A letter to my younger self

Ashley,

Today is March 21, 2023. Tomorrow, you’re supposed to be turning 35. 35 years on this planet. Wild.

But this isn’t a letter for my future self. This is an attempt to heal all past versions of myself so I can continue my journey in a healthy way. I deserve to heal all 34 versions of me. I’m done telling my younger self to “stop it,” I’m ready to say, “Here we are, and let this go.” So, let’s jump in.

ASHLEY, 2-8 YEARS OLD — Origin stories are tricky to deal with, this we know. I’ve talked before about the disconnect and living with a feeling that nothing is real with having a birth of unknown origins. But what I wish 2-8 year old Ashley knew is that while being adopted *is* amazing, it’s absolutely OK to feel weird, disconnected, and like a fish out of water. I think if I knew this sooner, I wouldn’t have had such a fear when I felt it. Other than that, I wouldn’t say much else, I still enjoyed celebrating my day at these ages.

ASHLEY, 9 YEARS OLD — I recently talked about this birthday with my counselor. I had wanted to have a birthday party every year up to this point. I’d have a party of sorts at my Grandma’s day care, and once I was in school, I’d obviously bring in a treat to share with the class, but I wanted a party. I wanted to invite my friends from school, my family, girls from the barn, etc. and I was never allowed to have one because my mom never let me have people in the house. The few neighborhood friends I had in the 17 years of living in my childhood home, I can recall only five times of ever having a friend over (3 of which were before 1997 when this takes place). Anyway, I wanted a horse cake (green frosting and horse figurines on top) and to have this party. My mom kept saying no and then finally said I could have one the weekend after my birthday. Saturday rolls around, and I’m told I have to clean my rooms or no one is coming over. My bedroom was a mess, and the playroom was worse. I didn’t know where to even start, let alone how I’d clean both rooms by myself in a matter of hours. Obviously, I did not get the rooms cleaned up, and certainly not to my mother’s standards. So she told me the party was canceled, and now I have the rest of the day to finish cleaning up. It took twenty years to realize that there was never going to be a party. That no matter if I would’ve accomplished that or not, that no one was coming. She never had any intention of throwing me a party. It was just a tactic to make me do something she didn’t want to help with. I didn’t get the party, the friends never came over, I never had a horse cake. But Me Now wants to tell the Me Then that you deserved to have that party. You deserved to have the horse cake. And you deserved to feel celebrated not only on your ‘birthday’ but every day.

ASHLEY, 10-14 YEARS OLD –Heh. 1998 was the year I was old enough to start looking at my adoption folder. In there, I learned my birth certificate said my birthday was actually “on or around March 22, 1988.” I’m not sure what I thought up until that point, though, seeing it in black and white. I mean, I had always known I was adopted, so that wasn’t the issue. I knew my biological parents were most likely dead, so I’m not exactly sure why reading that turned my world upside-down. But it did. Oh boy, did it. I turned 10 and stopped caring about my birthday. I got Belle, my first horse, 2 months previous, so it didn’t matter anymore what I did or how I celebrated my day. The next four birthdays after that were just weird. I spent the day feeling off, guilty, and like it was filled with pity. I had my horses then, so I’d make a point of going horseback riding. A tradition I wish I would’ve been more serious about enforcing now that I look back. But while it is *just* a day, it’s your day, and you don’t have to look back, you can just keep thinking of the future and taking the time to celebrate that growth.

ASHLEY, 15-17 YEARS OLD — Fifteen year old Ashley is a girl I don’t know. I don’t recognize her at all. And yet, somehow, I still see her daily. She is there when I lash out in anger, she’s there when I could just “be the bigger person” and choose not to; she’s there in a lot of these negative qualities I have still carried since then. The Ashley formed in these particular teen years holds a lot of anger, resentment, bitterness, and most of all, hurt. This Ashley saw a lot of ugly things during these years, and heard a lot of nasty things. It’s been tough to untangle the facts from the lies told not only to me, but that I told myself and about myself. I could probably write a hundred posts on the things that happened in these years alone, and who knows, maybe one day I will. But the most important message I have for this version of myself is that inspite of it all, you’re still worth it. None of these transgressions against you have anything to do with you as a person. It’s a reflection of others’ poor choices, decisions, and actions. Absolutely nothing that someone else does says anything about Ashley. The only thing that speaks to yourself is how you react to it all. And with that, don’t let yourself become bitter or upset for it. People suck. Things don’t work out. Shit happens. Just keep going. The world doesn’t stop because you were raped, because your friend committed suicide, because you carry guilt for things that happened that were outside of anyone’s control, let alone yours. It also doesn’t stop to let you savor the last kiss of the night of a date, or while at a concert and you feel the music pulsing through your soul. It doesn’t slow for the summer days at the beach, or the winter nights in front of the fireplace. The world doesn’t stop, and you can’t either.

