Let me tell you a story.
Not the glossy version people wrap in bows for the internet.
The raw one.
The real one.
The version you only get when someone is either incredibly brave or incredibly exhausted. Or, in my case, both.
If you’re new here — welcome.
You’re joining me in what I can only describe as the deep end of life. I’m currently a new mom navigating postpartum anxiety and depression. I work part-time just weeks after giving birth because I don’t have the luxury of paid maternity leave. I live in a town “so remote” that the nearest Target is 25 minutes away and the closest Chipotle is a pipe dream at 20 minutes. My husband is a neurosurgery resident.
And I am… still standing.
Barely.
But I am.
For those who have followed my story from the beginning, you know this vulnerability isn’t new. I’ve always been open here, sometimes too open. But for those of you just joining the ride, let me give you the context you need to understand why I write the way I do — and why I’m unafraid to ask for help.
Chapter 1: The Girl Who Raised Herself
I didn’t grow up wealthy.
I didn’t grow up with parents who understood FAFSA, SAT prep, or what “early decision” meant. My mom tried. She truly did. But emotional accountability wasn’t her strong suit.
My father?
He was abusive — physically, emotionally, psychologically. A textbook narcissist and a world-class womanizer. My childhood was loud in all the wrong ways.
When it came time to apply for college, I did it alone. My guidance counselor was useless. I had no scholarships because I wasn’t “gifted” enough on paper. But I got in. I went. I left home and I never looked back.
It wasn’t just college — it was an escape plan.
Chapter 2: The Messy Years
College didn’t magically fix me.
I carried my trauma like luggage.
I cycled through unhealthy relationships and played the victim without realizing that, in many ways, I was the problem. I didn’t know how to communicate. I didn’t know how to be vulnerable without bleeding. I was chaos masquerading as a woman trying her best.
Then I met him.
He was different.
Steady.
He worked a 9–5 job after college. He grounded me. And then one day, he dumped me.
He said something I’ll never forget:
“I’m sorry. I have to be selfish right now. I’m going back to school. I want to become a doctor.”
And just like that, he was gone.
I spiraled. I had abandonment issues — thanks, Dad. And I put all that pressure on someone who was only 23, still figuring himself out. He couldn’t carry it, and he shouldn’t have had to.
But something about that breakup cracked me open.
I started therapy.
I started healing.
Because deep down, I knew he was the one. But more importantly, I wanted to be the kind of woman who didn’t need someone to save her.
Chapter 3: Removing Resentment
He left to attend a post-bacc program. We weren’t together, but we stayed in each other’s orbit. Then came the MCAT. He came home to study. We tried again. It was still toxic. He left again.
And I? I built a blueprint.
I threw myself into work. I doubled my client load. I spent weekends and late nights chasing one thing: freedom. After 2.5 years total, I paid off $160,000 in student loans.
Sallie Mae had once taken more than my biweekly paycheck.
She had taken my joy.
My sleep.
My mental health.
But I took it all back.
Then I called him.
“I’m debt-free,” I told him. “And I want to try again — with you.”
Because now, I could love without resentment. I could show up without fearing that every sacrifice I made would be one-sided.
He used to say, “I’m afraid you’ll resent me while I’m in med school.”
And he wasn’t wrong to be afraid.
But anyone who’s clawed their way to financial freedom knows: when the weight is gone, the fog lifts. And in that clarity, I knew — I could finally give us an honest chance.
Chapter 4: Real Life, Real Love
Eventually, he and I made our way back to each other.
Slowly.
Cautiously.
I was still in therapy, still healing, and learning how to love without possession. By his third year of med school, we moved in together. I took over all the bills — rent, utilities, everything — so he could focus on exams and not take out more loans. I was thriving in my career. I even helped pay down his debt.
He proposed in April 2023. We eloped quietly the night before he graduated, surrounded by our parents. It was perfect. Quiet. Sacred.
Then we planned our big wedding for September 2024.
But before the celebration could happen… I lost my job.
Chapter 5: Where I Am Today
So here I am.
Married to a neurosurgery resident in a rural town where hospitals are always full and help is always far.
We had our baby earlier than expected.
We were scheduled to be induced early, but she came on her own — about four weeks early.
We weren’t ready.
The nursery wasn’t finished. The car seat was still in the box. But she came anyway, screaming and beautiful and perfect.
I didn’t get maternity leave. I’m working part-time just weeks postpartum because life doesn’t pause for healing, especially when you don’t have a safety net. My husband is on 24-hour calls. I am, in many ways, parenting alone with a partner who would give anything to be home but can’t.
And yet — I am here, writing this.
Because I know how to survive.
Because I know how to ask for help.
Chapter 6: The Ask
Some people might roll their eyes at this.
Might think I’m shameless.
But here’s the thing: I am shameless when it comes to advocating for my family. For my baby. For my mental health. For my peace.
So yes — I made a registry.
Because if you’re someone who believes in tangible giving, if you’ve ever asked, “How can I help?” — this is how.
A pack of diapers.
A baby book.
A bottle warmer.
You’re not throwing your money into a void — you’re seeing exactly where it’s going. You’re helping a mother in her softest, rawest chapter. You’re helping a family that has fought like hell to be here.
We are humbled. We are grateful. And we are willing to receive.
If you’ve ever known what it’s like to build your life from nothing, to burn and rebuild and burn again — then you understand this: help is not weakness. It’s a bridge. And today, I’m building mine.
Thank you for reading.
For being here.
For seeing me.
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UPDATED BIO:
Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.
In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.
Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our 🌈 miracle baby.
If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.
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Read also: Two Days After Bringing Our Baby Home, I Asked for a Divorce
Read also: Our Marriage Ended Before It Began: The Pregnancy That Shattered Everything
Read also: I’m Pregnant And Broke — My Cry For Help
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Vitaly Gariev On Unsplash
