I am writing this as a mother who has lived the sentence no parent should ever have to say: I lost my daughter to suicide. There are parts of her story I will keep private because she deserves that tenderness. But there is one part I cannot stay quiet about. Words mattered. Exclusion mattered. The way other children treated her mattered. The things adults dismissed as “kids being kids” did not feel small to her. As another school year begins, this has been heavy on my heart.

National Wellness Month invites us to focus on our overall well-being, but for me, it has always held a deeper meaning. Mental health is a huge part of wellness, and my journey with it has been shaped profoundly by the loss of my daughter, Addy. This post is my story of healing, the challenges I face, and the ways I learned to nurture my mental wellness after such a heartbreaking loss. The Impact of Loss on Mental Wellness Losing Addy changed everything. The grief was overwhe

When grief hits, it can feel like you are carrying the weight of the world alone. As Addy’s mom, I have walked through some of the darkest days imaginable. I know firsthand how hard it is to accept help when you feel broken, overwhelmed, or simply exhausted. Many of us believe we must be strong, handle everything ourselves, and avoid burdening others with our pain. But I want to share a truth that changed my healing journey: accepting help is not a sign of weakness. It is a v

A school day can turn on something small. A smile in the hallway. A seat saved at lunch. A quiet “Are you okay?” when someone looks upset. These moments may seem simple, but they can shape how students feel about school, classmates, and themselves. For a student who feels invisible, one kind act can make the day feel less lonely. For a new classmate, one friendly conversation can make a strange place feel more welcoming. For a student facing bullying, one person speaking up c

July is Bereaved Parents Month, a time that holds deep meaning for me and countless others who have lost a child. This is a club no parent ever wants to join, yet here I am, forever Addy’s mom. The day she died did not end my motherhood; it changed what motherhood looks like. I want to share my story, my feelings, and my hopes for others who walk this difficult path. If you know a bereaved parent, please don’t be afraid to say their child’s name. To us, hearing their name mea

Before losing Addy, I thought PTSD was something that happened to other people. I didn't realize grief could come with nightmares. I didn't know memories could hit so hard that it feels like you're reliving the worst day of your life all over again. I didn't know what a flashback felt like. Now I do. Understanding PTSD from My Perspective Sometimes it's a sound, a date on the calendar, a photo, or even a random moment that takes me right back to the day my world changed forev

Losing a child is a pain that reshapes your world in ways words can barely capture. When I lost my daughter Addy, I found myself caught in a storm of emotions that shifted daily. Healing after such a loss is not a straight path. Some days I felt whole, connected to her memory and my own strength. Other days, the grief overwhelmed me, making me question if I would ever find peace. Both kinds of days mattered. Both were part of healing. This post shares my journey as Addy’s mot

Some days feel heavier than others. When the weight of the world presses down, and emotions surge like an unstoppable tide, finding a safe place to let it all out becomes essential. For me, that place is Addy's room. It’s where I go when the storm inside feels too fierce to face alone. I sit quietly, sometimes just letting the tears fall, and slowly, waves of hope begin to wash over me. This post explores how those moments in Addy's room become a refuge during super hard days

I used to think my job as a mother was to teach my daughter everything she needed to know about this world. How to be kind. How to be brave. How to love others well. Then I lost her — and I realized something that breaks me and heals me at the same time: Addy already knew. She Was Always That Kid You know the one. The child who notices when someone is sitting alone at lunch. The one who remembers the name of every person she meets, and actually asks how they're doing — and me

Mother's Day looks different this year. It used to be filled with tiny handprints, whispered giggles, and a love so pure it made even the hardest days feel light. But this year, there's silence where laughter once lived. This year, I am learning how to be a mother to a memory. The Unseen Journey of Grieving Mothers There's no guidebook for grief like this. No roadmap for how to hold the joy of being someone's mom while your arms ache for the child who made you one. Every card

A Mother's Reflection on Loss Losing Addy has left a unique and painful void in my life. The grief I carry is intertwined with a heavy burden known as survivor's guilt. This feeling is overwhelming and confusing, often making it difficult to understand or express what I am going through. Each day, I find myself grappling with questions that haunt my thoughts: Why couldn’t I stop it? Why didn’t I see the signs? Why am I still here when she is not? These questions echo in my mi

Grief is not something you get through. It is something you learn to carry. As a mother who has lost a child, I know this truth deeply. The world continues to spin, but your heart feels stuck in a place where time stretches and reshapes itself. Healing does not come in neat packages or on a schedule. Instead, it teaches you how to breathe in moments that once felt impossible. The Weight of Grief and the Pressure to Move On One of the hardest parts of grief is the pressure to

No words can truly prepare you for the experience of losing a child. As a mother, your life revolves around them—their laughter, their voice, the way they enter a room and fill it with life. Then one day, everything changes. When I lost Addy, I didn’t just lose my daughter. I lost a part of myself, a piece of my identity, and the future I had envisioned. Grief isn’t something you “get over” it’s something you learn to live with. Some days, it feels heavy, like getting out of

When you look at someone experiencing functional freeze, it might seem like they are managing just fine. They show up, complete tasks, and appear "normal" on the outside. Yet inside, every moment feels like a struggle. Simple joys feel distant or unreachable, and even basic activities demand enormous effort. This disconnect between outward appearance and inner experience is the nervous system’s way of protecting itself after trauma or loss. Understanding this survival respons

From the moment Addy came into my life, she filled it with a light so pure and gentle that it seemed impossible for the world to dim. She was a soul woven from kindness and love, a rare gift that touched everyone she met. Yet, as I look back now, my heart aches with the painful truth that the world did not deserve her. This is my story, a mother's tribute to a daughter whose warmth and compassion were unmatched, and a reflection on how such goodness often goes unrecognized in

The first year without someone we love most is a journey unlike any other. It is filled with moments that once brought joy but now echo with absence. Every milestone, every celebration, every quiet moment feels different. This year is about all the firsts without the one we cherish most, and learning how to face them takes strength, patience, and hope. Understanding the Weight of Firsts The first birthday without them, the first holiday season, the first anniversary — these m

Losing a child changes everything. This week, I faced one of the hardest moments since Addy passed away. Some days, getting out of bed feels impossible. The weight of grief presses down so heavily that even the simplest tasks seem overwhelming. But in those moments, I remind myself of my why — the reason I keep moving forward, even when it feels like life has stopped. Grief is not a straight path. It comes in waves, sometimes crashing over you unexpectedly, other times gently

Being Addy’s mother was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. From the moment she came into this world, her happiness, kindness, and welcoming nature shone brightly. She had a way of making everyone feel seen and loved, no matter who they were. Addy was not only my daughter but also my best friend, and the pride I felt for her was beyond words. Her kindness is what she is most remembered for, and that legacy means everything to me. She had a heart that embraced e

Mental health affects everyone, yet many people still hesitate to talk openly about it. Stigma and misunderstanding create barriers that prevent individuals from seeking help or sharing their experiences. Building an inclusive environment where mental health awareness is embraced can change this. It encourages support, understanding, and acceptance for all. Community space designed for mental health support groups Why Mental Health Awareness Matters Mental health is as import

As Addy's mother, I want to share the incredible journey of my daughter—a journey that was marked by unimaginable challenges but also by her unwavering spirit. Addy was more than just a survivor; she was a shining light of kindness and strength. Despite the horrific abuse she suffered at the hands of her biological father and the relentless bullying she faced at school, she never lost her spark or her compassion for others. Her story is one of courage and resilience, inspirin