WHY??

I now know why I had trouble writing the last few days. Every time I tried to type words my fingers refused to cooperate. I would look at the screen and the only word staring back at me was a big WHY with a BOLD question mark.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? 

Why have I slipped again? Why has this addiction become a center of my life again? Why have things changed since last week when I was strong? Why a few days ago was I able to resist? Why am I so drawn to this? Why won't it go away and leave me alone?

So many questions and no answers.

I am slipping tumbling down a slide, to fast, to hard. I try grab onto the edge to gain stability. I want to slow down. All I receive is a painful friction burn.

I'm scared actually I'm terrified. Fear has a grip so tight it has paralyzed my heart. I can't do this again. I don't know if I have any fighting power left in me. 

On the outside I appear to be the typical young married kollel wife with a 4 month old infant. Inside I am a war-zone full of darts and swords. These two sides of me are constantly wrestling with one another fighting to win. How much longer can I continue living a double life?

How much longer can I continue hiding this from my husband, my family, my friends. I don't know how much longer I can survive the blade of the giant chainsaw that is splitting my body into two.

I want my life back the one I've had the last few months the peace, the tranquility, the happiness, the laughter, the joy. I don't want to return to a life of struggles, of wars, of screams, and pain.

I knew if I didn't deal with this addiction it would return. I thought if I could ignore all the warning signs I could pretend it wasn't there.

I was wrong it lay simmering underground like a bubbling volcano. Lying in wait for the perfect moment to erupt. And now it has exploded hard and fast with no intention of calming down.

What do u do when a volcano erupts? Is there any way to stop the deadly lava? Any way to outrun the blast?

What do I do now? Where do I go from here??? 

More questions I don't have answers for. Some days I just wish I could disappear.

Writer's block

Walking the tightrope

Do you ever feel like your walking a tightrope?

Perhaps the tightrope in your life is the thin taut line between peace or chaos, hope or despair, safety or danger. Perhaps your tightrope is the line between knowing when to provide for your children or when to allow them to be independent, bonding with your child or being over protective.

I have never walked across a tightrope. I imagine the feeling. The first few baby steps. The fear of falling, shaking, trembling with excitement. The rope rebels, shivering underneath you. Arms flail. Willing yourself not to look down. Teetering on the edge. Desperate to find the delicate balance. The rope suddenly seems so long.

Somewhere in the middle you become aware that your feet have become one with the rope. Your body in perfect harmony. Steady arms. Light steps. Confident. The rope now seems short.

You reach your goal safely. You look back and realize the rope never became firmer. You relaxed, gained confidence were able to cross with ease. You feel empowered, courageous. Eventually the rope holds no attraction, it no longer poses a challenge, there is no risk. You raise the rope higher a need to satisfy the thrill seeker within you.

I have a tightrope in my life. The name of my tightrope is religion.

My three older siblings are religious. They believe in God follow the Torah and its laws. I imagine their spiritual world a mountain. Covered in beautiful wild flowers. Fresh air . Sweet smelling scent. The climb tough. The goal rewarding, priceless.

My three younger siblings are no longer religious. I think they still believe in God but they have left the path of the Torah. I imagine their spiritual world as a murky river. Snaking its way deep in a valley. Muddy waters. A swim might feel refreshing but soon leaves you suffocating, gasping for air.

Like my position in the middle of the family I feel like I am walking on a tightrope between these two worlds. Somewhere on my tightrope their two worlds merge creating a space of turmoil, uncertainty, and hostility.

Some days I walk across the tightrope I feel like God is lifting me. Walking on air. My body light, weightless. I almost dance my way across. The journey is effortless the view is beautiful, pretty. I walk with confidence.

Some days the rope seems jagged, frayed. I walk alone on the edge. A precarious balance.  I see shiny treasures buried in the river beneath me. Enticing me. From up here they appear shiny, glistening in the grey water below. Its only once you have dived in you realize it is all an illusion. The gold fake. The treasure worthless.

I need to choose a world. A world I can belong in. A world where the doubt and  confusion disappears. 

In my heart I know which world will leave me empty, my life worthless. Deep down I know which world will leave me fulfilled, my existence meaningful.

Yet I am still standing here on this tightrope. Conflicted.

