There are two types of people in this world: those who swing when backed into a corner and those who cower. Every weekend I have a near breakdown. It’s supposed to be the time to unwind but instead it’s the time to get myself ready for the next week and come Sunday evening I want to cry. Why? I seem to think I’m not good enough.

At 27-years-young I’ve become a puppet. Work and living with the parents have my hands tied while my daughter has my feet firmly planted and unwavering. My days are spent pleasing everyone but myself and the idea that I have come to let life pass me by is terrifying. I constantly feel like I can never dedicate enough time to Evelynn while maintaining my work. Social life? You can forget it. One of the most dreaded questions I’m asked is, “So what do you do for fun?” I pause. I stare at my phone, I stare blankly at the person asking me, I stare off into space, I look around me dazed. The question never ceases to make me simply stop. Fun? Fun?? My kid is my fun; or my health (gym, yoga). Both of which I love…which makes it so much more irritating when they come back at me with, “No, like what do you do in your spare time?” Damnit, I don’t have spare time then. (Yes, I have been known to snap.)

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen friends in the last year.

Yes, it gets lonely. And depressing. And so I wonder, what’s wrong with me? I think I’m not good enough. If other people can make it work, why am I struggling so much? Why do I feel like I’m drowning?

I can’t handle whining and that’s exactly what it sounds like, right? Enter breakdown mode.

I have always had this mindset or philosophy that no matter how bad it gets for someone, it’s worse for someone else. And let’s face it, I have a constant reminder having grown up with a brother who can’t talk, walk, eat, or even roll over in his own bed. Whenever I felt backed into a corner or life was knocking me down, I came back swinging and hellbent on taking a stand. I’m not one to cower.

Friday night on the news was this story of a young boy, Jamarion, who had no arms but a dream to play basketball. On his first day in middle school, his coach took a chance on him—couldn’t deny a boy with such passion and drive from being on the team. As expected, the kid was a benchwarmer. He was ok with that. He just wanted to be part of a basketball team. Then he got a chance to play and scored two three-pointers, one of which was at the buzzer.

Fucking ridiculous.

But it gets better.

Interviewer: “If I could wave a magic wand right now and give you your arms back, would you want them?”

Jamarion: “I don’t need them.”

Amazing.

…remember my feet? They’re firmly planted and unwavering, with Evelynn wrapped around them. She’s the only one I worry about pleasing. My hands? The tie can be unbound, the strings snipped and fashioned into new ropes. I’ll wrap my hands in them to protect from bruising—what can I say? I’m a swinger.