The last six months have brought a lot of change to our household—some hard, some healing, all of it real. Both of my girls have moved in with their other parents now. CJ moved in with her mom back in October, and Kay followed in December, moving in with her dad. So now, it’s just Braydin at home with us.
It’s definitely been an adjustment. The house feels different. Quieter, sometimes heavier, sometimes lighter. But in the midst of all that, something I haven’t really had in years has finally started to happen: I’m beginning to take care of me again.
Having only one kiddo’s schedule to manage has been a weird relief. Not easy, but easier. And it’s given me just enough breathing room to finally prioritize my mental health, something I’ve always been a huge advocate for—long before I lost people I love to suicide.
Truth is, I’ve lost a lot of people to suicide. It’s shaped me, broken me, rebuilt me. I’ve been on antidepressants since I was 12, after being diagnosed with depression. Since then, my list of diagnoses has grown to include anxiety, Major Depressive Disorder, and PTSD. And while I haven’t received official diagnoses for Autism or ADHD, all signs point to both. I meet the DSM-5 criteria, and given that two of my kids have autism (from different dads), it made me take a long, hard look at myself. It’s wild how genetics can call your own reflection into question.
One of the things I can laugh at now—but definitely couldn’t at the time—was how I told my mom and husband I had cancer. I didn’t lead into it, didn’t sugarcoat it. I just called and said, “So, I have cancer.” Straight-up, matter-of-fact. No buildup. No drama. Just the truth.
That moment kind of sums up how I deal with life: raw and real, sometimes painfully blunt, but always honest.
I recently started with a new counselor. It’s been… helpful. Not earth-shattering, but helpful. I don’t always use therapy the way it’s “supposed” to be used. I tend to talk at my counselor more than I talk with them. I treat it like a safe space to unpack everything in my head, even if no one has the answers. Just having someone listen without judgment is powerful.
Getting fired from the mental health facility I worked at while I was in the middle of chemo really sent me into a spiral. It felt like such a betrayal, from a place that was supposed to understand. But like most storms in my life, I’m learning to navigate the aftermath and keep moving.
This new season in my life is about healing, rediscovery, and brutal self-honesty. It’s not always pretty, but it’s real. And I think that’s enough.
juMOMjia 