About Me — Chelsea G.
Fighting Fears To Find My Strengths
This is a story about me.
The Good Stuff:
I have one fantastic brother; he is gifted, kind, humble, and my north star.
I have a half-sister who I found later in life at Casey’s. She is a good human.
I have a prosperous career in Digital Health, focusing on Nutrition.
Two kind, beautiful daughters and one incredible stepson.
I live outside Nashville with my loving husband and my best friend, Miner, our 90-pound Goolden doodle.
The Other Stuff:
I was born in Central Illinois, in the forgotten city of Springfield, Illinois; I was the child of two hippie parents: a free-spirited mom and a hard-working, talented, but unable-to-commit alcoholic father.
Nothing was easy; the divorce was imminent.
We never had much, and living conditions were difficult. A string of men came into my mom’s life, none of which were high caliber. She tried.
At nine, I had my innocence stolen — a tragedy.
High school was rough, but it had fun moments. I found some kind friends. I was the messed up one, broken home and poor, but I was “pretty,” so boys were available, but I knew nothing about healthy relationships with boys or myself.
Enter my first brush with disordered eating.
Tragedy strikes again: Alcohol infuses a night out with friends, and we lose one of the best, the one who had it all together: a 4.0, great family, plans for the future, and my first kiss.
I blanket myself in grief and guilt.
My mom insists that college is in the cards. I chose to study Food and Nutrition, but it only propels my disordered eating.
I am more lost than ever, but I have internal strengths I don’t even realize.
I enjoy school; I am organized and optimistic and appreciate my opportunity.
It’s four years of a blur: classes, parties, booze, men, flashbacks to my past, fun friends, compulsive exercise and eating issues, and a desperate search for my long-lost alcoholic father.
Graduate.
I moved to Arizona to live with my sweet, caring grandparents. I work for WIC, which helps women and families access basic nutritional needs and education.
But I am the one who needs help.
The weight of my one past traumatic event haunts me so profoundly that I move home. Start therapy and waitressing; not a good combination.
My mom is living her life, I am in the way.
It all escalates; we can’t run from our fears forever. I cry for help in a big way, and I enter into in-patient treatment.
It works; I develop tools and work through the rage and pain of the loss of my 9-year-old self.
If you are still here, reading this, I would like to say that things got better; they did, but they didn’t.
I got married for reasons one shouldn’t: a pregnancy, but again, life keeps moving forward; I have two beautiful daughters who now have all my love and attention.
Because of them, life is good for the first time.
Tragedy clings to me.
I lost an infant son on this day 19 years ago.
Nothing was easy; that divorce was imminent.
I am breathing for the first time. I am on my own, piecing my one broken life back together.
I find my one true love, a showering of support, teamwork, a love that lets me be me.
Life gets brighter and sweeter.
Yet, I still can’t seem to crush guilt; the loss of my son, a divorce, broken relationships with my parents, and the pain I cause others propel me to drink too much.
This won’t beat me. I see it, stop it, and taste the sweetness of life again.
It is a sad story, but not.
It is entwined with loss, strength, a fight within, hope, and overcoming.
I have more scars than most, which is okay.
Today, I am happy and loved, finally finding my voice and sharing my stories. It’s been a long road to healing but I made it.
Thank you so much to the Medium community for the uplifting encouragement and kindness.
Onwards.
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