I had a couple really tough months… when I was trying to write a book about my son’s birth story. Part of me wonders if the emotion from it all was so overwhelming that I couldn’t figure out how ┬áto express it or even how to do everything else I needed to in my life. I know that going back there before I have time to process it further through current situations will be depressingly painful. I was depressed his first year. I was in a very bad place and I don’t want to go back there. It’s still too fresh.

I’m not saying this because I want to be labelled or I want an excuse. I pushed myself through every painful day. I tried to find joy where I could, case but I was a zombie. I felt empty and ┬átired.

So, to everyone who told me I could write that book. I’m not. I’m not delving into the past to write a book. I’m not writing Neylan’s story or my story about his story. Not now. I’ll write things as they come up, but I’m not opening that wound for too long at a time. It’ll make me crazy. I have a hard time not getting emotional over things like what happened on FRIDAY. (Drs. appointment, where the doctor’s bedside manner concerning my son was horrid and the poor nurse tried her best to make up for it. I wish we had waited for his usual doctor.)

Opening the wound is not how I should do it. It doesn’t have pus. It’s not infected. I’m not bitter or angry at God. I’m thankful for my son.

I need to stop picking at the scabs, ending that inner turmoil, and once I’m healed I’ll tell the story of the scars. Then, from peace and wisdom, I’ll be able to share what we learned.

Megan A.K.A. “Mom”