MIA’S STORY* Part 2 – Continued from July 15th post
Then everything unraveled.
In the earlier stages of my pregnancy, the relationship deteriorated rapidly. It became unhealthy, unstable, and unreliable. There was zero sense of stability or security, which was everything I needed at the time as a reassurance that it would be different from my past. I realized this person could not provide what was needed for a family. Not financially, emotionally, mentally, or functionally. I cut him off and chose to take care of myself, the baby, and my own mental well-being. I believed I could do it alone again if I absolutely had to.
Then the outside voices began.
From people I believed would protect me, support me, and stand beside me. Instead came opinions, judgment, and gossip. Subtle and not-so-subtle pressure and influence. A devastating lack of support and empathy. It felt cruel, divine timing. As if every star aligned in the worst way for my inevitable collapse and downfall.
It broke me. In every way.
The noise crept into my mind and heart until I couldn’t hear myself anymore. I fell into panic, desperation, guilt, fear, and depression so deeply that I didn’t recognize who I was at that point. I didn’t know how to move forward. I didn’t know how to survive my own thoughts and contradictions.
I made the decision I swore I never would.
Every step towards it was torture. Every moment felt wrong. With every step that took me closer, I kept lying to myself by saying I wasn’t going to follow through, and that I was only having the option readily available if absolutely necessary. I attempted to do it for a full week, but when the pills were finally in my hand for the last time, I was already shattered. And when it was over, I was left with a pain I never knew existed. Immediate regret, grief, rage, and betrayal. Remorse was so consuming; it felt physical. And it was not by any means, “quick” or “easy”, like it’s made to seem. It dragged on painfully over the course of what began as days, then weeks, which turned into long, excruciating months with ongoing bleeding. I felt I deserved it all; my body was a graveyard.
No one prepared me for what came after.
I contemplated ending my life more times than I can count. I nearly followed through, with very destructive actions and behavior. I punished myself relentlessly because I believed I deserved it. I self-sabotaged myself and my life in every way possible. I didn’t even feel fit to be a mother to my daughter any longer after what I had done. Nothing could undo what I had done, and I believed I was condemned to live with it forever.
But something I never believed in found me.
During my darkest days, I kept finding mini-Jesus figurines just about everywhere. At home, at work, in other people’s vehicles and homes, in public, in places that made no sense. I removed them, hid them, and tried to push them out of my home. Yet somehow, they kept appearing. My daughter would find more, even when I knew there shouldn’t have been any left. The most memorable appearance was at my OBGYN office, where I saw one face-down, and for some reason felt compelled enough to place him upright.
I didn’t understand it, nor did I want to. But I couldn’t ignore it.
The signs continued to come. Hearin My baby’s name spoken, and then seeing it in written form, unexpectedly. Repeating numbers, wild animals, sudden weather conditions, certain colors. Coincidences so specific that they felt intentional, like quiet reminders. “I’m here. He’s okay. You are not alone. I forgive you. He forgives you.”
God reached me not through pressure, but through presence.
* Mia is the name used to protect the identity of the client and author.
Paula Mastroianni
Executive Director
The Pregnancy & Parenting Center