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I messed up

 I messed up my marriage.  Possibly from the very start.  And without doing so intentionally or knowing I was doing so.  I was emotionally abusing my husband for years and seriously had no idea I was doing so.  I have suffered from sexual, emotional, and mental abuse from family members and my husband was my safe space. That meant that he also became my emotional punching bag unintentionally.  I ended up hurting him in some of the same ways I had been hurt by people in my family who I should have been able to trust.  I repeated the cycle, and I am not sure I will ever forgive myself for that.  He is done. He wants to separate. To divorce me. To be done with me. To only be associated with me by coparenting.  Of course this is never what I wanted. Never what I envisioned for myself. Definitely not something I ever expected when we adopted two of our girls this summer. Why would we do that if we were just going to tear apart our family? I have dealt with so much frustration, sadness, and
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Too little, too late

 BPD.  I have heard those letters together several times. But not once to describe me.  I have had mental health diagnoses since I was 19 years old when I received my first labels: Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety. I was prescribed medications and counseling. I continued to have issues with my mental health and the medication never seemed to be just right so I was constantly on a journey to find the right "fix". Turns out, there wasn't one. Hindsight is truly 20/20 isn't it? Fast forward to late college and I received a new diagnosis- Bipolar II Disorder. Okay, this makes way more sense! Surely the medications for this are going to make a difference. I was hopeful. I was still going to counseling. This diagnosis came a bit after my partner had the same diagnosis and his medications were working wonders for him almost immediately. I was pretty frustrated that I wasn't having the same success.  I get married and continue to struggle. Mental health i
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Pieces of Me

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Trigger warning: Sexual trauma talk, depression, anxiety, general mental illness discussions as well This will likely be a long post once complete. I want this all in one spot so I will be adding to it as more information is uncovered.  I am trying to piece together what happened to me at a young age. I am not even sure when the trauma started, possibly 2-4 years old? I am hoping to uncover some of that as well. A few notes- when I use the term "dad" I am referring to my step-dad. I have always called my bio-dad, "daddy". Hopefully that helps with the confusion of two fathers talked about throughout this.  The first indication to me that I may have been sexually abused as a young child was my response to sexual aggression later in life as late teenager in late high school and early college. Instead of a typical fight or flight response that I have had in other situations I had a freeze/panic response where I was incapable of doing anything at all. It was terrifying.
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Follow Up- Less Panic, More Life

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It's been 11 days since I shared my story and I can definitely say it was so therapeutic to write things out. If you missed it- here is my blog post about sexual assault on a date my freshman year of college. I heard his name again today. I flinched but I didn't have a panic attack. I haven't had a panic attack in the past week. And I already feel so much better. Healing takes time, but every day it gets easier and easier. I didn't think sharing would make me feel stronger, but somehow it did. Somehow I feel lighter and like I am not carrying around this huge burden on my own. I guess in some ways it feels like I have lightened the load by having such a huge support system who have my back. Community is amazing in that way. I remember feeling so alone with my thoughts and struggles and now I feel empowered and freed by others who (unfortunately) have had similar experiences and can understand how I feel. It's made me want to open up more in general. I tend to on
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Healing Through Writing

This 'conversation' is really a one-way conversation since I have no idea how this person may respond. He could respond in a multitude of ways. And since I do not currently plan to approach him, this is my way of letting it out and trying to deal with the pain. Trigger Warning: This is about sexual assault. I do not go into a TON of details, but I wanted to put a warning here. Me: I'm not sure if you remember me. My name is Megan Lewallen but my maiden name is Megan Scott. We went to school together at UAH and went out on a date once my freshman year (maybe Fall 2007?). Anyways, I felt I needed to tell you how that date made me feel. I know it has been well over 10 years now, but it still impacts me. I don't remember a ton of specific details from that night. I can't remember what I was wearing, what type of car you were driving, or even where we went. What I do remember is being at one of your friend's houses, alone in a room together, on a bean bag chair of
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Breastfeeding Journey

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[Below this text are many images from our breastfeeding journey. :) Yes, there are boobies in these pictures, so if you are offended by seeing boobies used for their intended purpose then maybe click away and don't view the below images.] Today is the first day of World Breastfeeding Week 2019 and it has led me to reflect back on my breastfeeding journey. It was honestly so difficult in the beginning. So much so that I wanted to quit. And I am NOT a quitter. I was in pain and completely at a loss of how to fix it. I went to multiple appointments with lactation consultants, nursing support groups, and watched countless videos on getting a better and deeper latch. One of my lactation consultants analyzed Nora's mouth and determined that she might have a posterior tongue tie. She couldn't officially diagnose her, but it made perfect sense to me. She wasn't transferring milk quickly, she would make clicking sounds sometimes, and nursing was so very painful. I was alre
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Losing Her Again

I'm no stranger to Alzheimers and Dementia. My great-grandmother passed away years ago with Dementia and I remember slowly losing her each time I would visit. It seemed like she would get further and further away as she lost touch with who I was. I loved her dearly and though I didn't get to spend as much time with her as I would have liked I felt her love and care towards me and others in the family. Watching her decline was heartbreaking. Fast forward to a few years ago. Steven and I moved to Athens to help take care of my grandmother-  Granny Graeff. She was a stubborn lady and insisted she didn't need us there but ultimately it was the right thing. She needed help with weekly tasks like grocery shopping, going to and from appointments, and general house related things like laundry. Over time she needed more and more help. We realized she wasn't taking her medications properly when she was loopy all day and had taken the same medication too many times in 24 hours.
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