Sleep deprivation

I am now experiencing the joy of a mother with a child who refuses to sleep. This week, last week, next week all seem to have melted into one long never ending day. There are mornings I get up not sure which day I am greeting. I see the world around me in a haze.

I jump into an icy cold shower hoping it will lift the fog I see through my partially closed eyes. Not a coffee drinker so no help there.

My head heavy as a brick only sheer willpower preventing me from collapsing to the ground into blissful sleep.

I hear sounds of a hungry baby I rush to my daughter as fast as my sleep deprived body will allow me. I feel my baby's squirming little body relax against mine as I feed her. Her breathing deepens, her eyes close, ever so gently I carry her to the crib. 

I lie in my bed beside her mind racing I know I am missing something today possibly an important appointment. The piece of information is lodged in the corner of my mind just out of reach, taunting me. I give up the struggle, let it go, I do not have the strength to capture the thought.

My brain surrenders I am drifting off to sleep I hear a small whimper. I am instantly alert the whimpers now turn into cries. I pick my daughter up hold her close she rests peacefully her small head burrowed into my shoulder. I feel the rhythm of her heart beating against mine I talk soft words she does not understand my voice soothing her.

As she dreams I read the latest news on our computer the words do not register. My mind only accepts the knowledge necessary for its survival.

As I swaddle my baby in her favorite pink bunny rug I pray. I pray for sleep, I pray for sanity, I beg rest for my burning weighted eyes.

Not even ten minutes later I see two chubby legs waving in the air. I look over at my daughter she smiles I smile back at her. I manage to grab a camera and record her adorable squeals as she informs me in baby babble of all the reasons she is not interested in staying on the crib. These are the moments I live for. Moments of pure love and pride I know it is all worth it.

My family and friends will watch the video and see only her cuteness. One day I to will look back and only remember the joy as I took the video without the desperation I now feel for sleep. I need sleep!!

The First Shabbat

As the week ends and Shabbat approaches I find myself thinking of an inspiring story my husband shared with me. The story of his first Shabbat.

My husband was raised in a non religious home. Attended a non religious school. He believed in God but practised little of the Torah's laws. As he approached his 13th Birthday in honour of his Bar Mitzva he decided to accept upon himself one Mitzva. He would no longer eat Non Kosher meat.

The first giant step on the journey to becoming the man he is today.

As a young teenager he travelled to Israel with is father. There he witnessed the joy of the religious people celebrating Shabbat and his soul yearned to be a part of it.

Back home he went to speak to the Rabbi at his school. He expressed his concern on losing the money he earned by working in his father shop on Shabbat. The Rabbi told him if he observed Shabbat God would find a way to give him the money elsewhere. Sure enough that very same week his father decided to keep the shop open late on Thursday nights. During those two hours he received  the same pay as working an entire day on Saturday.

His first Shabbat. A quiet day spent in his bedroom alone. He worried by leaving his room he might accidentally do something that was not allowed. For 24 hours he read and slept. He did not know any of the laws all he knew was that he wanted to keep Shabbat. No family meal, no wine, no challah, but a day he will always remember.  

As I rush around preparing for Shabbat I look at my husband. I think of him as a little boy, how much he has given up, I know how special this day is to him. I see how far he has come and gain a new appreciation for this holy day.

Moments

We all experience moments on our lives we would rather not be in. Times in our lives that are embarrassing, boring, traumatic. Times that cause us mental discomfort.


We day dream when bored, wish the ground would open up and swallow us when embarrassed, disassociate when traumatized. Our bodies may be physically there but our heads are somewhere else. Our minds have found us an interesting place, a familiar place, a safer place.


The years of my childhood were filled with many traumatic moments. I learnt at a very young age the safest way to ensure the least pain was to disassociate. It wasn't a consciouses decision it happened naturally and became an important part of my survival. 


As I got older I found I could turn it on at ease. Moments when my mother was giving one of her never ending lectures on how terrible we were. Moments when she would tell our friends that we were worthless and forbid us to talk to them. Moments when her rage controlled her and she slapped, kicked, and beat us until she tired out. Getting in touch with the anger, the shame, the guilt only created more pain.


