Little Orphan Ashley?

I have to blast "BDE" to get me pumped for this one.

I'm nervous but I know this one is necessary for my own mental health.

I am strong.

I am powerful.

I am important.

I am valid.

I am worthy of love.

True, unconditional love.

I am worthy of support.

I put into so many others.

I pour for my own, empty cup, into others.

I've done it since I was a child.

Ahhh, this is so hard to write out but I know I have to;

My heart is racing. Slow down heart! You almost had a heart attack on Monday!

Ok, new song;

Far Too Late;

"I hate that I care about blood that we share, when you were never there for me.

 You said take it or leave it, so I took it and ran.

 Just to end up with my face in both of my hands.

 You don't ever see, so you don't understand.

 But maybe that's a part of your plan."

-Connor Kauffman/Erik Ron/Miles Wesley

IT'S FAR TOO LATE FOR A SORRY NOW.

Phew; Ok, I needed that. I needed the reminder that this is MY story.

I have the right to tell it.

I have a right to not have this constant worry of hurting someone’s feelings.

I will never ever say a name. I will never ever say EXACTLY who I am speaking about, but if you are reading this and you are feeling guilty... then it's time to look in the mirror and own your mistakes. Be accountable. No more excuses. You said what you said. Own it. It happened.

The words flew from your mouth into my ears and heart with such ferocity you will claim you don't even remember.

Well, guess what.

I do.

They stuck to my young, developing self like super glue.

They have left lasting scars I am just now, at 39 trying to heal.

Alone.

As an Orphan.

“It's far too late for a sorry now.”

I just hope this reaches who it needs to, even if it isn't the person it's directed towards.

Even if it reaches one person.

One person I don't even know, who can read this blog, and recognize how their own words may have impacted someone.

If that person is able to take a mirror and really reflect on how their words made that person feel, be accountable for it and if the other party is open to an apology, be able to offer one.

If that happens to just one person, this will be worth writing.

As scary as it is.

As much as I'm shaking.

It will be worth it.

Buckle up, put on your open ears, heart and mind hat.

Grab a drink of your choice, continue when you are mentally ready.

DEEP BREATHS;

Ok, here we go.

When I was a teenager, my grandmother died on Christmas Day.

It was 2002. I was in 10th grade.

I remember standing around her bed all holding hands and praying over her.

Then, I remember the next update I received was when I was sitting at home, all excited about Christmas, seeing family, my gifts, calling my friends to see what they were up to, what did they get?! OMG, THEY GOT A VIDEO CAMERA! The amount of ridiculous stuff we are about to film on it.

Huzzah!

^Falls down stairs, holding soda can, doesn't spill a drop^

All caught on camera. 🤓

I was a master at falling and not spilling the drink in my hand.

It really was a bit of a super power. Ha-ha.

It was comedic relief for my friends which I was happy to provide since it just came naturally to me.

I'm glad I'm only 4'11". Much closer to the ground to impact the fall.

Distracting myself;

Ok, so I remember it was Christmas, 2002. 12/25/2002.

My parents received the call that she had passed and we were told the news.

I remember my world just crashing down around me all of the sudden.

This woman that was so influential in my life.

The woman who used to pick me up from dance class with either a York peppermint patty or a Three Musketeer candy bar.

They were our favorites.

I'd go to her house and open her chess table that housed all of the grandkid’s toys.

They weren't even really toys, just little trinkets and nick knacks that we made into toys.

I remember making up so many stories and acting them out with these little trinkets.

Then I would go down to their converted den, which used to be a car port, to get a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar.

Ya know, the ones shaped like Mickey's head. They were vanilla ice cream covered in a hard milk chocolate on a wooden stick.

It was my second home.

I felt so safe there.

So loved.

So seen.

 That woman, with the cutest German accent on the planet, who was the hardest worker I knew, out there in her later stages of life even, still cleaning houses, condos, apartments, etc.

She was a hustler.

Respect Granny! I love you and miss you more than you could ever know, thank you for the 16 years I got to have you in my life. You made the biggest positive impact on me in a time where I felt like my home life was in turmoil.

After that devastating blow, I didn't know where to turn or who to reach out to.

I did reach out to a friend. Remember we were teens and it was Christmas day...

I remember crying and telling them my Granny had just died and how sad I was.

They proceeded to tell me all about the awesome gifts they had gotten.

I won't lie; it was a gut punch that has stuck with me all these years.

I don't hold a single thing against this person or those words, but it stung in a way that I felt like my sadness was invalidated by my friend’s excitement over Christmas gifts.

