The holiday season tends to come with its fair share of cheers, toasts, and clinking glasses. I, too, found myself savoring a bit too much wine, beer, and brunch mimosas. Enter Dry January – a commitment to 31 days sans alcohol. Joined by friends and colleagues, the challenge felt both personal and communal.

The Journey: 28 Days Strong:

For 28 days, I embraced the alcohol-free lifestyle with surprising ease. It was a revelation: I discovered more willpower within me than I had thought possible. The support of friends on the same journey added an extra layer of support, making the challenge feel like a shared triumph.

A Detox for Body and Soul:

What started as a resolution turned out to be a form of self-love. The detox wasn’t just for my body it was also an opportunity to keep exploring my habits and how I take care of myself. Clear-headed and energized, I felt appreciation for the resilience of my body and its capacity for positive change.

A Recap from my Journey:

1. It turns out I’m Not an Alcoholic! Taking a break allowed me to assess my relationship with alcohol, reassuring me that I’m not an alcoholic and making me reassess my drinking habits. If you have ever wondered If you are drinking too much alcohol, here is a resource from AA where you can take the test that only you can take, to know if you might need help with your drinking habits.
2. Unveiling Willpower: I learned that I have more willpower than I thought, some days my husband and friends were having a beer or a drink and I remain true to my commitment!
3. Social Pressures and Norms: The challenge prompted me to question other habits driven by societal expectations – what else could benefit from a mindful reset?
4. Pride in Self-Respect: Completing the challenge left me feeling proud, a testament to showing my body the love and respect it deserves.
5. Track your progress: Something happens in the brain every day that I’m marking and keeping track of my progress. On a blank page, I wrote the tittle DRY JANUARY! Added 31 blank circles, and every day I didn’t drink I colored in one circle!

Post-January Reflections: While I couldn’t refuse a good glass of wine while I traveled to Madrid on day 29, I embraced it without guilt. Now, I’ve reintroduced occasional indulgences, understanding that moderation is key. I’ve learned that periodic “dry” months can be important to reset my body and mind.

Closing Thoughts: Dry January taught me that self-love extends beyond the physical to the choices we make. As I continue my journey, I wonder, what other acts of self-love can I incorporate into my life? How do you show your body the love it deserves?
I also want to say, that in addition to doing this challenge with friends, an amazing tool that helped me track my progress, was this simple journal, like the ones that you can find at the TYSAH store

The post “Sipping on Self-Love: My Journey through Dry January” appeared first on TYSAH.

It all started with those persistent back pains that felt far from ordinary. My body tried to tell me something, so I decided to listen. I visited my doctor, requesting a sonogram of my ovaries, suspecting cysts due to PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) might be behind the discomfort. But the sonogram revealed something unexpected – a mass in my uterus.

The initial 45-minute procedure turned into a two-hour surgery as the doctors found multiple masses in my uterus that hadn’t appeared on the initial scan. The diagnosis that followed was a shock- Endometrial Hyperplasia with Atypia. It meant the masses were not cancerous at that moment but pre-cancerous.

The idea of “pre-cancerous” sent a shiver down my spine. The long-term solution suggested was a hysterectomy. In case you’re wondering, a hysterectomy is the surgical removal of the uterus, effectively ending any hope of bearing children. This heavy blow brought profound grief, anger, and sadness, especially considering my ongoing dream of biological motherhood.

Adding to the emotional turmoil, I endured a month of uncertainty and anxiety from when they discovered the mass to the surgery date. It was a month of not knowing what was growing inside me.

In the end, I faced a challenging decision. I chose to undergo a painful Mirena IUD implant procedure. This IUD offered temporary relief by releasing hormones to halt the growth of these ominous masses, although it wasn’t a lasting solution.

Now, I continue to focus on rebuilding my physical health and strength while exploring all available options. My community has been my unwavering support system throughout this emotional journey. TYSAH, or “Treat Your Self And Heal,” has meant altar work, deepening my spiritual practice, finding solace in nature through hikes with friends, hiring an Attunement Coach, and drawing strength from my community. It’s been a whirlwind of doctor’s appointments, experimenting with various medications, including herbal remedies, and understanding the importance of rest in this process.

Listening to my body and being proactive about my health led me to this discovering this before it became cancerous. While it’s been a challenging road, I’m determined to heal and explore every avenue available to me. Thank you for being on this journey with me, TYSAH community. Let’s continue to heal together.

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Because the rage was more internal, my healing had to be internal too. Affirmations became a part of my daily ritual, even if I didn’t believe them then. I began reading more and checking in with myself more; mind, body, and spirit. Admittedly I threw myself into work which we can argue wasn’t good for me, but at the moment, it’s what I needed. A distraction from the pain. So yes, I’d say it was healing but not sustainable. 