But it's the moments filled with emotions that I vividly remember. The first teacher who took me aside and told me she believed in me. The first time I stayed at a friends house and saw the meaning of a loving family. The first time someone did something for me just because they cared. It is these moments that stand out the most.


While turning off my emotions has always been easy turning them on is so much harder. There were days that I would walk around completely numb an empty hole in my heart where my feelings should reside. It was like my heart has been encased in an impenetrable glass box. The self harm started because I needed something intense to break though those walls of glass imprisoning me. I wanted to feel and pain seemed a better option then numbness.


When the glass box would shatter my emotions would break free and overwhelm me. They seemed to be magnified and to much to bear. So again I would turn to the self harm to help me reign in my feelings and make them more manageable. It was a never ending cycle.

Now I am a mother I need to be able to carefully open the glass box of my emotions. I want to feel the unlimited love for my baby, the pain when she is hurt, the pride in her progress.

Day by day my daughter is slowly teaching me to get in touch with my feelings without letting them destroy me.

Communication with my parents

"I have a box of your brothers stuff which I will leave outside your apartment this week. Do You have room for his bike?"

This is the message my husband received today on torn piece of cardboard. The note was given to him by my father.  

Our reply via email.

''I'm sorry we do not have space to store his stuff in our apartment. Please do not leave it on our doorstep. If we find it there we will have to return it.

This is the first communication we have had with my parents since I gave birth.

This is the email I would have liked to send instead.

Dear Aba and Mummy,

This is the first message you chose to send us three months after we had a baby. A scrap of paper letting us know you want to rid yourself of any reminders that you once had children. Sons and daughters you once claimed to love. 
Where is the mazel tov? Where is the need to know how your new grandchild is doing? Do you not care? Do you really think you can pretend you never had children?

Do you know I started laughing when your son in law brought this note home to me? It was not a laughter of joy, but a laughter of pain. What other reaction would be suitable for such an occasion? Cry? The tears have dried up a long time ago.

Do you believe that eliminating all signs that we once lived in your house will help you forget us?

I pray everyday that I can wipe away the past. Yet I plagued by nightmares and filled with memories. Memories that make me wish I could forget my childhood. Nightmares that leave me shaking in fear.

Yet for some reason I can't understand somewhere deep inside me I still have a dream. A dream that things can be different. A dream that my daughter can have grandparents who will love and care for her. A dream I still cling to even though I am aware will never happen.

In reality I know it is not a dream but a fantasy. 

Sarah.

A reason to write

I came across this online today and found it very appropriate.

"The truth is, in order to heal we need to tell our stories and have them witnessed...The story itself becomes a vessel that holds us up, that sustains, that allows us to order our jumbled experiences into meaning.

As I told my stories of fear, awakening, struggle, and transformation and had them received, heard, and validated by other women, I found healing.

I also needed to hear other women's stories in order to see and embrace my own. Sometimes another woman's story becomes a mirror that shows me a self I haven't seen before. When I listen to her tell it, her experience quickens and clarifies my own. Her questions rouse mine. Her conflicts illumine my conflicts. Her resolutions call forth my hope. Her strengths summon my strengths. All of this can happen even when our stories and our lives are very different."

-Sue Monk Kidd-

Therapy History

I have decided to go back to therapy. Which brings to mind the different therapists I have met over the years.

Therapist #1: Family Friend
Round and round and round and round in circles. That is all I really remember about her. We never got anywhere! She thought I was screwed up and let me know. I thought she was incompetent but I didn't go ahead and tell her that. After a few weeks my husband begged me to please stop going to her as I was coming home more depressed then when I left.


Therapist #2: Holistic Healer
One of those therapists that work by balancing and aligning the body's natural energy.  

Her: Close your eyes and imagine giving your mother flowers.
Me: (thinking what on earth have I gotten myself into.) I wouldn't do that in real life why should I do it in my imagination?

Her: I need to feel your energy levels while you do this.

Me Ok......so what do u see?

Her: This is not working let us try something else.

I lie down she gives me a massage on special energy points in my body. (Now this is great but I wonder how this is helping) Meanwhile she is instructing me what I'm supposed to be thinking about and I'm desperately trying hard not to fall asleep and start snoring. After 10 sessions she told me I was 50% less depressed. I felt like one of those Sims characters with those green bubbles over my head showing 50% healed.