ASHLEY, 18-22 YEARS OLD — Honestly, this is the Ashley I’d love to fight these days. This Ashley’s response to betrayal, hurt, and whatever else you wanna say – was to party it off. This version of myself is why I have the three simple rules I try to make my kids know I’m going to live by and enforce for them.
Rule 1: Safe
Rule 2: Healthy
Rule 3: Happiness
As long as you are safe, healthy, and happy – and in that order, I’m pretty game for whatever. I’m don’t want to enable my kids, or not hold them accountable to things; but I also want to be their safety net and free zone where they know that I’m Mom and as long as they’re honest with me, I’m going to do everything I can to ensure their success. But if what they’re doing isn’t healthy or safe, then I, as their parent, am going to step in and say something. I will take that action while they’re minors and hope I’m fostering an open, honest, and trusting relationship that they feel they can come to me in the future.

With all that said, fuck you 18-22 year old Ashley. You weren’t safe and you weren’t healthy. Sure, you did some cool things that you’d never do, took chances you might not have, and blah blah blah. Fuck you. You didn’t learn shit from any of it so here’s 35 year old Ashley to say what anyone else should’ve said then which was Fuck you, You’re being a bitch, Knock the shit off, Get back out there and keep moving, and If you wanna fight me go for it cause I’d love to kick your ass to make you see you’re being stupid. Anything going on in these years is because you chose to be mean and mad instead of choosing to heal yourself because you have to heal regardless. If you don’t take the time to do it now, [Newsflash: you didn’t, sooooo thanks?] it’s going to be worse to do it later. You have basically mangled your entire leg, but yes, keep refusing medical attention because the bear mauled you. Makes total sense. Hanson said it best: “Holding on to what is gone won’t heal it” so you’ve gotta let it go and heal.

ASHLEY, 23-28 YEARS OLD — Ahh, we’ve gotten to Survival Mode Ashley. The Beginning of Motherhood Ashley. Hmm, well, V’s origin story is a whole fucking post in itself, but to sum it up [*This will not be a summary. I will be telling the extended edition with the behind-the-scenes feature *] I found out I was pregnant with V on May 12, 2011. I went in for a refill of birth control (specifically, Seasonique) and didn’t get it. 🙃 I had been drinking non-stop up to that point, and reality slapped me across my hungover face that morning. Sobering up wasn’t that difficult, it was just something I had to do and there was no question, I just had to be better because I was going to obviously do what I had to, to ensure a positive, healthy, safe pregnancy for this baby, assuming I wouldn’t have another miscarriage (I had two at this point in life). Once sober and being reassured that this baby was “sticking,” I came to realize a lot of things, and the most important one was I could NOT stand to even breathe the same air as Vs donor. We “took a break” in July and officially ended things in early September 2011, but honestly, things ended on May 12th when I told him I was pregnant and he told me to have an abortion. I only tried to stick things out because he had 3 other kids whom I loved (and still very much do!) very much, and I longed for my future child to have siblings anyway. Anyway, September 2011, I was single and didn’t contact the donor [we honestly just refer to him as Voldemort these days 🙄] until I went into labor on January 11th, 2012. At Vs birth was my mom and my best friend Sylvia. Sylli had stood by me every step of the way through all the shit, as well as Kendra (whom was also pregnant with her first child after a variety of similar health issues I went through as a teen) whom was married to Voldy’s BFF. I guess that’d make him Lucious Malfoy [🤔😂]. V had not cooperated with any of the ultrasounds to find out their gender so I had a boy name and girl name picked. [Which could also be another post because I’m such a name nerd 🙄😒😆] After being absolutely terrified of being cut open for a cecerean, and letting me labor for 24 and half hours after my water started leaking, my V arrived on January 12th, 2012 at 1:24pm, weighing 7 pounds, 15 ounces and 20 and half inches. 💚

When V was 7 months old, Matt and I started dating – August 18th, 2012. Although he didn’t meet her until September, when we knew we wanted to be serious and he was prepared to be a male figure in her life. By the end of November, we had moved into our first home together. Around V’s first birthday, I had a dream I was in her room, but it was painted pink [Vs was grey with green], decorated with owls [V = monkeys], and I was in a rocking chair. When I looked down in this dream, I had a newborn baby girl wrapped in a pink blanket in my arms. I immediately woke up, packed up V, and went and bought a pregnancy test that was immediately positive. 😳 I bet Matt we’d have a girl, and I got to pick the name. And that’s the story of how I not only dreamed Iris into life (just for her to be her dad’s twin 😒), but also named her after my most favorite non-Hanson song, my favorite Hanson, and my mom and grandma. Iris was born on September 24, 2013, at 1:14pm, weighing 7 pounds, 14 ounces, and 21 inches. ❤️

