Even when I managed to fire and glaze a vessel, it didn’t seem right to be proud or excited about my creations. I knew they weren’t well done, but they were mine, something made with my own two hands. Though that should be enough, somehow it wasn’t. I found myself constantly giving disclaimers when people looked at my pots – “I’ve only been doing it for 10 weeks!” or “I know these are terrible!”

I found you online last week. Social media is kind of cruel like that - offering instant access to the skeletons from your closet with a quick click of a button. I’m not even sure why I looked. Curiosity, I suppose. You look so different. You’ve gained weight, and your hair has become so white. You look old. You look happy. And it hurt.

I am sick. You may not know that by looking at me, but I am. My illness is invisible. There are those out there who would say mental illness isn’t real, or isn’t as important as other medical ailments – cancer, heart disease, multiple sclerosis. And to them, I ask: Why? Why is my illness unimportant? It affects my mind and my body on a regular basis.

I couldn’t focus. Every day seemed harder and harder – I was losing my ability to accomplish my daily tasks and I couldn’t understand what was happening.

Nothing seemed to work. I’d get up and walk around, and when I sat back down the first thing I would reach for is my phone, my crutch when I was bored. The thing was, I wasn’t bored. My brain was being challenged, I was learning new things, and I had a lot to do. But I couldn’t seem to get anything done.

I'm the baby of the family. And my brother and sister were what I like to call “traditionally smart”. My brother was in the National Honor Society. My sister was too and in the top percent of her graduating class. She even gave a speech at graduation.

Then there's me.

Amy Bleuel founded Project Semicolon in 2013 to honor her father who died of suicide 10 years earlier. About the symbol, she wrote: ‘A semi-colon represents a sentence the author could have ended, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.’ Project Semicolon's tagline - "Your story is not over" - gives hope and inspiration to countless people.

Only two weeks away from my due date and I’m so ready for this baby! Overall it's been an easy, joyful pregnancy and I’ll always be grateful for that, but these last couple of weeks have been tough. 

My journey to sobriety has been twisted, stubborn, and miraculous. Once upon a time, I could take a drink or leave it. Sometimes, I try to remember what may have flipped that switch.

The day after Easter, 2012, I waddled into the doctor’s office for my 30-week check-up. After having two girls, we were ecstatic to be finally having a boy. My pregnancy had been normal, so I was definitely not expecting these words from my doctor’s mouth:

The heart of the work we do at Holl & Lane is our belief in the transformative power of words. Hearing someone's story and sharing your own create deep connections and help heal loneliness in our lives. 

Not all diseases or illnesses are obvious. There are so many people who suffer, chronically, without anyone ever knowing. Just by looking at me, you wouldn’t even know, but I am one of those people.

I thought I had lost my words. It was one of the emptiest, most terrifying feelings, and I could feel the weight of it on my heart. I thought I had lost my words, and I didn’t know where to find them.

One of the strange paradoxes of life is society’s simultaneous insistence that you should “accept yourself for who you are" and also that you should constantly try to improve. 

My first memory of my mom’s drug usage was when I was 10. I was taking a shower in her bathroom when I pulled a perfectly folded towel off the rack and a mirror, knife, and small white baggie came with it. 

Throughout my pregnancy, my OB appointments have been somewhat of a disappointment. Once you get over the initial rush of your first ultrasound, doppler, and measurement, the appointments start to feel rushed. 

One day, I woke up and all my friends were gone. It wasn’t a bad dream – it was adulthood and I wasn’t a fan. After college, my friends left – chasing new experiences after graduation.

I sat on my bed with my back against the wall while I stared into the nothingness that was my room and breathed deep. I had recently broken up with my boyfriend of five plus years and was single for the first time in my adult life.

No matter how much you read or how many sisters or friends have babies, nothing can prepare you for the crazy shit that happens to your body. 

It's been one year since I wrote my piece for your magazine and what a year it has been. January last year was the beginning of my recovery and last month I celebrated one year into my recovery. 

We spend our entire lives getting ready. From the moment we wake up, we are in the process of readying ourselves for the day.