Therapist #3: Telatherapy
Really great to be able to do therapy while lying on your bed in pyjamas. But if you're like me and happen to very depressed one Sunday morning. Your therapist who can't see you but can only judge by the tone of your voice and thinks you could be suicidal hatzolah could be knocking on your door with only 5 min's notice. To be fair I was feeling horrible and in hindsight I did thank him for probably saving my life but at the time I was fuming mad at him! There was the hatzolah guys threatening to bang my door down if I wouldn't open it and there I was standing on the other side looking like a wreck since I had been throwing up all morning still in my pyjamas! And then they wouldn't leave until my sister who had come over begged them to go.


Therapist #4: Sign reader

She read into everything I did if I twitched it was sign if I moved my leg another sign. One week I left my rings at home and oh my gosh that was a big sign! We spent the whole session discussing what it might signify about my marriage. Even after I repeatedly told her I was always misplacing my stuff. My husband who is always running around the house to find them (something that drives him nuts) happened to not be home before I left.

Therapist #5:

For some reason I couldn't talk with him still not sure of the reason for that. This was a typical conversation with him.
Him: So what are you thinking about?
Me: I don't know
Him: How can you not know whats going on in your own mind.
Me: I don't know??
silence.........

When I told him that I taught High school for a year I think he almost fell of his chair in shock. He could not imagine this mute person sitting across from him giving a lesson to a group of 16 year olds. It did improve minutely over the weeks.But although we did'nt do much talking his support through the last few weeks of my pregnancy helped keep my sanity.

I have decided that finding a good therapist is like buying a pair of shoes you need to find one that is comfortable and fits well. And then the hard work begins......

On addiction

There is a lot I can say about addiction. What ever the addiction is it can get to a point where it literally can take over your mind, your body, your life. All you are able to think about is how soon are you able to next engage in the destructive behaviour.

It is a scary place to be in the cravings, the urges the need to fulfill  the intense desire.

Although I am not battling with my addiction at the moment there are constant triggers that remind me of the cravings and each time it is a struggle to resist. Every time I am tempted to lose the battle and surrender I read this poem I wrote a while back.  I look at my daughter and know I need to win.

The trigger is pulled

the weights lowered

crushing

full

of my mistakes

parts of me I know exist

memories

I cannot forget

immense pressure

forced

to cower in fear

frightened

the addiction

overwhelms me

takes over my senses

I try to search

to reach

looking for strength

to hold

I lose control

give in

addicted

I have failed

The trigger is been pulled again

the weights lowered

heavy

full

of past mistakes

parts of me

I wish did not exist

memories

I struggle to forget

irresistible pull

forced

to bend in fear

afraid

it will overwhelm me

take over my senses

I search deep

for love

grab onto it

hold it

light as a feather

it gives me strength

to stand again

gain control

I have succeeded

Postpartum Depression

I recognise the signs. I have been down this road in the past. The footsteps lead into a wild overgrown jungle. I know I need to follow the path carefully to emerge safely on the the other side.

My thoughts are racing. My mind in chaos. My heart a mess.

I am slipping. Falling into a big black hole. The hole is filled with quicksand. The more I struggle the more I sink. I need to calm down.

I block my ears, close my eyes. Breathe in, Breathe out. I try and put a name to my emotions, identify my feelings. They are buried to deep. I can not reach them. 

I wake up in the morning tired, frightened of the nightmares that have terrorised my sleep.
I hear my husband talking my mind drifts I can not concentrate. Focus I tell myself. It is to hard. I give up.
I look at the food in front of me. I have no appetite. I have lost the desire to eat.

I want to flee. Distract myself. Lose myself in old addictions. They beckon me to take comfort in their familiarity. My mind rebels it knows the pleasure is short lived, temporary. Self hate and guilt follow. It will only make me feel worse. 

I look at the old scars. They are faint now but they force me to stay grounded. I allow myself to cry release some of the pent up emotions.

Sometimes I wish I could run away and leave myself behind. Step out of my body. Escape the fogginess of my mind.

I wish that just for one day I could be someone else.

Just one day to know what it feels like to be normal.
One day to get up without the hole in my heart.
One day to leave the self hate and the guilt behind.
One day to wake up refreshed from a good nights sleep.
One day to know what it feels like to have a mothers love.
One day to be without memories.

