Who Am I? How My Daughter Taught Me to Let Go and Live Again, by Megan Cyrulewski
Megan’s book,
Who Am I? How My Daughter Taught Me to Let Go and Live Again, is about her journey into post-partum depression, anxiety disorder, panic attacks, stays in the psych ward, divorce, emotional abuse, domestic violence, law school, how she managed to graduate from law school and a beautiful little girl who emerged from all of this chaos.
Author Bio
Megan Cyrulewski has been writing short stories ever since she was ten-years-old. After attending Grand Valley State University, Megan eventually settled into a career in the non-profit sector for eight years. She decided to change careers and went back to school to get her law degree from Thomas M. Cooley Law School. While in school, she documented her divorce, child custody battle and postpartum depression struggles in her memoir. Megan lives in Michigan with her 3-year-old daughter who loves to dance, run, read, and snuggle time with Mommy. Megan also enjoys her volunteer work with various organizations in and around metro-Detroit.
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Buy links
Who Am I? How My Daughter Taught Me to Let Go and Live Again is available in paperback from all good booksellers. eBook versions will follow.
Excerpt
On January 18, 2012, we all convened in the courthouse for the Motion for Parenting Time hearing. My dad and I arrived with my attorney, but Tyler loved an audience so he brought his dad, step-mom, and his new on-again off-again girlfriend, Heather. Tyler walked in with his posse in tow, cocky as hell. It took all of two minutes for the judge to knock him off his feet.
The Judge addressed our respective attorneys. “Why are we here?”
“Your honor,” Tyler’s attorney began, “my client has clearly been denied his parenti—”
The Judge didn’t even let him finish. “How?” She turned to my attorney. “Don?”
“Your honor, as you can see in the divorce decree, there was supposed to be a review when the minor child turned twelve-months-old. The Defendant has ignored that review.”
“I–if I may, your honor,” Tyler’s attorney sputtered.
“I see the review in the decree. It’s here in black and white,” she told Tyler’s attorney. “What is the problem? Why didn’t you understand the review? Your client signed the divorce decree.”
Tyler’s attorney tried again. “But your honor—”
The judge cut him off. “There is to be a review conducted by the Friend of the Court referee assigned to the parties. Until then, the Defendant will continue his parenting time schedule as agreed upon in the divorce decree. Dismissed.”
And that was it. After eight police reports and numerous harassing text messages, phone calls, and e-mails, we won. As Don and Tyler’s attorney went to speak with the clerk to file the necessary paperwork, Don told us to wait for him outside the courtroom.
As we exited the courtroom, the hallway was so packed with people that my dad and I were only able to find enough space to lean against the wall. We were talking about the court proceedings when we looked up at saw Tyler and his new girlfriend standing right across from us.
“Why do you lie about everything?” Tyler screamed.
Heather walked up to me and stood about an inch from my face. “As a mother myself, you should be happy that Tyler is the father of your child.”
My jaw dropped. “I’m sorry but I don’t know you.”
She smirked. “Well you’re going to get to know me, bitch.”
Tyler made a big show of pulling her from me like I was going to punch her or something. By this time, everyone in the hallway was watching us. We were pure entertainment.
Heather continued her rant. “Two times in the psych ward, Megan? What a great mother you are.”
“Where is your mom, the real mother of our child?” Tyler screamed. “She’s the one who takes care of Madelyne.”
My dad and I tried to move away from Tyler and Heather but they followed us.
“Do you have to take a Xanax because of your anxiety?”
“Go take your Xanax and sleeping pills, you drug addict,” Tyler shouted.
Finally, Don emerged from the courtroom and pulled us into a quiet corridor. He explained that I needed to call our referee to set-up a meeting to discuss a visitation schedule. I told Don about the verbal assault by Tyler and Heather. Don said he would call Tyler’s attorney to let him know that Heather would not be allowed in my house.
Upon leaving the courthouse, Heather screamed, “See you on Sunday, Megan.”
I turned toward her and said calmly, “I don’t know you, but you are
not welcome in my home.”
That night, Tyler sent me multiple texts attacking my mothering skills, my supposed drug addictions, how he was going to fight for joint custody of Madelyne, how Heather would be accompanying him for his visitations, and a barrage of other insults:
- “Get a life already.”
- “Don’t you have something better to do than wasting your parents’ money?”
- “Go take your pills and relax, oh yeah, then your parents would have to watch our daughter. Oh yeah, they already do.”
- “Go talk to your friends. Oh yeah, you don’t have any because of how crazy you are.”
- “Interesting to know you’ve been to the hospital a couple of times. You really need to get it together.”
- “Better go call your lawyer and make up some more stuff about me.”
- “Don’t be mad at your sorry life.”
- “I am sure living with Mom and Dad the rest of your life will be fun.”
- “When you get a job, then you can pay me child support. Fun.”
I finally had to turn my phone off at midnight.
