Sometime in 2017, I stumbled into the The Poetry Marathon and signed up to do the "half" or 12 poems in 12 hours. Sadly, a series of events by the creators of this awesomeness meant they weren't going to be able to do it in 2018. I forgot all about it until recently when I saw a call on one of the many writers submissions group I'm in. I loved the energy, the camaraderie and the challenge of creating a poem, following their prompts and uploading it before the hour was up. 
Naturally, when I saw they had returned and were going to be doing another anthology call, I jumped at the chance to redo this experience. This time, however, I am aiming to do 24 poems. A full marathon. 
Honestly, the other day, my husband said he hadn't seen me so excited and happy in a while. It was after I got on a call with my sister and we were brainstorming and exchanging ideas for this Filipino folklore I've been saying I want to do. Writing stories gets me so excited, and I'm only sorry that I don't do it quite often. 
Anyhow, the marathon starts this Sunday and I am pumped!
​Write on, friends!
​

I'm a terrible liar. When I tell a lie, I know my eyes twitch and I can't look at whoever I'm lying to in the eyes. I'm pretty sure I stammer a bit or bite my lip as soon as I've uttered untruth. 

So whenever my children asks me a question - about death, about the world around them, about the candy stash in my purse - I have to swallow the reply to make sure I've filtered it for their little hearts. 
Sometimes, it works, and they accept the lie. Sometimes they frown and demand the truth (or the chocolate). 
There are times when I respond and then make this passionate speech about the truths (as I see them/interpret them) and by the time I'm done, I know I've either confused my children, or opened up their world of innocence just a little bit to let clouds come in. 

I've been glued to the news for the past few days. It's one of the most unhealthiest thing you can do. But I can't help it. I've been soaking in the hurt, cursing a little out loud in anger and trying my hardest to find God in the midst of the chaos. 
When my children sees the news, they ask what's happening. They wonder why there are marches and fires, what the chants mean and why people are screaming. 

I told them it's because black people are tired of being judged and killed for the color of their skin.
I told them that a black man died just because he went out jogging.
I told them that a police officer who should be protecting people made an evil choice and took a life. 

I told them people are angry and hurt and exhausted. 
I wish I knew a better response. 

I wish I could shelter them from hate. I know there will be a time when they'll be asked a seemingly benign question of  "where are you from," but really the truth is they're fishing for confirmation that you're different, a 'foreigner,' and your answer confirms that they could tell from far away that you're not from here.
That you don't belong. 

I wish I could hold their hand and tell them that they won't be judged because of their skin color. 
But the truth is that they will be. They won't see the preemie fighters, or the sweet boy and his precious big sister, they'll see a brown Mexican boy and a brown girl. 

And then I think about my own shortcomings and the way I brush off people. I think about the circle of friends and people I surround myself with; mostly white, Middle class women. I know of 2 black women in my mom circle and I rarely see both of them (mostly thanks to nursing school, and travels). I'm the lone Asian in my book club. And I can count on one hand, how many Hispanics I'm friends with in this upper middle class suburbia I'm in. 

I need my son and my daughter to be proud of their mixed heritage and their rich culture.
I need them to understand their privileges and to make sure they are able to help those around them who do not. 

I need to educate not just myself but the generation I am raising to do better and to listen to stories that aren't ours to tell.
We need to amplify the voices on the screen screaming for justice and take our voices to the polls.

If you have this urge to reach out to the nearest POC (person of color)  in your life about what this all means, please pause. They are tired of having to explain themselves...again. There exists a plethora of information, if you google it. I recommend you start here at "Be the Bridge," as they have educational resources, books, podcasts and movies that can educate you about racial injustice and inequality. 
If you know of any other resources, please list them! 

https://bethebridge.com/ - which serves to "Inspire people to have a distinctive and transformative response to racial division and be present and intentional toward racial reconciliation. Equip bridge-builders toward fostering and developing vision, skills, and heart for racial healing, and partner with existing organizations who have a heart for racial justice, restoration, and reconciliation.

https://diversebooks.org/ - We Need Diverse Books™ is a 501(c)(3) non-profit and a grassroots organization of children’s book lovers that advocates essential changes in the publishing industry. Our aim is to help produce and promote literature that reflects and honors the lives of all young people.

https://thelovelandfoundation.org/Loveland Foundation is committed to showing up for communities of color in unique and powerful ways, with a particular focus on Black women and girls. Our resources and initiatives are collaborative and they prioritize opportunity, access, validation, and healing. We are becoming the ones we’ve been waiting for.
http://www.shadesofblueproject.org/index.html - The Shades of Blue Project is dedicated to breaking cultural barriers in maternal mental health by raising awareness and ensuring action is taken to break the stigma surrounding seeking treatment in the minority community when experiencing complications after childbirth. We do this by helping women before, during and after child-birth with maternal mental health advocacy, treatment and support. 