Just one day that I can accept who I am.
One day that I can reach beyond my flaws.
One day that I am not hiding parts of me away.
One day that I am not fighting the pull of the dark side.
One day that my inside and outside match.
One day that I am not scared to face the world.

Just one day that feeling good is not just my imagination.

But I need to stop dreaming. I need to focus on the reality. I need to search in order to find the answers I so desire. 

Step One: Put my pride aside. Admit I have postpartum depression.
Step two: Rid myself the feeling that there was something I could have done to prevent it. This was not a test of my strength.
Step three: Make an appointment at the doctor. Anti depressants if necessary.
Step four: Talk to my therapist.

Maybe if I follow these steps I can climb out of the pit I have found myself in. Pick up the scattered pieces of my world that is disintegrating around me.

I know I can do this. It will only make me stronger. It will only help me be better mother for my daughter.  

Sisters and brothers

My grandmother turned 82 today. To celebrate the occasion two of my aunties flew in from across the country to organize a special birthday luncheon in her honor.

This morning my sisters and I loaded our respective families into cars and set out on the two hour road trip to her country home where the party was to be held. After a long drive with numerous toilet breaks for the kids we finally arrived. 

With everyone helping, before too long the party was in full gear. The time was appreciated as it is a rare that we have the opportunity to all gather together as a family. My parents were invited but much to everyone's relief declined to come. As they have cut us off and have had nothing to do with us in for years it was no surprise.

We talked, we laughed, we played and teased each other like families tend to do and all in all had a blast. 

Anybody walking into that room would have no doubt that the smiles and laughter were genuine and we were having a great time.

I sat at the table and looked around the room. I looked at my brothers and sisters. I thought how fortunate I was to have them.

I saw the smiles on their faces the joy in their voices but when I looked carefully I could also see pain lurking behind their eyes.

I watched my brother discuss with my husband how hard he is trying to rid his drug addiction. I observed my sister who is no longer religious talking to her boyfriend, finally at peace with herself after a messy divorce. I watched another sister running after her four adorable kids, blessed after years of infertility.

But I didn't only see the pain. More than that, I saw the acceptance of one another, the friendship, the love.

In some families abuse can tear the children apart it ours it only brought us closer together. My siblings mean everything to me. 

We have been, still are, and always will be there for one another. They have been a part of my journey standing beside me, supporting me and always behind me every step of the way.

I am the luckiest person to have them and I would not change that for anything in the world.

A letter to my abuser.

Dear Sexual Abuser,

I was having a hard time at home. You approached me, promised to help me. I opened up to you. Confided in you. You told me I could trust you. I believed you.

I vividly remember the first time you touched me. We sat on that living room couch of yours and I bared my heart to you. You said you felt so close to me. You wanted to show how much you loved me.

My mind refused to acknowledge the abuse. I felt nothing. I was numb. I went to a place inside myself that you could not reach.

I was young and naive. I let my guard down. I thought I was safe with you. You preyed on my vulnerability. You knew I had no one else to turn to.

Sometimes at night I lie in bed and I think about you. I wonder if you ever lie in bed and think about me? Have you once thought about the consequences of your actions? 

I spent years ashamed and embarrassed. I felt guilty, believing it was my fault. I looked up to you. I respected you. I blamed myself for needing you.

You stole a part of me. The little bit of trust I had left you took that from me. School was my safe place and you ruined it for me.

Why did you do it? Why me? Do you know how much pain you caused me? Did you enjoy the power over me? Did you want to hurt me?  Did you ever care about me? Was I just someone to be used? Did I mean anything to you?  

I spent a long time searching for answers, digging up suppressed memories buried deeply in my mind. I know now it was not my fault.

I have a loving husband and a beautiful daughter now. I am studying to get a degree in psychology so one day I can help children who have been abused. I am making something of myself. I have reclaimed the power you took from me. I have let go the shame and guilt that was pulling me down. I am moving forward. 

You may have tainted my past but you will not hold me back from my future.

I have some memories...

