HERE I AM: Trials, Trauma, and the Relentless Pursuit of Becoming

 

Hi.
Let’s back up—I didn’t even introduce myself.

I’m Beth.
Just a lady who's been through it. The kind of “through it” that doesn’t show up in shiny Instagram reels. The kind that leaves scars, stories, and a hell of a lot of strength.

I was way too young the first time I got married. Add a baby into the mix and suddenly I’m living 500+ miles away from home, playing military wife and trying to keep it together while learning how to adult in real time.

Plot twist? At seven months pregnant, I found out my then-husband was out here running his own community outreach program—countless women aside from me. Yep. That moment? That was the collapse. The "what the actual f*ck" moment. The one where everything flips upside down and the survival switch flips on.

So I did it solo for a while. Spoiler alert: that’s where The Barista comes in. If you’re wondering who that is—he’s now my husband. The one I swore I’d never marry. Life’s hilarious that way. After living together with my son and his, raising two boys in a borderless, blended family, we made it official on 12/13/14 at 15:00 hours. I know. Ridiculous and romantic.

Fast forward to 2017—the year that almost broke me.

I had gross, terrifying things growing inside my body. Doctors gave me that look. The one that says, “We don’t know what else to do.” So I made a decision—cut it all out. On June 29, 2017, I had my womanhood literally removed to save my life. Just like that, I was thrown into menopause in my early 30s like I tripped and fell into someone else’s nightmare. It was brutal. And it broke something in me. But it also woke something up.

That day? It became the start of my wellness journey. I stood up (bleeding, swollen, and stitched) and screamed into the universe:
“WE ARE NOT GOING TO DIE TODAY, SATAN!”

And I meant it.

See, I grew up in a conservative household. One that taught me to fit into a box I never felt comfortable in. Today? I rebuke that box. I believe in love. In living loudly and fully and messily. I don’t apologize for who I am, and I sure as hell won’t dim my light to make other people comfortable.

Let’s circle back to the hysterectomy.
It stole my ability to have more children. That wasn’t just a medical procedure—it was a funeral. And I’ve spent eight years grieving my womanhood. Crying quietly. Screaming loudly. Pretending I was fine when I wasn’t.

But in the last four years, I turned inward. I committed to me. Lost the weight, had VSG surgery, and started the hard, thankless battle of maintenance. And listen—I don’t care what your favorite influencer says—this shit is WORK. Daily work. Mental, physical, emotional.

Now my oldest is off at college, my youngest is 16, and suddenly the silence is loud. I feel the pull to stop grieving and keep healing. I’m not done. I’ve only just begun. OHH, I am in college right now as well.

I’ve embraced a growth mindset since 6/17/2017—the day I chose to live on purpose. And I’m not about to stop now.

Oh—and somewhere in all that? I became a special education teacher. Late bloomer, late career starter, but I made it happen. Just snagged a special populations consulting position with my district and—real talk? I have no idea what I’m doing. But guess what?

I.
Showed.
Up.

So here I am. A healing, thriving, chaos-surfing, real-talking, always-learning force of nature. You can take it. Or you can leave it.
But this is me.

And I’m just getting started.

-Beth B. Blissful