​It also welcomed strength, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. There would be no crying at our reality or our missed bonding time as you were wheeled away into a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) over an hour away. Instead, I had to summon whatever will and adrenaline coursing through my body and demanded it heal so I can be closer to my heart. Tears would come later. And as I sadly learned, tears would come in waves that crippled and made me wonder where that strength went all those days and weeks I spent by your isolate in the NICU.

I don’t know for sure how I lived to see you celebrate your first birthday, when every image I’d see, you were surrounded by tubes and wires and your heart monitor constantly beeping.
Somehow I did learn to move freely. I learned to save my tears in the shower. I learned to whisper prayers of gratitude every night as I watched you sleep.
As I started to accept the idea that there would only be the three of us - you, me and your dad - I learned I was again expecting.
This did not bring me joy. I met this news with anger and I tried for a long time to be happy. You were a beautiful four year old. I survived our first year and I was becoming less afraid of your future.
When I heard the heartbeat, I didn’t want to know the sex. I couldn’t give this heart a name.
I didn’t want to write to-do lists and there was no dream like stupor, either. I was a mom on a mission and my mission was to live so I could go home to you and our life.

​I thought I welcomed him in my arms. I thought I kissed his head as he was wheeled to the NICU. I thought I was doing okay until I wasn’t.
Until I didn’t hear him crying even when he was next to me.
Until suddenly, the idea of leaving you and him seemed like a rational action.
Motherhood has defined me in ways I never knew I'd be defined by.
While I knew motherhood gives you a different identity and purpose. Mine came with a two time Preeclampsia survivor, a parent to premature babies, and NICU graduates. I also had to include on postpartum depression survivor - an identity that I didn’t know I’d endure and survive.
​
And while the story of ours is still writing itself, I am hopeful that you and your brother can overcome any obstacles in life. After all, the strength I had to push through my storms were reflected in your eyes. You gave me courage. I choose to live bravely because of you. My purpose isn’t to understand why the story of ours began the way it did but how our story could give a voice and comfort to another.

For more of my preeclampsia and postpartum depression story, please see here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B073MVG4R4/
**preeclampsia survivor mamas + postpartum depression survivors, please message me for your free copy**

I miss blogging and I hate the idea of starting completely over because 
1.) I don't have time for that - let's be honest
2.) I don't have the monetary funds to restart, buy another domain, etc.

So I'm reconstructing this website - originally intended to separate my writing about life and the silly little accomplishments like a poem being published.....not that its silly, I just wanted to form barriers for myself. But the thing I've learned over the past few years is that it's actually quite exhausting to separate things. I am a writer. I've blogged my way through preeclampsia, anxiety and depression. I am an author and I've been so excited to share new books, new poems, etc. 

If Covid has taught me anything, it's that I need an outlet so badly. I've gone stir crazy. I've been on edge and barely hanging on. 

So off to the blogging world I go. I haven't decided where I'm going with this. But this is better than nothing; better than the urge to scream every day. 

Anyway, here's an update: 
- Love, Defined will be available for 99cents May 29th - June 2nd!

So excited to announce that my book, Love, Defined, is now part of a romance collection! You get 1 price for 5 books to get your romance reading on. 

​I am fully embracing living and sharing my story - whether that means that I get to retell the same thing over and over again like a broken record; or figuring out how to navigate this fire and put it into words. 
I am pumped. I'm excited to do something MORE. 
I started finding opportunities that I know I can handle and commit to and among them was to speak to someone from ACOG (Am College of Obs and Gyn) about my preeclampsia and postpartum depression story. We spoke for over an hour about how we absolutely adore the new life (infant) while simultaneously forgetting about the one that made it (mom). We pass her over. We don't see mom. We see the most adorable cherub that we can't wait to cuddle and hold. We look past mom's sometimes harried appearance and go straight for the questions that sting: "how's breastfeeding going?" - I can't tell you how many moms dread this question. Breastfeeding is hard and the picture we have are these lovely breastfeeding moments, bonding moments, and not the crying, cracked bleeding nipples of the before or the surrender of not measuring up.
"are you excited to no longer be pregnant?"
"how long is your maternity leave?" followed by, "too bad, you can't stay home," or "you're so lucky you get to stay home."
We are measured by how much we can handle.
And then guilted into believing that super moms exist and we are far far from holding our own.