-I'm 5 years old. My big sister is in trouble she did something bad. Mummy is screaming at her a lot. Really screaming at her and slapping her hard. She drags her to the bathroom takes the soap and forces it into my big sister's mouth. Scraps it really hard on her teeth. Really hard till there is no more soap left. My big sister is crying and asking her to stop. She wont she is to angry. She tells my big sister to pack her bags, she has to leave. Doesn't want her as a daughter anymore. Mummy tells us that a lot and makes us pack our bags but she never actually made us leave. But tonight she does. Tells her to leave and not come back. My big sister took her suitcase with her. She is gone. I'm scared. I want my big sister back. What if Mummy makes us leave to?

- I'm 11 years old. Shopping in a mall with mummy and my little sister. My little sister wants something and asks Mummy if she can have it. Mummy is not in a good mood. She slaps my little sister hard for daring to ask for something. A man stops and tells her she should not be hitting her children. Mummy tells him to mind his own business. Her daughter asked for something she knows she can't afford. The man says to tell her that no need to hurt her she is just a kid maybe she doesn't understand. It makes sense to me. Sounds simple. But it is never like that. Mummy is mad and so angry you can feel it. She drags us back to the car in silence that is when you know she is really mad. We get home she is angry, extremely angry. Mummy is hitting and slapping my little sister really hard. She embarrassed her in the shop today. My little sister has bruises on her face the next day can't go to school. Mummy keeps her home and she has to clean the house all day.

- I'm 10 years old. Shabbos afternoon coming back home from Shabbos group. Walking down the street on my own. I hate doing that there is 2 massive horse dogs that live nearby. I'm petrified of dogs got bitten by one when I was 5. I can see them in the distance 2 big dogs I'm scared. They smell my fear. They start running towards me. I start walking a little quicker. The dogs are catching up to me. I start running suddenly they are chasing me. I've never run so fast in my life 2 huge dogs almost as big as me chasing me I'm petrified. I'm screaming really loud the whole street can hear me. Mummy hears me comes outside. I can see her in the distance. Why isn't she coming to rescue me? The dogs are biting my clothes. A car passes by stops a man gets out. He whistles to the dogs. He gets them into his car. They are gone. Run home Mummy goes inside. I ask her why she didn't come and take them away from me. I can't remember the reason she gave me. Later she tell me I deserved the scare was a good punishment for something I did.

These are some painful memories. Memories that make up my past. But I will not let my past define me I will move forward. I will make new memories. Nice memories that will one day be my daughters.

Suicide

The topic nobody wants to talk about. The act of intentionally causing your own death.

Who wants to admit that they were in such deep pain they could not conceive living another day.

It is excruciating to see someone you love struggling with the will to live. How do you convince them that no matter how bleak the situation is death is never the answer. There really is nothing you can say all you can do is be there for them, support them and pray that they win the massive internal battle between life and death.

I know my sister has been having a really hard time recently. I've witnessed her facing this inner conflict. I sat down with her, held held her hands and begged her to choose life. I pleaded with her to not give up. Told her I couldn't survive without her.

I knew exactly how she felt I've been there myself.

After my miscarriage I fell into a deep depression. I didn't leave the house for weeks. I stopped eating and spent days in bed.

I somehow managed to hide the worst from my husband, talk to friends and family like normal not wanting them to worry but inside I was screaming. I remember the feeling of utter hopelessness and despair. I would wake up in the morning and wonder if I would still be alive to watch the sun go down. I was in such a dark place I told myself no one would miss me, were better of without me.

The only thing that made me feel any better was looking at the medicine cabinet near my bed and knowing I could end it whenever I wanted. At one point the pull was so intense I took a key and locked myself out of the house not knowing if I could resist. It was at that point I made the decision for life over death. 

I wish I could do more for my sister, make the decision for her. But it is her fight only she has that power all I can do is hope she has the strength to make the right choice.

Unconditional Love

Last night I read the diary I kept during my pregnancy. I'm only 8 weeks postpartum so I can easily recall the sense of eager excitement as my due date drew near. I had a difficult pregnancy. Physically the baby was healthy and well, emotionally I was a train wreck.

At around 6 months pregnant I began battling with my addiction again something I thought I had left in the past.

It was the love for my unborn baby that kept me strong. Many times it helped me stop in the tracks from doing something that could have been potentially harmful. Before I even met my daughter I knew I only wanted the best for her.

