Too Young

Last week, I GOT ENGAGED!

We put a lot of thought into whether we should even announce it because we would basically asking for people to judge us. But to keep it secretive would invite even more questioning. 

When we decided to say it, I told him that people might "like" it and then talk crap behind our backs. Which of course actually happened.

We've received a lot of mind-opening feedback, honestly. But only a couple really stick out to me. Mostly though, "are you guys getting married so fast because she's pregnant?!" 

I WISH. Trust me if I could just voilá and be pregnant, I would. But unfortunately, we're only getting married because we are crazy in love with each other. Sorry y'all. Also, getting married because you're pregnant isn't a bad thing. So don't say it with such distaste in your judgmental mouth. 

In the Mormon culture, getting married at 20 is completely normal. Getting married after only dating a couple months is completely normal. My oldest sister was married at the same time in my life when I met Zach. So I'm behind. Okay not really but I really hope you catch my drift. 

I know what you're all thinking and why you're thinking it. 

Because 20 is young. I totally get that.

But 4 was too young; the first time I was thrown from my chair across the room because I dropped my cup of juice at dinner and spilled its contents. 

7 was too young; the first time I got punched because I didn't know how to do the math problem.

And 14 was too young; when my sister had to scream and wrestle him just so he wouldn't stab me with my golf club he just snapped in half, all because the ball wouldn't fly straight.

16 was too young; I was left alone with my parents, the protection of my sisters gone when they finally could escape to colleges around the world, and I succumbed to the depression that had always been looming.

And 17 was too young; when I was forced into adulthood after becoming just another domestic-violence teenage-pregnancy case.

18 was way too young- when my purpose for life, my whole heart and soul was ripped away from me.

19 was too young; when I got punched, shoved, cussed out and degraded in every way, every day by a boy who said he loved me.

So 20? 20 has been what I've been waiting for. 20 is finally happening. He's never going to hit me. He's never going to say derogatory things to me, or about me to his friends. He's going to help me out of this blackness. He's going to love me despite the hate, and cruelty and bitterness that I have become because of the things I've had to experience in my younger years. He's going to accept all my apologies, because we hate fighting, and we love each other. He's going to make me smile, and laugh, and snicker every single day. And when he tells me he loves me, I know with every fiber of my being that he means it, and he will always mean it.

Because I already knew by the day I turned 20, mere weeks after we met, that I wanted to be with him forever.

Because he is making all my dreams come true. And he is better than any dream I've ever dreamt.

Because when you've had to go through all the horrible things I've had to, you learn to cling to all the

light and happiness you can find in this annoyingly long life.

And I will cling. Even though I'm only 20.

National Adoption Awareness (of how much it sucks) Month

So. November is National Adoption Awareness Month.

I really loved what I was able to do last year on the blog, “Knit Together through Adoption.”

This year, I have absolutely no motivation to tell you to not be ignorant. I have no patience for people not understanding. I’m tired of hearing from adoptive parents. I’m so done with adoption.

You see, people try to paint this beautiful picture of adoption, weaving families together, growing family orchards instead of just trees. I can’t sit here and say that’s always a lie, because some people actually desired adoption when they found out they were pregnant and it has worked out for them.

But it’s all a lie for me.

“Adoption is…” is a campaign I’ve been following on Instagram this season and all I am seeing is positive positive positive. It’s sickening. Because in my reality, adoption is: never ending pain, permanent uncertainty, guilt, promises you never wanted to keep, it is forced and unwanted.

I want my baby back. And it’s way too late and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can’t change the decision that I was forced to make by my abusive boyfriend and “supportive” family members while I was underage (when the initial process started) and clearly not in a good state of mind (hormones, duh.) And then our lovely state law decrees I only get 48 hours after my baby’s birth (aka 21 hours after leaving the hospital without him) to change my mind. WELL GUESS WHAT?! I cannot possibly count the amount of times I told the people in the hospital that I didn’t want to do this, or the amount of times I told my family I didn’t want to do this. So as much as I’m his mother, I could’ve kept him ladeedah, I DIDN’T GET A FREAKING VOTE.

I hate adoption. I am not doing okay. I want my baby.

The best part is when my sister pulled me aside last month and started talking to me about God and coming back to church. I told her that I couldn’t, not yet, because I am so angry. Adoption has messed me up. I am too bitter and angry with God for giving me my baby just to take him away and dangle him in front of me for my torture and his amusement. She looked at her sweet baby that was crawling around and admitted that she couldn’t even fathom what it would be like if someone took her baby from her. THANK GOD. AFTER YOU’VE FORCED ME TO GIVE UP MY BABY, BUT THEN GOT YOUR OWN, YOU’VE REALIZED WHAT IT ACTUALLY MEANS TO BE A MAMA BEAR. Guess what?! It’s too late. You already took him from me. I’m glad you trying to understand now, but it’s too late. It’s always going to be too late.

He’s gone. I’m alone and my heart is broken.