Imagine being with one person, everyday of your life, for 16 years straight. Imagine your life revolving around that one person, you breathe that person, you love that person, you crave them. You are who you are because of that person. They pay for you to go to college, they pay for you to travel across the country, they pay for you to eat at Benihana’s twice a month in college, they pay for you to splurge at Sephora once a month. That person is the source of your closest friends, they’ve introduced you to some of the people closest to you. That person has kept your family together in times of distress. That person keeps you in shape & makes you eat right. That person gets your mind off daily bullshit, that person suppresses your depression and anxiety when it flares.

Okay now imagine that person leaving, abandoning you, never to be seen again. One day, they vanish. They tell you the week before which day they’re leaving you for good but you don’t listen, you laugh it off. They are never coming back, and there is nothing you can do about it.

I got asked for awhile if I missed basketball and from the day of my last game (March 2017) until now the answer has always been, NO. But how could I say that? Basketball was the source of all those things I just talked about so how could I say I don’t miss it: the upmost disrespect.

It was like a culture shock, an identity crisis, and grief all in one. But why did it take a year to really hit me? And I mean hit me like a Semi Truck going 90 on the 101 in LA, if that’s even possible.

Switching Gears….

So I’m scrolling through My Instagram page looking at all the hard work I’ve put in on my content and trying to rebrand myself as “blogger.” I go through each photo of myself and find something I hate about myself and delete the picture off my feed. I’m down to 20 photos and all my hard work is gone. But I don’t care because as long as I feel better about myself? Right? Okay deleting all the photos did nothing. Cool. I still don’t like what I see in the mirror. My stretch marks are still there. My cheeks are still chunky. I have loose skin on my belly. My nose is wider. I’m still obsessing over plastic surgery research, and I’m still eating like crap. Great.

I’m going to keep this next part raw and honest.

It’s 3:30am, I’m in my bed in Bakersfield, CA staring at my ceiling fan. I have a screaming 3 month old baby on my right side. I’m by myself. My boobs are engorged and feel like rocks, I need to pump for the 5th time tonight. Andre is 1000’s of miles away, probably at work already(time difference), my family is sleep, and I’m just up, running on 4 hours of sleep in 2 Days. I’ve tried everything. I’m contemplating every decision I have ever made. Why did I have a baby at 23? Was I even ready? Why am I in a long distance relationship? What am I doing with my life? I break down and cry, next to my screaming baby. Two big emotional Pisces cry babies. But no really, why did I have NO answers to any of these questions? And what’s crazy is that I had those kind of lonely nights, at least twice a week for 6 months. I kept telling myself that was normal and I didn’t need help.

Fast forward to Houston. My family is reunited! I’m going to get help at night! I’m not going to be lonely anymore! Woohoo! Wrong. So so so wrong. I had no idea what the hell I was getting into with Andre’s new profession. His days started at 5am, he wouldn’t get home until 6pm. Some days it would be 9-10pm because he had to do events, Team dinners, etc. I felt more lonely here than I did back home. My parents would take Dredyn for me for 3-4 hours when they got home from work, we would all hang out, watch Jeopardy, go out to eat. But Andre was exhausted every day and I could see it, this new life was hard for him too. He’s busting his ass everyday so Dredyn and I can be comfortable and well taken care of and I will never fault Andre for that. But there’s no way we could alternate night shifts when he had to be up at 5am but he still did his best to help if I asked. Oh yeah, Dredyn still woke up every 2 hours at 10 months old.

Because I was so used to doing everything by myself anyways for the last few months, it wasn’t much of a change and asking for help is easily my top 1 LEAST favorite thing to do, so I just got it done. I still wasn’t getting sleep, and by the time Andre got home he had enough energy to play/feed/occasionally bathe Dredyn and he was out. We didn’t really hang out or talk much, it was all about Dredyn and I was totally okay with that, or so I thought.

For awhile I felt like we were roommates who were co-parenting. Eventually I brought it to his attention and we started to work on that. But even then, I felt like a prisoner. Some days Dredyn and I wouldn’t leave the apartment for 4-5 days. Dredyn would wake me up at 7am, I would clean, play with Dre, Feed him, clean, play with Dre, feed him, clean, cook dinner, and that was it, EVERY SINGLE DAY. I can’t tell you how many times I only ate once a day. The days were mixing together. I was so out of it.

I literally had no idea what Rachol I was going to wake up and be. I felt like I had zero control over my mood. Some days were really high, some days were extreme lows; I felt like I never had an in between. This went on my entire time in Houston. Major red flag.

