Welcome to My World

As my first entry, I’d like to introduce myself, and give you all a peak of who I am, my family, and my everyday struggles and blessings.

I’m Taylor, and I’m married to my best friend, Michael. I am 24, and he is 28, and we have been married since February 27, 2017. We have a fur baby, Cleocatra, who is the sweetest cat I’ve ever had. Michael and I met on Tinder (of all places!) in Spring of 2016, and all it was supposed to be was us blazing and hooking up, but the physical distance between us drew us closer. Yes, our relationship had an aggressively fast pace before we got married, but we had also been through many things that very possibly would have destroyed any other relationship and even things that any other person wouldn’t put themselves through just to be with someone.

I had a good upbringing by my grandma. Spoiled, yet very sheltered. Even though I was held to a higher standard than what I believe I should have been, I obtained good grades in school, rarely skipped school due to the fear of being caught, was never allowed to go out and “party”, and rarely got to spend the night at a friend’s house, especially if the friend had any older brothers. Never was allowed to “road trip” with friends, and I had a 10:00 PM/11:00 PM curfew, depending on if it was a weeknight or weekend until I moved out at 20 years old. My grandma bought a house, and my ex and I rented from her until we broke up the Summer of 2015. I also obtained my first Associate's Degree in criminal justice during my senior year of high school. I finished my second Associate's Degree in social work a year later.

I began my BSW a month after my ex and I broke up in 2015 and was working as an advocate at a battered women’s shelter, and it was my PASSION, but I had to have knee surgery in October 2015, and due to the recovery time required after the surgery, I had to forfeit my position and it led to a downward spiral of depression, self-doubt, insecurities, and my sense of purpose had vanished. Three or four months before Michael and I met (about six months after my surgery), was the lowest I had let myself sink, yet I had everything that was “supposed” to make a person happy.

I had my own home, just started an okay job at the private university in my hometown, and was planning on going back to school to finish my Bachelor’s in social work, but not everything in my “perfect little world” felt perfect, until mine and Michael’s paths crossed. I was involved in things that I’m embarrassed of today, keeping bad company, lost, and kind of just following the crowd to feel like I was a part of something. Emotionally and mentally, I was damaged and numb.

My soul was broken and shattered.

Michael found me and all my missing pieces and helped me put them back together. In the same way, I have helped him put his broken pieces back together.

His background is one that I’d never wish on anyone. His mother was a crack addict, beginning shortly after his little brother was born (possibly even during that pregnancy), Michael was around five years old, and she spent ten years, the most important ten years in my opinion, of his life in prison. He spent some time in foster care before his grandparents obtained custody of him, and he was separated from his little brother. Despite a harsh beginning, he moved back in with his dad when he was 17, he graduated high school, went to college and learned a trade he’s been working in for nearly ten years, painting cars with his uncle’s mobile paint and body business. He was allowed to throw parties and go to the beach with friends. He was allowed to do things I never would have dared to dream of doing at the same age.

In the beginning, Michael lived with his parents. To others, this may be a hard “NO”, and even may have been a red flag/warning to others. But, to me, it signaled someone who needed healing and support from someone who really cared for him. After two months, I moved in with him at his parents. I left my home, my job, my family, and my friends. We bounced from there, back to my family, back to his, moved five hours away near Atlanta, thinking bigger city, better opportunities, for nine months shortly after we were married, and unfortunately spent most of that time homeless. We moved back home, into our own place in November 2017.

Since we moved back home, things have still been rough, but we finally feel some sense of peace. I had trouble obtaining employment, while he was able to start right back working with his uncle. I struggled again with depression, anxiety, mood swings, and was in an overall unhealthy mental state, and recently was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and PTSD. I’ve been working for the last two months at a gas station local to where most of his work is, and I take medication for my bipolar disorder.

Despite our “struggle love”, we have held each other together. We have survived things that were designed to tear us apart, and have overcome obstacles that have made us stronger, individually and as a couple. We have family drama like no other and come off as dysfunctional a majority of the time, but there is absolutely no one else on this Earth that I would rather have had “been a statistic” with. Despite the troubles we’ve faced, he makes me the happiest version of myself. He’s been patient with my bipolar diagnosis, and though he faces his own ugly demons, he has the kindest heart I’ve ever known.

We’re so different, but our broken pieces matched together so perfectly.