Aleea Whitmire
Bio
Domestic violence survivor, recovered addict with 2 years clean, mom, wife, caregiver, dog mom, cat mom.
Stories (9/0)
Dear Self
Dear self, It's been three weeks since your emergency brain surgery and things have been hard. Really damn hard. Today as you were looking into the mirror, I noticed you run your hands over your scars and the air left your stomach. You felt it as I whispered "we are okay" but I don't think you believed me. I want you to understand, that I can't lie to you. Okay, that's not true. I can tell you that another piece of cake doesn't matter if no one sees you eat it, I can say that all of that bull you buy with inspirational quotes that you hang on the walls actually makes us feel better, and I can tell you that the people around us aren't scared to say the wrong thing with every breath but we both know deep down when I'm lying. And today, I'm not. WE ARE GOING TO BE OKAY.
By Aleea Whitmire5 years ago in Longevity
No Reason to Be Depressed
I have ALWAYS struggled with my mental health. Even as a young teenager. Postpartum and circumstance pushed me to the edge, and was in the process of shoving me off. Three years ago someone extended a hand and pulled me back from the edge and into the best hug of my life. From that day forward, everything was extraordinary. Now I don't mean fancy cars or parties in big houses or anything along those lines. I mean he listened to me, he laughed with me, he made me feel safe, and he was everything I didn't have and everything I needed.
By Aleea Whitmire5 years ago in Psyche
If I Had Known Then
Dear teenage me, Slow down, sweet child, there is no rush to grow up so fast. You have your entire life to be a boring adult. I wish someone had told me how important these pre-adulthood years were. Well maybe they did, but I knew everything then.
By Aleea Whitmire5 years ago in Motivation
Her Final Lesson
My grandmother died at a point in my life where I wasn't very proud of myself. She was my best friend, my biggest fan, and one of the greatest loves of my life, although I didn't always know that. Growing up, everyone ended up at grandma's house at one time or another. She was the glue that held our family together and once she was gone so was the family we all knew. My biggest regret in my life is that she didn't get to be as proud of me, as I would have liked.
By Aleea Whitmire5 years ago in Families
When It Becomes Too Heavy
Domestic violence is like this country's dirty little secret. Everyone knows it is happening but, until it directly affects you or someone you love, it isn't talked about. There are many reasons why, such as embarrassment, shame, and even guilt; we are silenced. As little girls we are told that a boys is mean to you when 'he likes you' and that "boys will be boys." As we grow we are ingrained to accept that boys are rough, they can be mean, and that their affection can hurt. That is beyond unfair. He can't hurt you and love you at the same time.
By Aleea Whitmire6 years ago in Families
My Child Is Not Broken
"She doesn't look autistic," says the well-meaning person. "If I didn't know, I wouldn't even be able to tell," she says again as to lend me some sort of comfort in the appearance of my child. "What does 'autistic' look like?" I wonder to myself as I smile and say something passive such as "well she is". I know they mean the best. I know they want to help. They don't see her cry and cover her ears in shear terror because she can't find the things she had strategically placed. They don't notice her, outwardly shutter at the thought of a change in our everyday routine. I do. I am here when the dark clouds roll in and the ear-piercing screams begin. I have watched her watch 18 hours of a single Netflix show and endured hell when they removed it. I have sung the same song or commercial jingle over and over until I wanted to poke pencils deep into my ears to make it stop. But no, she doesn't LOOK autistic.
By Aleea Whitmire6 years ago in Families
Open Letter to My Abuser
Recently, in therapy I was given an assignment to write all the things unsaid to my abuser down, seal it in an envelope, and never send it to him. "Well what good does not sending it do?" you may ask. You see, this healing process is for me alone, not him. While I was instructed not to send it, I decided that I should publish it. The message in it holds a special meaning to me. You can't hold tight to the pain others have caused you without hurting yourself. I hope my letter finds you, wherever you are in your journey, and my words help you understand that forgiveness isn't for your abuser, but for yourself!
By Aleea Whitmire6 years ago in Viva
Why My Second Husband Is My Great Love
People love to tell you high school sweetheart love stories, stories of years of perfection, struggles, and a great love. Those stories are beautiful but, often not very honest. I married my "high school sweetheart" and it was not a beautiful love story, it was hard, exhausting, and abusive. We fought like we hated the sight of each other. He wanted to be a free spirit and never experience the restrictions of a job or bills. I wanted to be a regular person, with a career and a house. It took a lot of years for me to decide, I couldn't live through it anymore. Coming home to a house that didn't have electricity but had beer became so exhausting. Working myself to death to pay for another human's habits, while supporting a family of five, became infuriating.
By Aleea Whitmire6 years ago in Families
The First Time
His hands around my throat, gasping, scratching, pushing at him but, I couldn't get away. I could hear my daughter crying. Too young to understand but, she knew he was hurting me. When did it get this bad, why did I keep allowing it to happen? I am smarter than this. It wasn't always like this. We use to be semi happy. Two small children, a marriage, a life I thought would be mine. Was I ever good enough?
By Aleea Whitmire6 years ago in Viva
