This is my stop during the book blitz for Storm of Hope by Leila Tualla. This book blitz is organized by Lola’s Blog Tours. The book blitz runs from 1 till 7 August. See the tour schedule here.
Storm of Hope
By Leila Tualla
Genre: Non Fiction/ Inspirational/ memoir/ poetry
Release Date: 21 July, 2017
Blurb:
Storm of Hope: God, Preeclampsia, Depression and me is a memoir told in journal entries and poetry from a mom who was diagnosed with preeclampsia. The diagnosis with her second pregnancy propelled the author into a “postpartum forest where the trees of doubt, sorrow, anger and rage loomed all around me.” What becomes to the author and her second baby gives way to hope and a way out of the darkness.
You can add Storm of Hope to your to-read list on Goodreads
You can buy your copy of Storm of Hope on Amazon
About the Author:
Leila Tualla is a Filipino American writer, poet, and Christian author. She is a preeclampsia survivor and advocate, and blogs about “life after preeclampsia,” at www.tuallaleila.blogspot.com. After her second baby, Leila had postpartum depression. She is thankful that her family and those who supported her, stood with her and helped pull her out of her darkness. Her faith in Christ was, and continues to be, her daily lifeline. Leila is humbled daily by God’s saving grace.
When she’s not writing about her preeclampsia or postpartum journey, or chasing after her tiny miracle bosses, she can also be found buried in books. Leila reads various novels throughout the year and her book reviews can be found at www.leilatualla.com.
You can find and contact Leila Tualla here:
– Website
– Blog
– Facebook
– Twitter
– Instagram
Giveaway
There is a tour wide giveaway for the book blitz of Storm of Hope. One winner will win a signed paperback copy of Storm of Hope by Leila Tualla. US Only.
For a chance to win, enter the rafflecopter below:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Side of the Road
I heard the loud unmistakable sound of the horn from an 18-wheeler, just as the wind moved my little red SUV as it passed by. I barely look up.
I am currently pulled over on the shoulder of I-45 during morning rush hour traffic. The tsunami of this unnamed emotion propelled me to pull over so I can ride this out. Its waves begin with sadness, quickly peeking with horror and guilt, and a crescendo of rage and jealousy.
As the horns and cars whizz by me going 75 miles per hour, I had a sudden thought that I would be okay if I died today. My hazard lights were on but seriously, no one pays attention to stranded motorists. There are hundreds of distracted drivers around me, all hoping to make it to work or school or somewhere they deemed important.
A knock on my door finally pulled me out of my ocean. It’s a police officer. Just great.
“You alright, ma’am?” I hear as I roll down my window. I noted that the worry in his tone did not quite match the wariness in his features.
“Yes,” I lie. “I’m sorry, officer.” I wave at the mess that I’m sure I looked.
“I just had a baby and today is my first day back to work.” I lie again.
He nodded. The wariness was gone, replaced with some relief and understanding. I’m wondering what put the distrust there. “I understand. My wife had some trouble going back to work, too.”
“It’s tough,” I respond, wiping away my tears, “but no worries, officer. As soon as you let me go, I promise I will drive to the closest Starbucks, clean up, and buy myself a cup of coffee.”
He smiled. “Ok, but promise that next time you’re having, uh…,”
“A meltdown?” I supply gently.
“A moment,” he cleared his throat. “You won’t have one of your moments here. It’s dangerous, you know. Get off the highway. It’s safer.”
I nod in earnest. “Yes, yes, I promise.”
He gives me a single nod and from my rearview mirror, I watch him walk back to his patrol car. I signal and see an opening in the line of commuters and off I go. I sighed. The day was just beginning and I already wish for the end.
What I didn’t tell the officer was that it was my month back into work. I had somehow started a typical pattern of crippling anxiety every Monday morning on my commute. By Wednesday afternoon, I wondered why I needed to hyperventilate. I was usually back to myself by Thursday.
This has to be remnants of post pregnancy hormones, right?
The Way It Hurts by Patty Blount 
