“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that phrase. After enough trauma to last several lifetimes, it started to make me angry. Why did I have to go through something awful for the sake of getting stronger? This quote is loosely based on “post-traumatic growth,” which is a positive change a person can experience after going through significant adversity. My story may be different from yours, but post-traumatic growth doesn’t have to be the exception.
In 2005, I was referred to Rush University for some medical complications. After my exam, 6 stunned doctors explained that I had an extremely rare uterine abnormality and would likely never have children. I was 19. My mom and grandma were with me and were so supportive while I processed and grieved. I also had a strong group of friends at college, plus extracurricular activities like theater and music that helped distract me and give me something to look forward to. Social support is one of the strongest buffers for processing trauma. I know the support I had following this diagnosis helped me tremendously.
It was around this time that my parents, who had been married for almost 25 years, got a divorce. My sister and I found solace with each other despite the struggle of watching our family fall apart. Our friendship was strengthened as we went through the pain and trauma of the divorce together. Having my sister by my side gave me someone to talk to and lean on when everything felt heavy, so I didn’t feel like I had to process the trauma alone.
Later that year, my mom reconnected with her high school sweetheart at their 30-year reunion. They fell back in love immediately and got married soon after. He brought joy and healing to our family but especially for my mom, putting her broken pieces back together. He healed a lot of brokenness in our family and taught all of us how to be stronger than the things that scared us.
4 years after the diagnosis of my uterine abnormality, I was shocked to find out I was pregnant. I had grieved and accepted my childless future, so this turned my world upside down. My pregnancy was easy and uneventful, and the cesarean delivery was completely ordinary. Juniper, my sweet girl, was small but healthy, and I was deeply in love.
However, our life was rough. I was homeless – doubled up with my mom – a single mom nursing an infant, going to graduate school, and working part-time. I couldn’t keep up, and I was dismissed from my accelerated Social Work program. At first, it felt like everything I had worked toward had been destroyed, and I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then, in a twist of fate, I was offered my first job teaching preschool full time, and I fell in love. I was still angry that my plans were derailed, but I had found my passion and it gave me a reason to keep going.
A few years later, my stepdad found a lump in his neck, and a biopsy revealed stage 3 metastatic melanoma. It was devastating, and my mom was heartbroken. 7 short weeks later, after hanging on and fighting so hard, we lost him. It was inconceivable that someone so special could be ripped away from us so quickly. In the months following his death, I reckoned with the universe about life and death and everything in between. I walked away from the faith I had held my whole life. Losing my stepdad tested me and our family in immeasurable ways, and while it was incredibly painful, we carried each other through the pain. Looking back, I can see that his death fortified our already strong relationships and brought us even closer together.
Juniper, my sweet girl, was particularly distressed and her behavior became strange and unexplainable. Her schoolwork started to suffer, and her teachers suggested I speak to her pediatrician about her development. We went through several evaluations, and she was diagnosed with moderate Autism. I felt like a failure for missing it, so I started reading about girls with Autism. Through my research I learned that girls display symptoms of Autism much differently than boys. I wrote a blog post about our journey that was published by a special needs parenting platform, which reached over 4,000 people. Using our unique experience, I helped others understand girls with Autism more fully, and I gained a community of other parents who continue to support me and Juniper.
Several years later, my husband and I decided we wanted to add another child to our family. Around 28 weeks I started having contractions without any progression. My body was retaining fluid, so we quickly scheduled a Cesarean. Our son Oliver came into the world quietly, not crying or nursing for 24 hours. His doctors watched him like a hawk, and my husband and I held our breath. Finally, he started making noise and eating, and really hasn’t stopped since. Going through a second pregnancy was a risk. But I was so proud of my body for bringing another little life into the world, and so proud of my family for how well they took care of me. Oliver was the missing piece we didn’t know we needed, and worth every struggle along the way.
A few months after the Covid pandemic started, I was driving to pick up dinner when a pickup truck ran a red light and hit me going 45 mph. The impact pushed me into a work truck with a trailer and my van was crushed between the two vehicles. The intersection was shut down and I had to be extracted with the jaws of life. The pain was blinding, and I was sure I’d broken multiple bones. I was rushed to the hospital where I had a dozen x-rays…and I walked out hours later with no major injuries or fractures.
I have no idea how I survived that day. Pictures of the van are still hard to look at. The tow truck driver who met my husband at the scene asked how many fatalities there were. From the moment of impact, I wondered if I was going to die. I thought about everything other trauma I had lived through, the things that should have killed me but made me stronger instead. I’ll never forget riding in the ambulance, sobbing, asking the paramedics if I was dying. “Not today,” one of them said.
Every trauma I’ve gone through has tested me, usually in ways I didn’t expect or didn’t see coming. From Adverse Childhood Experiences to adult trauma, I’ve survived because I know how strong I am. I’ve also learned the value of having a support system of family and friends, who will be there for me when the storm hits and all the lights go out. Because of that support system, I feel safe calling out for help – someone will always answer with compassion and concern.
I have also learned how to draw boundaries around myself to protect my peace and the peace of my family. I’ve learned how fragile life is, and that I need to save my energy for the little things. Like reading books to my son or doing my daughters’ hair or sharing meals and laughter with people I love. Do I wish some of these things never happened to me? Of course, but from where I stand now, I can see the path that has led me here, and that keeps me going.
As always, reach out to a Family Support Navigator with any questions or concerns at navigation@familyfutures.org or contact us on our website. We are here to help!
