospital for a 3 vessel coronary artery bypass graft surgery. At one point during the shift he became angry and demanded that I bring in a "second opinion" about his elevated blood pressures... apparently I was "stupid" and didn't know what I was doing.

After he spoke to my charge nurse and calmed down I went back into the room and he says,

 "You know why my blood pressures are elevated?"

"Why is that?" I said curtly... still frustrated by our recent interaction.

"I'm just not used to having such cute nurses!" he looks at me with a smirk on his face.

Instantly I felt my chest tighten.... I was livid. I ignored his comment... asked if he had anything else he needed from me and when he shook his head "no" I immediately left the room. I could feel my hands trembling I was so angry. I went straight to the charge nurse station and began my rant,

"I can not believe that guy! You tell me I'm stupid, you're rude and disrespectful... but oh... it's ok... it'll all go away if you tell me I'm cute. I guess I'm supposed to just smile and bow down to you cause you think I'm pretty and you're flattering me..... it's ok if you treat me like crap because you can just tell me I'm pretty and it'll all be okay! Oh no you don't. I'm not fallin' for that crap!"

At this point my co-workers know me... they know about my scrappy self and my feisty side so they just laugh it off and acknowledge that he was out of line. I on the other hand.... I was stewing for the next 2 hours. It wasn't until I went on my break that I was able to sit back and realize.... something else was going on here... something much bigger than dealing with a meth-addicted, anxiety ridden patient. My own fears... my own hurts and past wounds had just been ungraciously and brutally opened. A part of Andi that still needs some serious healing had been provoked and it wasn't pretty... in fact it was messy and painful, and if I'm being completely honest it was not fun to deal with.

For me... this is one of those moments where the ugly cry is just around the corner and if you aren't careful... any. little. thing. could set it loose. Luckily, I held it together and didn't break out into uncontrollable sobs... but I still don't have the answer to this one friends. I know I have come leaps and bounds from the damaged person I once was but I also know that there is a long journey ahead... one with steep mountains to climb and bends that have an unforeseen terrain ahead.... but one thing I do know is that I'm moving forward... one. step. at a time.

Living a Single Existence... Part 2

As a continuation from my last post on being single. I think it really embodied a lot of the struggles I have encountered... the gist of what I had felt for a long time. I think it should be noted that the first thing I thought of as being a "bummer" about being single was feeling deficient or pitied... not that it was lonely or that I just wanted to "have someone"... really it was about how I am viewed by the world.

BUT... and this is a big but... in the midst of all of this digging and searching and trying to figure it all out, some really great things have come about for me. It gave me a huge opportunity to step back and really think...
"Okay, if I associate being married with having worth and I associate it with a very strong way of being loved...or rather proof that I am worthy of love...well then, what happens if I don't get married?"

Does that mean I am not worthy of being loved?

Serious question here and it required a serious, honest answer. In having that realization I was able to stand back and really evaluate how I view myself and how I think a lot of single women view themselves as "damaged" goods or unworthy. I think it started sinking in for me before I headed out to Colorado but it definitely settled in during my trip there... just how much I had internalized that thought process.

I have to say that I have been so incredibly blessed with some amazing people in my life who have been able to build me up and show me my worth. Really, more than anything my group of friends and Ami and her family have been probably the biggest factors in realizing.... wow, I am worthy of being loved... and you know what I am so, so loved!

I know... it might sound trivial and kind of cheesy but coming from an abusive background... it is not something that has come naturally. And I think people who have been victims of abuse struggle perpetually with feelings of worthlessness.

So, all that to say that I've come to have a completely different view of my singleness. I don't see it as a deficit in my life by any means. I am so, so thankful for it. I love my life and the freedom I have being single and I feel so much more confident in my own skin. I also think it has given me a completely different view of marriage and the purpose of it. I think the original intent of marriage was about creating a community and a family... and I think I have a completely different outlook on what that means for someone like me who has very little family and is also single.

If I was to ever marry it wouldn't be to find the worth that I now know I can only find for myself and in my faith but it would be to have a commitment with someone that I loved and valued... and to create an extension of the community and family I have with the amazing people I hold so dear in my life.

Truthfully, I doubt I'll ever get married... I don't have any interest in searching for someone or dating really and to be really, really honest... I hate weddings  (I know, probably the only female in the world who does... but they just really stress me out) I will say though, that if I was to get married this is what my wedding would be like... awesome is all I have to say.

I don't know what the future holds for me but I do know that it is hopeful and happy and there are many doors open and so many possibilities. Especially being a nurse and loving to travel... who knows where I will end up? Single or not... it sounds pretty darn great to me :)

Define Beautiful Project

One of my favorite blogs has a project for her subscribers.... to define beautiful.... what does beautiful mean to you?

I submitted a definition to her a week or so ago and she actually posted it today! (I had no idea until my friend Kelly told me that she loved what I wrote haha)

This is what I wrote:

I have been redefining my personal definition of beauty recently. Most of my life I have struggled to overcome my past. I had abusive parents as a child and was later moved between foster homes and different relatives. I worked my way through nursing school...18 hour days, 6 days a week for years. I have always struggled with self image issues...I am not by any means what any magazine cover would claim to be beautiful... but something that has been incredibly freeing for me is discovering that because I am a child of God ...I am deeply loved and am beautiful because I am God's creation....and that by definition is beautiful.

I feel beautiful every time I read the verse "I am wonderfully and fearfully made" Psalm 139:14

I feel beautiful every time I run, even though I hate running and am awful at it. The idea of conquering something I hate is incredibly empowering to me.

I felt beautiful the day I realized that the abuse I received as a child was in fact not my fault.

I feel beautiful every time I take a picture of something ordinary and it comes out extraordinary.