Kevin and I still grieve our babies, but every day we show up in a way that we hope would make them proud. We are committed to our babies and to ourselves, and that, for us, looks like being committed to this healing journey. We still talk about them and honor them with physical mementos and rituals. We honor eachother as parents and celebrate mother’s and father’s days because our babies made us parents. And you can’t tell us that Apollo, our Goldendoodle is not their 3rd sibling. Apollo has helped us heal in so many ways. We honor our rough days while still being hopeful for the future; when the time comes for us to raise a child, we will be prepared. 

Although Kevin and I are at the center of these efforts, our lift would’ve been so much heavier if it weren’t for the support of our community which includes people who don’t even know us. It’s been six years since we lost KDB, and we are still being held up by our community. We still get texts on anniversaries and meals sent to our house. Just last month, I received a teddy bear, a bracelet with footprints, and a K pendant from Project B.E.A.R, which gives bears to anyone grieving the loss of a baby free of charge. This nonprofit also provides resources for families grieving the loss of an infant, pregnancy, or navigating infertility. Their gift in honor of our babies was exactly what I needed this year. These gestures remind us that our babies have not been forgotten. This is continued healing. 

We are not the first, and unfortunately, we will not be the last to know this pain. And although I know this pain, I also know the healing that comes when people support you as you navigate life with loss. It’s why TYSAH Overcoming was created. It’s why I’m writing this blog. Thank you for bearing witness to this part of my healing journey. Thank you for keeping our babies in your heart. Thank you for being a part of this healing community. Thank you. 

Read previous blog posts:
Go to Part I
Go to Part II
Go to Part III
Go to Part IV

The post In Honor Of My Babies – Gabriela Overcoming Part V appeared first on TYSAH.

Our nurses assured us we could stay in the room for as long as we wanted to and let us know that later that day, we would be visited by a social worker who would help us navigate setting up arrangements for our son. The nurses checked in on Kevin and me equally and gave us privacy as we allowed our bodies to release the anguish through tears. This was healing.

The hospital staff cleaned our baby and handed him over to us. He was dressed in a tiny hat and gown made especially for premature babies by amazing volunteers from a nonprofit called Angel Outfitters, who didn’t even know us. He was wrapped in two blankets, and we were gifted his hands and feet prints which would later become memorial tattoos for Kevin and me. What a gift. They also took pictures of our sweet boy and gifted us a memorial box with mementos to honor our son. The photos they had taken were already printed and gently placed in the box. Photos that are now treasures. This was healing. 

Kevin’s parents arrived at the hospital shortly after KDB was handed to us, and they stayed strong for us despite also feeling the heartbreak. My eldest brother drove an hour to see us at 3:00 am to give his baby sister a much-needed hug and kept my other brother and sister in the loop. My sister, who had also lost her first baby boy at 18 weeks pregnant several years prior, was with me over the phone, and we grieved together, honoring our babies and hoping they would find each other in heaven. She encouraged me to spend as much time as possible with our son, despite the pain, because these moments were still precious. She guided me and held me even from afar in a way no one else could. She, unfortunately, understood my pain. I write this in honor of her baby too. This was healing. 

After a few hours, we came to terms, at least for a moment, that we could not keep our son forever, and it was time to make decisions for his arrangements. Our son would be cremated, and his remains would be returned to us in a few weeks. The social worker was kind and reiterated that we could stay with our son for as long as necessary. Handing KDB over to the funeral home was incredibly painful, but at that moment, I was a mother doing what was best for my child despite my torment. Once KDB left the room, I no longer wanted to be there. It was now the room I had lost my son in, and I wanted to jump out of my skin the longer we were there.  Kevin and I returned home, and I lost it. I wanted to break everything in sight but settled for furiously punching our living room couch. Thankfully I had the most patient and understanding husband (boyfriend at the time) because he stood by my side as I fell apart and gently put the pieces together when I was ready. This moment of rage was healing too. 

The next day my mom was on the first flight to California to be with me, and Kevin’s mother immediately began planning our son’s funeral. The ceremony was bittersweet, but we showed up for our son and honored his life despite his short time with us. This was healing. 

Our loved ones honored him too. My best friend’s mom had birth announcements made for KDB and gifted me a beautiful necklace with his initials. My sorority sister sent me vegan cookies, and I received beautiful messages from loved ones who didn’t expect me to reply. During one of my lowest moments, when Kevin was out of town, one of my best friends drove 8 hours to sit with me for two and drove back in time for work. I believe she saved my life that day. This was healing. 