The minute my little miracle was born I felt a huge rush of maternal love and as the weeks have flown by it has only grown.

Waking up at least three times a night, eating literally every hour during the day, refusing to get into any schedule, bringing up on my newly dry cleaned clothes just as I'm running out the house,  all parts of her I love.

Sure it bothers me once in a while and I do occasionally miss the freedom I had before she was born. But it is something called unconditional love. A mothers love for her offspring. The kind of love that no matter what your child does you would do anything for them. For no reason other then you are their mother, the person who loves them more then anyone else.

My mother lives 2 streets down from me and I have seen her once in the past 4 years.

I grew up without that unconditional love, a need every child deserves to have met. When I was young I would try my hardest to earn it. Work tirelessly to please my mother hoping she would be proud of me. I was to young to understand why it would never be good enough for her.

As an adult I stopped asking for it. I realised even when said the words were meaningless. ''I love you'' does not hold any significance when two minutes later her mood had changed and it was '' I hate you''  or ''you don't deserve to live'  or the worst ''you are unlovable''.

Hearing those words drummed into me day after day I began to question if there was any truth to them. I convinced myself it was only words, I refused to let it hurt me. But obviously it did affect me till this day I find it hard to believe when my husband says he loves me.

My friends laugh at me when I tell them I don't let my baby cry. I read somewhere that babies feels a sense of security when their needs are met straight away. I'm determined my children will always feel safe, secure, and most importantly loved. And while I may go over the top a bit, overcompensate, my guess is that to much love is a way better alternative to no love.

My therapist thinks I should write a book.

I have the storyline all planned out already.

The story begins with a little girl, growing up in a close minded religious community where serious issues are pushed under a rug and ignored. Her mother has borderline personality disorder, her father physically there but emotionally a shell.

The little girl spends her days absolutely terrified of making the smallest mistake knowing that even the tinniest wrong move could set her mother off into a rage. She does her best to please her mother to avoid the physical abuse but never knowing what could upset her it is to no avail.

School is her safe place and she puts her trust into the one person who she thinks can help her. So when the teacher starts hugging and kissing her she believes it is out of love. But then it turns sexual and the little girl who is now a teenager is confused. Growing up in such a community she is totally naive and wonders if the teacher is really doing it out of love like she claims or is she using her?

With no one else to turn to or trust this continues until she gets married.

The young women and her husband leave to Israel hoping to put the past behind her, begin a new life, and start her own family.

But the months and then the years go by and and after visits to top doctors they discover they have unexplained infertility. After 3 years and expensive treatments they discover they are finally pregnant. At 13 weeks just as they beginning to believe it is real they rush to hospital at 2:00am praying that the blood doesn't mean a miscarriage. The nurse cannot find a heartbeat.

The young women falls into a deep clinical depression and begins to question her religion and why God has done this to them. She turns to the Internet to give her temporary relief from the pain and develops an addiction to self harm.

After her husband realises his wife is in danger he decides to take her back to their hometown. There she gets a job, begins to study,and with her friends and family surrounding her the depression lifts.

Fertility treatments start again and after a year the couple are overjoyed and a little nervous to find they are pregnant again.

The baby is healthy and is growing at a good rate. With all the hormones racing at 6 months the addiction returns. With the help of therapy she makes it through the pregnancy safely and gives birth to a gorgeous baby girl.

One look at the her little miracle and her world changes forever.

I am 23 yrs old, married, with a newborn daughter and this story is not a figment of my imagination it is the story of my life.

I want to write about what it means to grow up unloved, not wanted, betrayed by the people meant to protect you, live in fear of the people supposed to love you. It changes your psyche. As a child you learn things children should never know about. You struggle to adapt and do whatever you can to survive. You strive to become the person you are expected to become. You yearn to be free, shed the mask, and find out who you really are.

And then you grow up get married and are thrown into a new world with new rules. A world you have only ever looked in on from the outside. Fighting to fit in and not take advantage of the new found freedom. Resisting the pull of an addiction to return to the only world you know. A world of pain.

But this blog is not only about the my challenges it is also about the rewards. Sisters and brothers who are there for me and stand by me through everything. I have made some amazing friends and met some amazing people along this journey. People who have reached out to help me and be there for me when I needed them most.