It was a selfish mindset, I realize that, but it still stung.

I moved on from that conversation and the rest of Christmas just wasn't the same. I honestly don't even remember it after that point.

Next thing I remember is being at my Granny's wake.

I remember seeing her laying in her casket, cold, stiff, lifeless... Why is this still a thing?!

My mind started playing tricks on me and I thought I could see her breathing at one point!

Still haunts me.

So we were standing around as the family, chatting with the people who came to show their love and support and condolences.

 This is the hard part, and I don't know why I'm having so much trouble writing it out.

I think because I feel like I'm exposing someone and shining a negative light on them, when all I'm trying to do is show them how words affect others and how it affected me;

I have spoken up about this in person, but I was invalidated and told that's not what was said.

The cycle never ends.

Unless we BREAK it.

 So as we are standing there, I hear these words come out of someone that was an authority over me, but also the person I thought was supposed to love me the most in the world;

"Yeah, I had to bring my babysitter along as well so I had to bring the younger ones." with a glance over at me, who was only a couple feet away.

This person was referring to me.

I was the "babysitter".

This was my grandmother.

MY flesh and blood.

I have EVERY right to be there and every right to be there as her granddaughter who loved her fiercely.

I deserved to be there as a family member.

I deserved the same respect, love, support and condolences as everyone else who just lost our matriarch.

Instead, I was belittled, invalidated and made to feel like this person’s employee.

Spoiler alert, this person was also MY FLESH AND BLOOD...

Those words resonate in my head from time to time.

"My babysitter"

That's all I was.

I was there to look after the younger ones.

It was just the story of my life.

My summers were spent, not going to camp, or to stay with friends (except only overnight and I had to be back the next morning so I could "babysit" (note- unpaid I may add), or out to the movies, or to ride bikes, etc.

It was spent looking after the littles.

I know, I know, you are probably saying, well they had to work! Daycare was expensive! Help your family!

I WAS A CHILD MYSELF!!!!!!

I deserved to have my own autonomy, I had a right to fun, care free summers as well.

I didn't have any part in the creating or making of these humans, so why am I the one responsible for them?

Because the economy was such crap and we were so poor and money was being spent on things that were killing them...

 Again, CHILD, how was that MY fault? MY responsibility?

I'm healing from a 5.5 hemoglobin level, (normal is 12-14 in women, under 6.5 is life threatening) requiring 2 bags of blood to bring me back from the brink due to my own uterus failing me so badly.

I reached out to their father, the other person who helped make these children, raise these children and is half legally responsible to them to help me with their care.

To take keep them on my days so I can just rest and heal and have my husband be by my side in case crisis strikes again and we aren't scrambling to find childcare for them.

I didn't ask anyone else.

I didn't expect anyone else, not even my husband, their stepfather, to take responsibility of my children.

I went to their other parent.

If he weren't able, I would have made sure they were home with me, tucked in my bed trying to keep them still while I rest.

I would NEVER put that responsibility on another child, especially unpaid.

EVER.

Straight up, I was parentified starting at 6.5 years old.

There is no way around this fact. It is a fact.

It happened.

I've acknowledged that, I've tried to accept, forgive and move on from it.

I have so much more work to do, a therapist is my next step once I'm out of this deep hole.

My writing is helping so much though. I can get it out of my head and out into the ether.

I'm hoping my stories can even help someone. Or at the very least make them look within themselves at the impact their words have on them.

Oh my gosh, I feel so much better just getting that tiny bit of information out.

There's a whole volcano full of lava ready to explode in this brain but for now, I will put a pin in that one.

Moving on;

I saw a quote yesterday that said:

"You can be fully fighting for your life & people will only notice that you're not showing up for them the way they want."

It resonated with me so deeply.

There were certain people. 5 to be exact that I felt were important enough in my life to not hear the news of me being hospitalized from social media.

I asked my husband if he would reach out to 2 of them for me since I couldn't even think properly.

Their responses warmed my heart, especially one who was SUPER skeptical of our relationship. (she loves me fiercely, she protects me and tries to protect my own heart from itself)

I was able to reach out to the other 2 (the first was notified as I was in the car on the way) and their responses were a bit... Oh. Interesting.

Neither one asked how I'm feeling.

How I am.

How/if they can help in anyway.

The responses were jarring.

These people are people I love DEARLY.

There were no questions.

No follow ups.

Just statements being thrown at me.

Information I did not need or care to know in that exact moment.

Or at all to be quite honest.

I was at my lowest low.

Literal rock bottom.

Death’s door in more ways that one.

