The Rise of the Lily: A Memoir: My Journey to Joy

By Ariel Saunders

An inspirational story about one woman's journey from struggle to comfort. The hunger she had to strive for more drove her to not become a victim of her circumstances. She rose above and out of the negative self-talk, deep-seated imposed beliefs, and the generational cycle of working hard and barely surviving- preventing the trauma from spilling

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Rising Lily
• Release date: Nov 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735657417

Book preview

The story that you are about to read is true. I have tried to recreate events, details and conversations from my memories to the best of my ability. In order to protect their anonymity in some instances I have changed the names of certain individuals.

Copyright © 2020 by Ariel Saunders

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, email [e-mail].

First paperback edition October 2020

Part of the Own Your Story cohort by Natalie Mangrum

Book design by Guglik Design

Author photographs by Julie Pearce Linz

ISBN 978-1-7356574-0-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-7356574-2-4 (ebook)

ISBN 978-1-7356574-1-7 (Kindle)

www.riseofthelily.com

To my Mom, you are the strongest person that I know. You made me who I am, and I am grateful for that.

To my husband, Ed. You make me a better version of myself. I enjoy this ride with you by my side. No matter what I say, I will always love you.

To my kids, you two are the reason that I get up every day. You are my purpose and always have been. I have faith that you can make a difference in this world with your kindness and love. Keep choosing gratitude. I love you with my whole heart.

Contents

Sh*t Happens

OCD Habits Created

The Clyde to My Bonnie

Learning to Lie

Wreckage

The Million Dollar Mistake

Catching Up

The Hardest Thing I Ever Had to Do

Sunshine and Sandy Toes

Going Home Again

Hot Mess

It’s Okay to Be Selfish

Baltimore

Pain

Balance

Acknowledgments

Sh*t Happens

Worry pretends to be necessary but serves no useful purpose.

—Eckhart Tolle

Sometimes you have to start at the end to understand the beginning. Besides, if I started my story with my three-year-old self, you may shut this book right now. Instead, I will begin with a brief story about a recent day with my toddler.

This little guy, being the second child and all, is an independent player, a little love bug, but most certainly a monster with a wild-child streak. We barely slept for the first eighteen months of his life, which is a form of torture for a good reason. He broke into three kinds of childproof locks before we found one that he couldn’t break into. He is still working on this lock periodically. He continues to amaze us with his intelligence. Until we catch him regularly poking himself in the eye with a fork, that is.

This day was like any other day except unlike my typical lackadaisical mornings that I have created for my non-morning-loving self; I had somewhere to be. A necessary appointment, that would dictate the next six months or so of my health. To get to this consultation on time, it took a few hours of preparation and multiple people to rely on. I needed someone to bring my eldest to school and pick her up in a few short hours. I had to find someone to watch my son, who was likely to cry hysterically the entire time his mommy was not in his direct vision. I had to have someone drive me to this appointment in Baltimore’s rush-hour traffic, stay in the waiting room for the few hours that the session would take, and to drive me home as well. I would then not be able to lift anything the rest of the day and had explicit instructions to be taking it easy. In turn, this meant not even lifting the two children; that my only job was to take care of.

We were already running late when I was frantically searching for the only house key I had. I was sure that my son had gotten his hands on it and hid it somewhere. I picked him up to go downstairs to search when the wafting smell of feces hit me in the face. He had recently been sick, and his bowels were not exactly back to normal. The wetness on my arm indicated that there was a blowout situation. I quickly set him down when my mind connected with the moment, and I realized that poop was now all over my hand and running down my arm. The three seconds that it took me to grab a towel was all the time that he needed to make a b-line to the stairs, snack on his mind as usual. He missed the first step and tumbled, in what appeared to be slow motion, down all thirteen steps. Before you feel bad for him, kids are tough, and he was barely phased. He only wanted a mommy hug and an applesauce pouch to soothe his angst. Now, take in from my perspective brownish/orange stains on the only semi-permanent carpet in my house, the carpet runner.

If you know anything about my family or me, we are all a bit of clean freaks. Our Mom continually reminded us (rightfully so) that any house can become a home with a little cleaning and love. We are blessed to have a large house. It takes me a full week to clean it, just in time to start all over again. All of this was the worst thing to happen to a person like me this particular morning.

I have a magic cleaning solution I’ve created that I cleverly leave on every floor of my house. With a little scrubbing, too much elbow grease for my current situation, and some hustle, I found my key in the trash, and I did make it to that appointment. Almost on time, too.

This story is one moment in the life of a stay-at-home Mom. My story may be no different than anyone else’s. But, I do have a unique viewpoint that allows me to live life with humor and gratitude. If you gain a different perspective, a piece of knowledge, or at least get a good laugh from this book, then I have done my job.

Being a parent is hard. Being a stay-at-home parent is the hardest position that I have ever held. And I have had a ton of jobs to speak of. Being a single parent makes you a superhero in my mind. I’m not sure how many of you do it. And this, my friends, is where we will start with the story of my past.

Now that I’m raising my own children, and as you can see, life is still messy, it’s given me a new outlook on my own childhood experiences. As difficult and frustrating as it can be as a parent, on days when my kids are yelling at me and not cooperating in any way while I run off no sleep, I have help. I have plenty of options, unlike the way that I was raised. My mother is undeniably the most amazing woman that I know. She is beautiful inside and out, resourceful, and kind. She has her issues, don’t get me wrong. We all do. But, she was dealt a crap hand in life. That is to say that she made choices that rarely turned out well for her. She did the best with what she had and I have the utmost respect for her as a parent. She had four kids by the time that she was twenty-five years old and has been in straight survival mode for as long as I can remember. She gave all of herself to her children and still does to this day.

When I was one or maybe two, and my brother three, she left my father in the middle of the night. She literally ran for her life and said that my uncle saved us that evening. She quickly met someone else and immediately moved in, probably for lack of somewhere else to go. Maybe she really liked the guy and didn’t care what anyone else thought. I don’t know, and I was too young to remember.

What I do know is that this man who eventually became my stepfather and the father to my awesome two younger siblings was a drunk, in every sense of the word. I was told he wasn’t always this way. A hard-earned beer after work a day, then a few, turned into a twelve pack-a-day habit.

He was a small-town man, known and loved by everyone that he knew. He had a generous heart and a big personality for such a little man. He stood 5’6 on a good day, and my Mom is 6’0. They were an awkward couple at first glance and on a deeper level as well.

He was an insanely talented mason. Being the generous soul that he was, he would do a job that took material, time, and money and only charge a thirty-rack of Budweiser. In his mind, this was probably what a day of work was worth. I cannot imagine what my mother would have done with all of us, even if she had a job lined up. So, she helped him with his jobs and trucked us along with her wherever she went. He rarely had a license and was always working or continually doing something, anyway. He hardly had any money or assets to show for his efforts. He did have biceps for days from lifting all of that rock and my Mom did too. There are plenty of stone walls and chimneys in Epping, New Hampshire, and surrounding towns that can prove his talents. It must have been pretty epic, knowing that he was building stuff that will be there long after everyone is gone.

It was his generosity and selfishness that led us to be nearly homeless. We were not technically, and I am grateful for that. In middle school, we lived in this trailer in the middle of the woods; in a shell of a mobile home. It was so far out there that our walk to the bus stop was about a mile and we were still the last bus stop on the route. Some people choose to live off of the grid