I began working with a therapist a few months later, specializing in grief, because I was still incredibly angry at God and my dad, and I was no longer speaking to either. Through our work, I began opening myself up to dialogue with my dad. Before my son’s death, I would speak to my dad daily. Even though he was no longer here physically, I felt his presence and knew he was watching over me. Since losing my son, I didn’t want to talk about him, let alone talk to him. Until I finally had a dream with him. He was sitting at the top of a snowy mountain. It was nighttime, but the moonlight was shining right on him. I could see him clearly sitting in a wheelchair, and I marched right up to him. I didn’t say a word to him. I used all the rage I had inside me to push him off the mountain as hard as I could. Then I received a phone call from my sister telling me that my dad was dead and someone had pushed him over the mountain. I began to cry hysterically, and then my dad reappeared. I buried my face in his chest and apologized for pushing him. In between sobs, I explained that I was just SO ANGRY, but I didn’t mean to hurt him. He held me as I cried, reassuring me that he understood. I woke up from the dream with a soaked pillow case and a new perspective on my grief. I recognized then that if my dad could’ve saved my son, he would’ve. This was healing. 

Read from the beginning here – Go to Part I
Read the next and final part – Go to Part V

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Once we got to the ER, I approached the attendant and told her I needed help because I was in labor. “Congratulations!” she exclaimed, smiling and seemingly genuinely happy for me. “No,” I replied, it’s too soon, I’m only 6 months pregnant. Her face went from happiness to dread, and they took me to the labor and delivery floor immediately. Kevin was by my side, assuring me that everything would be okay, and although I kept my mind set on that hope, deep down, I knew it was too soon. 

We were put in a room, and I was immediately hooked up to a machine that would check his heartbeat through a wire wrapped around my stomach. There was silence, and my heart sank. From the beginning, during every check-in, my doctor commented on how strong our baby’s heartbeat was. Today there was silence. “His heart isn’t beating,” I told the nurse. “Well, let’s check one more thing, dear, just breathe,” she said, appearing calm and collected. “I’m so sorry, Kevin! I’m so so sorry,” I cried as he held my head. “Babe, stop, don’t apologize. We still don’t know what’s happening,” he replied. But I knew. I could no longer feel my son. It was too soon.

“I think it’s time to deliver,” the nurse interjected. They wheeled me to what would be my labor and delivery room. Within seconds a doctor was there with more nurses, and as he was preparing to help me deliver my precious son, he paused and said, “I’m sorry we could not locate a heartbeat from your son, and his foot is visible. I am so sorry for your loss, but we need to deliver him.” My heart shattered, I looked at Kevin, and I could tell his heart was shattered too. Tears streaming down both our eyes, I apologized again. Our baby would not be coming home with us. His lungs weren’t fully developed, and his little body couldn’t survive being out in the world yet. He was born in the early hours of February 27th. Before the sun rose that day, Kevin and I were forever changed.

He was so precious and looked identical to his father. They had the same shaped head, the same forehead vein, the same shaped eyes, and long hands and big feet. I was not surprised. I knew KDB would be his father’s twin. Seeing Kevin hold our baby was bittersweet. I dreamed of this day when I would be able to enjoy seeing the man I loved spending time with our baby, holding him and loving on him but this, this was cruel. I felt so many emotions but was somehow just numb. Our baby was gone. I had failed as his mother to keep him safe, and he was gone. I was filled with rage and felt so much disgust with a body that didn’t keep him safe. I felt anger. So much anger. I felt shame and felt disconnected from myself. I wanted to jump out of my skin!! Why the hell would my dad not protect my baby? Why did he show up celebrating our baby and not protect his baby girl from this unimaginable heartbreak? I was furious! How could my doctor not see this coming? Why would God do this? Why did my body fail me?! I was drowning in questions with no answers other than the reality of what was. My son was dead, and I had no clue how to move forward.

Read from the beginning – Go to Part I and Part II Here
Read the next part – Go To Part IV and Go to Part V

The post <strong> In Honor Of My Babies – Gabriela Overcoming Part III <strong> appeared first on TYSAH.

Our families and friends were just as excited. This pregnancy was a cause for celebration, and celebrate we did! Kevin’s parents took us by surprise by announcing our pregnancy to a house full of relatives and friends during thanksgiving dinner. Given that some relatives had just met me that day, this was a huge shock, but nonetheless, they welcomed me into the family with open arms. My siblings were ecstatic when I shared the news and asked them to wait to tell mom until we came to visit. My mom was in Virginia at the time, and I lived in California, and we were planning to surprise her with the news in person. As the baby of the family, it seemed as though everyone was looking forward to welcoming “their baby’s baby.” Even my dad, who had passed away less than two years prior, showed up in my dreams with a huge smile on his face carrying a cake and bottles of alcohol and ready to drive me to a party he had planned for us. I woke from the dream feeling that my baby and I were safe and protected. After all, my dad was in heaven looking over us! 