Fast forward, last week in Houston as a family of 3. One night I’m sitting on my balcony, on the cold concrete floor, with a hoodie and sweats on, it’s cold, but I’m numb, I can’t feel anything. I feel mentally and emotionally empty. I felt like I was outside my body. I look down through the railing, “Would I even feel anything if I jumped?” All these thoughts went through my head. That same quiet scary voice that I hear time to time telling me that I’d feel a lot better if I jumped was LOUD as ever. I stand up now. I grab the railing. I look over the railing. The voice is getting louder. I look down. I hear a knock on the window behind me. It’s Andre and Dredyn being silly. My saving graces. I immediately go inside.

“Andre, something is wrong and I need help, real help. I need to talk to somebody.”

I don’t know what it is about the black community, especially BLACK MEN, and this social stigma they have towards mental health, but I don’t like it. The way black men are raised, “Don’t show emotion, don’t cry or you’ll be spanked, be a big boy, be a man, grow up, toughen up.” That shit is WACK and it’s exactly how I’m NOT raising my BLACK son.

Anyways. Andre just simply didn’t know how to help. It wasn’t that he doesn’t believe in mental health problems or seeing a therapist, he just didn’t understand why I felt the way I did. But neither did I. Then one day it clicked. I thought Post Partum Depression was a gimmick. I started reading everything I could. I wanted help but being in a new state, health insurance, moving, I couldn’t get the help I needed. All the stress of Andre getting cut, where we were going to live, finances, just kept piling up. I was in such a dark place. But one thing that did not change was my strength to be a mom to my baby boy. I kept fighting, I kept doing what I had to do because that little boy NEEDS ME.

No matter how depressed or lonely I was, I did not wanna let my little boy suffer, even if that meant catching an Uber in the pouring rain so me and my baby could make it to the Children’s Museum. Anyways, I just kept researching and praying. Post Partum depression can come out the cut, so to speak. Sometimes the symptoms aren’t seen until 6 months to a year after giving birth. The chemical imbalances are drastic in a woman’s body when she goes from carrying a whole life inside to outside of her body.

Once I got to Detroit, it got a little better but I was still lonely; Andre was gone even longer now and I was still doing all the night shifts. As soon as the off season arrived (New Years Eve), I made changes. I am currently taking FULL advantage of having Andre home. We switch off on night shifts like we used to, sometimes he’ll do 2 in a row. It’s crazy what eating clean and exercise can do; I’ve lost 12 pounds since Houston, in a healthy way. I’ve changed my entire eating lifestyle. I also work a couple days a week for a couple hours just to get me interacting with adult human beings again and to get me out the house. I’m doing what I love so it really helps. I’m getting more sleep. I’m eating more than once a day, showering everyday, getting dressed everyday. I’m also hooping again! Plot twist! Lol. So that’s where I’m at RIGHT NOW. My top goals on my 2019 Goal Board was to find a therapist, a church home, and to have baby Dre watch me hoop again. My therapist and I are working on a few things: separation anxiety, tracking my mood, doing things for ME, finding friends, getting out the house by myself, reading self-care books, going to church, and to stop putting myself third all the time. I went to church for the first time here in Detroit since Mother’s Day. It was like God gave me the biggest hug & wrapped me with a blanket of peace as soon as I walked in the door. It wasn’t a “where have you been” it was more of an “I missed you, Kid” type of embrace. Like the ones from my Dad, the best kind.

So to end this, let me just tell you how dope God is. I’ve dealt with depression on and off since I was 16. But basketball had always been my saving grace. I dealt with it my sophomore year of college, BAD, like I lost 20 pounds, BAD, but basketball was my saving grace. But since that was taken from me, it was like I had no saving grace. But you know what, God sent me something about 365 days after Basketball made its final departure.

He didn’t send me something to pay my bills, take me to Benihana’s, or Sephora. But he sent me something that is with me everyday, something my life revolves around. He sent me something that is the air I Breathe. God sent me something That I love with everything in me. He sent me something that has kept me and my family going and that has brought my family even closer together. He sent me something that motivates me to work out and eat clean. God sent me something to keep my head up through my depression and anxiety. God sent me the log to my fire, he sent me my “Why.” God sent me something to remind me why I don’t EVER need to jump. He sent me my entire Heart, patched up and sewn back together. He sent me a new, Profound Saving Grace. He sent me my Son, Dredyn C. Chachere.

If you are going through mental health issues, my DMs and email are always open. I may not have an answer, but I’m a great listener. Idc who you are. Male, female, Gay, Straight, Trans, Intersex, Black, White, young, old…. you have a friend in me.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

•