The things that continue to strike me are the tears that find its way down my face, the way my voice breaks or changes in octave. I had hoped that almost four years later, my courage takes hold over me. I had prayed that I can look back in awe at my own strength and bravery.....instead of reminding myself of past fears. In order words, I had really hoped to be over all of it by now, but time hasn't softened or healed my wounds of having 2 traumatic births. I may not recall every small detail but my broken heart finds its way to paint my nightmare.

So I told her that I am in the midst of the "after." There was life before NICU, before preeclampsia, before anxiety......but I am no longer welcomed there. Life in the "after NICU, after preeclampsia, after postpartum depression," is slow and measured. My movements calculated to avoid potential triggers. Life in the "after" consists of giving daily thanks and hugs and a quick reminder that we are all here. All three of us, my daughter, my son and myself. We're present and not figments of my imagination. 
​

What happens now is laying down the foundation of helping mamas feel less alone after their storms. If all I ever write about is poetry on motherhood, preeclampsia, postpartum depression...... then I am thankful for those moments and use those lived in experiences to tell my story. It's not over yet. 

I'm told it's easier to break this list down. 
For January:
1.) Read 2-3 books
(Currently listening to I am Malala and Handmaid's Tale is our book club pick for January). 
2.) Visit 2 museums
(already met when we went to Lone Star Flight Museum and Play Street Museum)
3.) Submit to 2 - 3 different publications. 
(As of now, I've printed out 2 lit magazines submission guidelines). 
4.) Walk 20 miles this month! 
5.) 1 thing that scares me: ask this moms' group if I can share my testimony.....I'll let you know how that goes!!

What are your goals this year? Do you break it down to a more manageable list? 
​Happy reading and writing, friends! 

November is coming up and it's always been rough. One the one hand, it's Prematurity Awareness month. The day before I see images of cute 'trick-or-treaters' and then all of a sudden, my feed is inundated with mamas and pictures of their preemies. I remember it all over again; the NICU, the isolette, the alarms and my two premature babies.
On the other hand, I post my gratitudes as a daily reminder that I am here. They are here. It's helped me over the years but I still second guess the 'why NOT me?' 'why NOT US?' that survivors often wrestle with. 
A few weekends ago, I attended the Champions for Change summit and I heard so so so many stories of near misses. 
I was lucky.
My OB knew at 26 weeks and told me that my birth plan needed to change. 
She knew at 31 weeks that I was not doing my care at home and I needed to be on strict hospital bed rest. 
She knew when it was time to deliver Ellie. And because of her, I knew to do my research. 
I advocated for myself and knew to seek a high risk pregnancy doc for the second one. 
I knew to do my daily blood pressure readings and let the nurses know when it would spike above average. 
I knew to pay attention to my body and knew at 34 weeks and change that my headache, my blurry vision and high blood pressure reading meant it was time to go. 
And the nurse who triaged me in the emergency room knew to call my doctor and start prepping the labor and delivery room. 
Women who knew versus others who didn't know or couldn't have known or choose not to listen. 
I was lucky. 
And I count my daily thanks. 
But that doesn't mean it has gotten easier. I've often heard well intentioned friends and family asking, "why are you not over it? it's been years." How could I get over trauma so easily when I see my trauma daily? When I hold my what-ifs daily? When I take my miracle to her monthly hematologist and wonder was it because of her being premature? Because of my preeclampsia that caused this blood disorder? What did she do to deserve every bruised arm from nurses who can't find her veins? 
Was it because of me? 
And so the guilt keeps coming back around and around, 

I can change guilt from weighing me down and make it become something. I can funnel my words for change, I've been so inspired about the stories I heard and I know my story can't stop now. Especially, since looking around the room, I never saw another 'me.' I saw so many white women and I wonder why there was so few black women? Why so few latinas? Why not another one of me? Another Filipina. 
Where are we in the community of mental health advocates and preeclampsia survivors? 

So next month is also National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I'm still converting my novelette into a Christmas themed novella. I started on it a few weeks ago and then my ever so distracted brain decided to put it down and start working on a journal prompt book idea for mamas. Motherhood is tough and we so desperately need community. I want my community to be filled with Filipina mamas navigating mental health challenges, life after diagnosis - be it a preeclampsia diagnosis or postpartum diagnosis. I want community and I want it filled with mamas that look like me. 