Although we were excited, we decided to keep this news private until we got closer to our baby’s due date, and when we found out he would be a boy, we called all our loved ones one by one to officially share that our baby had a name, Kevin Dagoberto Brown. Kevin after his daddy and paternal grandfather, and Dagoberto after my dad and brother. Everything was perfect. All that was left was to share the news with my mom. 

Kevin and I made the trip to Virginia and gathered all the kids (my nieces, nephews, and God babies) to join in on Abuela’s surprise. My siblings and childhood friend made signs for the babies to hold, sharing the news with their abuela that another grandchild would be added to her list of heartbeats. My best friend’s mother, a second mother to me, sat with my mom holding her hand as she started putting the pieces together one by one until finally receiving a framed ultrasound in a gift bag from my God-daughter, telling her that I was pregnant. She immediately broke down in tears, thanking God for answering our prayers. I say OUR prayers because we all prayed for this child. We all yearned for this child; he was finally on his way. My heart was whole, the baby was healthy and growing, and I knew he was feeling the love. Kevin and I returned to California ready to be the best parents to our son and hopeful for what was to come. 

Time was flying, my belly was growing, my nose was widening, and I was glowing. KDB, as we lovingly called him, was so active, especially whenever I ate mangoes, mangoes were his favorite, and he told me by doing what felt like flips whenever I would eat them. He grew so fast and made me sleep so much that I knew he would be tall like his daddy. Despite the exhaustion, I wanted to be as healthy and strong as possible, so I stayed active. I would walk in the mornings and at night and no matter the time his daddy never let us leave the house without his reflector belt. We were so careful. 

Despite our precautions, in the early hours of February 27th 4 months before his due date, I woke up to excruciating back pains and an urge to use the bathroom. I sprung out of bed and made my way to the restroom. Kevin must have felt the urgency because, within seconds, he was at the bathroom door as my water broke. “We need to go to the ER. I think I’m in labor.” 

Read Part I Again

Read Part III

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My whole life, even as a child, everything I did or wanted to do was to be a better mother. I wanted to go to school to get a good job and to be able to afford all the babies I could have and adopt. I wanted to have experiences to share with my kids. I wanted to love myself to love my kids better. Everything. 

I just couldn’t imagine a world where I didn’t have babies. “Not even one, God?” My mind was flooded with questions that I didn’t have answers to. Everyone around me was trying not to get pregnant, and my mind was confused and overwhelmed, stuck between not wanting to get pregnant now and not wanting to face the possibility of never having a baby. “Did I do something wrong?” 

My native language is transparency. If someone seemed even remotely interested in pursuing a relationship with me, I’d sprinkle in conversations of infertility as if we were talking about the weather. But in your early twenties, talks about children seem so far off that it was often met with a simple “okay.” As I got older, I began focusing on my health. I learned how I could heal my body with medicine, mindfulness, exercise, and nutrition. I began working out, training for a half marathon, and feeling great physically. PCOS was still there, but I stopped centering it in my world. The conversations about infertility became more serious with acceptance vs. avoidance. There was no minimizing it. It was what it was and I had fallen so in love with myself that I knew I’d be a great mother, like mother earth and community mothers, even if not biologically. 

“So… There’s something important I need to tell you. There’s a chance, because of my PCOS, that I may not be able to get pregnant. I am okay with it. I’ve been coming to terms with it for seven years, but I want to let you know so you can decide whether or not you want to pursue a serious relationship with me that could lead to you wanting to have kids. It’s more likely that I can’t; not biologically, anyways.“ A long pause followed, but the pressure in his hug did not change; I still felt safe, so I waited. 

“Thank you for letting me know. I can’t give you a concrete answer right now. What I know is that I really like you and still want to pursue you and see where this goes. We can talk more about that as we get to know each other more.” Kevin was the first man I’ve ever felt completely safe with. We had only known each other a month when we had this conversation, but I knew he was the real deal. “Oooof,” I thought, “It’d be awesome to bring another him into this world.”

One month turned into four months of being in the healthiest relationship of my life when I began feeling different physically. “You’re not pregnant, are you?” my brother asked after I mentioned it to my brother. “No! I mean. I can’t. I mean, I don’t think so.” With this possibility planted in my head, I went to the store and purchased a pregnancy test. 

I almost passed out when, within seconds, I saw the word “PREGNANT” pop up on the test, again on the second and on the third. There was nothing else left to do but to call Kevin. “Babe… Um, guess what?” I held my breath. “You’re pregnant?” Kevin asked. “Yes!” I yelled. “Alright!” He said, “Let’s do this!

Part II To be continued… 

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