So I had two under 2, post pardom depression and anxiety were in full swing. In 2014, I had a laporoscopy for my endometriosis that was also back in full swing (😒 a pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy). I had the Nexplanon arm implant in for my birth control and one day I couldn’t feel it anymore. I went into the office and Dr. Holzgen [R.I.P. 😭💔] had to cut into my arm and literally dig it out. Since I was no longer a candidate for any other implant device, and pills were useless, we decided we’d “play it safe” until I’d be scheduled for my total hysterectomy…

😆 Since it’s me, my last menstrual cycle was October 5th, 2014. Do you know what you get when you put that info into a due date calculator? July 12, 2015. Guess what happened on that day? Well. Nothing because I was still fucking pregnant with J. BUT I was pregnant with my last baby and although he “snuck in” I can’t imagine my life without my boy. I am so happy that he happened. So, after being induced two days past my due date [literal torture, I’ll tell you that much] , my baby boy was born. July 14th, 2015, at 2:21pm (probably could’ve been earlier, but I made everyone leave when Hanson was on TV]). I texted my mom that I gave birth to a toddler since he was a hefty 9 lbs, 13 oz, and 22 and a half inches. 💙

I finally had my total hysterectomy four months after that on November 16, 2015. Tubes, ovaries, uterus, and cervix, all gone. So, by this time, I’m 27 years old, I have three children that are 3.5 years and under (plus we had been working with V with her autism diagnosis for about a year), and I had a total hysterectomy. Ok, I’m just gonna give myself a little bit of grace. That’s a lot, and we made it through. But, I do wish Survival Mode Ashley knew it’d be ok. Breathe in, breathe out, the days are long, but the years are short. That the beauty in life with kids is in those fleeting moments. Holding them in your arms, nursing them, sleepless nights just laying with them, reading and singing, and seeing how they respond. Watching and fostering those personalities and desires develop and unfold. Those are the best parts of the baby stages. To enjoy it and not survive it.

ASHLEY, 29-34 YEARS OLD — Hmm. What to say, what to say? The last few years have been wild. Mainly in terms of Working Mom Ashley. I went to Ross Medical for my medical assistant certification from May to November 2017. I graduated one of the top students in my class (only behind Arlana, whom I still love dearly) and we did our externship together at the doctor’s office we both got hired at within a few weeks. I enjoyed it all at first, but my anxiety got absolutely out of control and ended up leaving the doctor’s for a specialty office in June 2019, starting at the orthopedics office in July. That lasted for three months as my anxiety didn’t improve with a new setting. October 2019, I left the specialty office, and that’s around the time the girls had a bomb threat at their school.

I did not get the call the day their school evacuated due to the threat, but I happened to be at Target with J and was talking to Kendra, seeing what she was up to since her kids went to the same school my girls did. She relayed the info to me and I immediately raced myself and Jensen over to the church they had evacuated to. Of course every single one of us cried in relief and terror when we saw each other and I took the girls home. I couldn’t send them back and I was going off the deep end with my paranoia until one day I ended up going back to Pine Rest. Again. For the partial program. Again. By this time, it’s March 2020. I end my time in the program and immediately proceeded to live in pandemic lockdown. I loved lockdown. At first. Well, for the first year, anyway. By March 2021, I had to get out of the house and get a job for my own sanity. That’s what led me to my spot at Sozo Muskegon, where I was an assistant manager [since June 2022] until December 2022.

😒 Oh, Sozo. 🙄 Within 10 days of the bullshit that went down at Sozo I started at Kai Cannabis. 😒 Kai could’ve been cool, but they don’t follow rules, so I had to peace out. And now here I am. Writing this until forever. To tell yourself that you’ve got this shit and to keep going. You are doing okay, and as long as you are honest and communicate clearly, it will all work out because it always does. Everything ends up falling into place. Sometimes, it falls because you’re dumb and make dumb choices. Sometimes, it’s just being able to let go long enough to see it all settle. Whatever the case, though, it’s okay. You have survived 100% of your worst days. Just keep going.

So, in 7 minutes, 35 year old Ashley will be here. She’s ready to heal the younger versions so the future versions can flourish. She owes it to future Ashley because believing in yourself will never steer you wrong.