I feel beautiful every time I am out in nature and I see that the same creator who made me, designed this gorgeous planet.

I felt beautiful when I finally realized that no matter what weight I am or how much make up I do or don't wear or whether I am single or married... I am worthy of being loved.

I feel incredibly beautiful when I am surrounded by my best friends and I am overcome by just how loved I am by them. Seriously, words cannot describe how amazing the people in my life are.

I feel beautiful every time I am able to make a difference in my patient's life. Working in the ICU can be very difficult but knowing that I am able to give someone dignity and hope in what could be the worst time of their life is such a blessing to me. It is such a gift to show someone how valuable they are and how much they matter by the care you give them.

I felt beautiful the day I got my RN license in the mail because that day, despite everything that had come against me, I beat the odds.

I am a survivor and to me that is beautiful.

~Andi, On Call RN

You can check out the post here also! Her blog is a wonderful read :)

Healing comes from the strangest places

I can't tell you how many times I have watched a TV show and ended up in tears. And I don't just mean those "Oh my gosh, how sad!" tears. I'm talking about those all-consuming, debilitating tears that leave you breathless. It is a moment that hits a chord deep inside a place that you had no idea even existed. Let me also say that I am not a typical crier either. I don't tend to be over-sentimental and most that know me would say I'm a pretty serious person and a rather tough cookie. I've survived a lot of hardship in my life and as for my general pain tolerance....I almost fell asleep in the middle of getting a tattoo once, for crying out loud.

That being said....there have been certain moments on certain shows that have really touched me and the other day I was reminded of one.

See, I grew up in an abusive home and as a result (not to be cliche) had to grow up very quickly. At a young age, I became my own parent, my own advocate. Most of the time, if not all of the time I didn't do a great job. I barely survived. I went from an abusive home to an abusive foster home. Then was adopted by my amazing aunt who was in every sense just like me. A little girl who had her fair share of life's curve balls. Curve balls that shaped her into a very damaged and broken person. Once again I ended up in an abusive home. Despite that though, I made it through high school and then pushed my way through a community college because it was all I could afford. At a young age, I moved out on my own in an area that is very expensive and nearly impossible to survive in on a $9.00/hr paycheck, and in the meantime I was falling apart inside. My life was a mess.

Unhealthy relationships, smoking, drinking, partying.
God, faith, church.
People's approval, academic success, eating disorders.
Becoming a nurse.

It didn't matter what it was. If it was a distraction, if it was a vice, positive or not....I used it. I hid from the pain I had and I functioned delicately and very carefully on the surface. I seemed so strong on the outside; so put together. Take one peek inside though, and you'd see a completely different view. You'd see a wounded person who had no idea how to fight for herself. Who did not know, in any sense of the word, how to love or how to value the woman that she was.

Now, fast forward to adulthood. Here I am, in the middle of nursing school. 18 hour days, 5-7 days a week. Working full time, nursing school full time, piling on the credit card debt. Striving to get straight A's (if only I knew back then, that a B was just fine) and studying constantly. No social life, no love life, minimal if any family support. Practically no sleep, I hardly ever saw my friends. The mess inside just continued to grow.

So there I was. Catching up on the most recent Grey's Anatomy episode. It was an episode where Meredith and Dr. Weber (two of the main characters) were in a huge fight. There was a little girl with her mom and dad in the hospital. The little girl had stabbed her father or something along those lines. The mother tried to pretend it was an accident but the little girl....Maddie, explained that she had done it on purpose. See, her dad had been abusing her and her mom. Maybe just her mom actually but it was an abusive home and Maddie wanted it to stop. She fought for her mom and for herself, without even knowing it.

In the episode, Meredith who is one of the residents, confronted the mother. Meredith, growing up in her own dysfunction, fought for Maddie. She saw the inevitable fate of this little girl, because she knew the mother did not want to leave her husband. A problem so familiar of domestic abuse. She crossed a professional line by yelling at Maddie's mom and pleading with her to leave her husband. Dr. Weber, the chief of the hospital threatened to fire her if she did not back off. Keeping in mind that Dr. Weber was the same man who'd had an affair with Meredith's mother and had effectively destroyed her family.
Well Meredith did not listen and was in the locker room, packing her things when Dr. Weber comes in. The scene that comes next was one of those moments I was talking about earlier. You can see what I mean here, it's at the beginning of the video.


By the end of the first two scenes I was in sobs. Not only that, but I was practically curled up in a ball for the rest of the night, crying, trying to catch my breath. Between the scene with Meredith and Dr. Weber and the scene with Izzy and her mom, something had hit too close to home. In a matter of minutes Grey's Anatomy had summed up the pain I had been carrying for my entire young adult life.

"I should have fought for you, Meredith. Like you fought for that child today."

"I should have fought for you."

"You were helpless."

"A beautiful, smart, funny, little girl."

"And no one stood up for you."

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm so sorry"

I felt those words so deeply it was crushing; as if someone had reach into my chest and wrapped their bare fist tightly around my heart. I will never forget how true those words were for me. In my entire life, I felt as if no one had fought for me. Not only was I not worth fighting for, but I was abandoned and abused by the very people who were supposed to love me the most. I had lived my whole adult existence living in shame, feeling as if I was not worth fighting for. Not worth loving.

I couldn't even fight for myself.

And now... just a year or two later, here I am. A successful nurse. An advocate for others. An advocate for myself. A friend. A person that is present in others' lives. A daughter who is learning to love her family better. A single woman, discovering what it means to love herself; to value herself, whether a man says she has value or not. I am not only surviving, but I am growing. I am stronger now. Healthier. Wiser.

And at the end of the day....

I am fighting for me.