In my early 20s, I quit a lot--jobs, college, marriage, religion, friendships. Basically if I could get out of it, I would. But then I found the love of my life here in WA and we made a baby. For the first time in my life I HAD to succeed. I had to complete what I set out. I set my mind to a healthy pregnancy and a natural delivery and damn it if I didn't get just that. My next goal was a longer one: I was going to breastfeed my child until she was 2 years old. I did NOT have an ideal nursing relationship with my daughter. We suffered through horrendous latch issues, over supply, lip and tongue ties, and several nursing consultants and support groups. For 2 years my every day was filled with the constant reminder that I had set a goal harder than anything I had ever done before. Nothing compares to my breastfeeding struggle in my mind. The mental fortitude and deep well of perseverance needed to make my goal was so exhausting. It had its moments of joy and bliss, but I would say 90% of the time I just screamed in my mind for her to be done. When her second birthday was only mere months away, I panicked often to my therapist about how I was going to wean her. I couldn't bear the thought of one more second of nursing beyond her birthday. But then she suddenly started to wean on her own and I now was in a panic to continue till 2. I asked my close friend and photography peer @documenting.the.days to capture one of our very last nursing sessions, and it was a struggle to even keep her latched for more than 20 seconds. She was more than ready to quit but obliged me the next three days until the night before her birthday. Her father and I laid down in her bed with her and told her how that night was the last time she would have "milkies" and that she was going to be a big girl when she woke the next day. We nursed as long as I could physically bear it and I cried while she drifted off to sleep. I did it. I made my goal. And then it was over. All that work and my journey ended quietly. Some knew of my struggle and were proud of me, but mostly, there were no atta girls or parades. These photos are what I have to celebrate my triumph forever. My visual atta girl.