And I can't even get a "How are you doing? How are you feeling? Do you want to talk? I know how scary this must be for you. How can I help."

Nope.

I will not be actually writing out what the responses were because it will be too revealing but this is how I interpreted them:

"You almost died? Dang, that sucks. I'm sorry.

  Tell ME what happened.

Anyway, moving on past your medical crisis, this is what I'm doing! This other person is needing my help so I'm by their side, no questions asked.

  I'll pray for you."

I’m atheist.

Another one that started this whole blog off;

"Glad you are home.

 Wish I could help in some way." Never even asked IF there was a way or HOW they could help, just assumed they couldn't.

I don't want their money.

I don't want them to fly out here to help me physically.

I was hoping for their love, support, compassion and care.

A listening ear.

A conversation instead of being talked AT.

Instead of hearing "I'm glad you are this and that" based on what they are seeing on social media.

Reach out to me and ASK how I'm doing.

Do not assume.

I am not ok.

My situation was dire.

It is valid.

It was scary.

It does NOT take away or invalidate ANYONE else's experiences, their own pain, their own trauma, their own worries.

It is not a competition about who is falling apart more.

It's like what Thumper says "Don't have anything nice to say? Don't say anything at all."

What they said wasn't unkind, but it didn't leave any room for conversation.

It didn't leave any space for me to feel like I could share how I was feeling and what I went through without having what they are doing and who they are caring for brought to the table.

No one was talking about that person.

Yes, I know about that.

I reached out when I was told and asked if that person was ok and what was going on.

I didn't assume they were going to be ok.

My pain is valid.

Your pain is valid.

It's not a competition.

Your money struggles are valid.

My money struggles are valid.

It's not a competition.

I have always wondered if I didn't wake up one day would anyone even care or notice. Would anyone even be at my funeral? Who would even organize it?!

(That answer now is my husband as well as my fierce protector who reminds me my feelings, story and experience are valid. Her and I clung to each other like no other because we were feeling rejected by those that we thought loved us the most. Turns out, we loved each other more. We were each others support when no one else could be bothered or care enough. She's my complete opposite in almost every way but she’s, my soulmate. I got lucky to have 2. I have a soup snake and a soulmate.)

That experience made me realize I almost didn't wake up the next morning.

And if that would have happened, would those people have any regrets?

Wish there was more time?

More they would have said?

It opened my eyes to the fact that if I had died, I would have died with regrets.

With things left unsaid.

I would have wished for more time.

Moving on to a more positive tone and the ones I want to highlight for truly reaching out in a meaningful way.

Someone I have never met.

She is friends with my husband.

I consider her my friend as well, but we've never even met in person (YET!)

She was one of the first to check on me.

To TRULY check on me.

Ask how I am.

How she can help.

The help she was offering was to chat, if I wanted any show recommendations, saying she wished she lived closer so she could help more, asked how my kids are doing, if they are good.

This woman has 3 kids of her own that she is trying to raise but she is taking the time out of her busy day to ask how she can help me. It's the truest definition of a friend, when you are in crisis. Straight up, if you are reading this, you know who you, I LOVE YOU! I APPRECIATE YOU AND I CAN'T WAIT TO MEET YOU IN PERSON and for our kids to get together to create tiny, powerful tornadoes ready to tackle this scary world! You are an INCREDIBLE mother, wife and friend!

I've also had someone I haven't spoken to in years, someone I'm the complete opposite of, reach out immediately.

They have opened up about their own personal current health crisis while not invalidating mine.

They asked how I am and how they can help.

They also have been letting me open up about my past marriage.

"You two seemed SO happy! I guess you never know what is going on behind the scenes."

Spitting straight facts over here!

They are receiving the information I'm giving about why I left, what was going on, how I am now, where I am in my current relationship and even asking to hear about the story behind us, while telling me the story behind their marriage. It's crazy similar, even the age difference.

Through this process I am finding my village, my tribe, my people. The ones that are filling my cup with just kind words, words of affirmation, love and support. I hope I can pour back into theirs just as much because I'd never want to deplete someone else’s without replenishing it.

So with all of this said and all of that off my chest;

Thank you so much to those that love me unconditionally.

Thank you so much for those that actually allowed conversation to continue between us.

Thank you for being open and honest about your own medical struggles in a way that doesn't invalidate, take away from or make it seem like they are more important than mine.

You are loved.

You are seen.

You are valid.

Your struggles, your experiences, your thoughts, ideas and feelings.

They are all valid. I see them. I hear them. I'm here with a listening ear.

-The Messy Hippie