So I don't exactly know what that looks like.
But I do know that I am lucky to be surrounded by women who do. I just need to get over the guilt and grab some courage and ask questions. 
What are you working on friends?
Any other passion you have that you can incorporate writing into? 

It's September but in Texas, we are still figuring out how to cool off in 100 degree weather. I've been itching to take my fall decor out, but I can't find the motivation to pull out fake pumpkins and autumn leaves when I'm clearly drenched in sweat. 

Looking back on June - August goals: 

1.) Work on self - promotion more and not apologize for it. Did I actually do any type of promoting? My blank royalty checks say no (I get an email and a breakdown for the month). I haven't been feeling motivated to do these either. But I need money and I'm sure my indie publisher would appreciate if I put in any effort! 

 2.) READ. I read quite a bit this summer. 6 books total: 5 fiction, 1 nonfiction. The 
This reminded me that I needed to do the reviews for all of them. 

3.) REVIEW. see above. However, they are on goodreads, so does that count??

3.) Work on one short story with my little girl. Sadly, we never did get to work on our short story together. She did start a little cartoon about it!

1.) Actually work on self-promotion. 
2.) Read and catch up on my reviews. 
3.) Visit a writing critique/group. Perhaps being surrounded by other writers will get me motivated enough to write!

Other things to motivate: inquire about the pieces that were accepted for publication but haven't heard back from the publishers, even though they've said they'll get back to me in August. 
That's all for now. 

As we are winding down from summer and looking towards fall and winter, please know that September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. This is a reminder to be kind to yourself and to the people around you. You never know what someone is going through. We cover up all sorts of pain and madness to fit in. 
Know that you are not alone. 
**the following information below was taken from NAMI**

• If you or someone you know is in an emergency, call 911 immediately.
• If you are in crisis or are experiencing difficult or suicidal thoughts, call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273 TALK (8255)
• If you’re uncomfortable talking on the phone, you can also text NAMI to 741-741 to be connected to a free, trained crisis counselor on the Crisis Text Line.

I'm always here, if you need me. I hope you know that. I'm not a trained counselor, but I can listen and offer a shoulder. Whether you want to reach out via email: tuallaleila@gmail.com or private message me on any of my social media handles on twitter, instagram or facebook, please reach out. 

I really do miss blogging and from time to time, I revisit the old blog (tuallaleila.blogspot.com) and go through each post waiting in the draft pile. I haven't made the jump to fully revive it. Whenever I feel like I'm in a "good" place to finally get down to writing and scheduling, something distracts me and I'm off. But I'd love to try again and per my wayward and distracted little personality, I'll blog once a week (Wednesdays) here and break that down into different series. A bit ambitious for me, but I'm up for anything! 
So today, I present the first in my motherhood series. I'm a mama and I love getting to know other mamas to find tips and tricks and "hacks" or basic survival + wine stories. One of the things I'm exploring is this need to simultaneously leave the house and make needed friendships or stay in pjs all day long and entertain myself + kids because friendships, especially in your mid-30s are complex and truly an effort for everyone on board. 

But so much is made about needing/having a "tribe." What do you do when you don't have one? I've lived in Houston for almost 5 years and it took a while for me to find friends. I signed up for our neighborhood book club, left the book club, got invited to another one, left that one only to form a solid crew of booknerds. We're a team comprised of single mamas, grandmas, working and stay at home mamas, and a single ladies. It's been a lovely connection but our only get togethers because of everyone's schedules are once a month. However it's always much appreciated and needed. 
I have done the "playdate thing" and walked around the playground hoping some other mom would look at me and go, huh, there's a friend. But it's always taken a few awkward tries to find the "right mom friend." It's almost like dating but you have to put not only your best foot forward but hope that your child gets along with theirs. 
Rather than continue to make this post into a whiney lamentation snippet, I will share my recent epiphany with you. It was the moment I knew I finally found the "right group." 
On one of our lovely book club monthly chat,  I was FINALLY comfortable enough to pour my heart out to one of my fellow booknerds and she said, "put me on the list." Whatever I need, whenever I needed help, if there is a list, put her there. I cried.

Isn't that something? For another person to listen to your brokenness and instead of giving advice or a talking to, she offered unconditional support.
Put me on the list to add when you need a shoulder.
Put me on the list for when you need a break to breathe.
Put me on the list for anything. 
Mamas, if you have no one - put me on the list. I am an email or a message away. I offer a shoulder. A stranger to vent to, judgement free. A prayer warrior for when you need to be lifted up and loved up on.