Chapter One
I have listened and read many books, Words are your Wand by Florence Scovel Shinn, or the classics from Neville Goddard, The Four Agreements, the Subtle Art of Not Giving a F**** and trust me so much more. Yet every day I am trying to find the best version of myself still. Listening to all the inspiration or motivational stuff, just doesn’t get me going every day, really nothing outside of myself. Before I go down the road of becoming the best version of yourself daily, I would like to take you down the path I call my life.
Don’t worry I won’t put you to sleep, well at least I hope not. I am the 2nd child of both of my parents. Well correction first surviving child of my parental temporal union. They lost twins that were born preceding my entrance into this world. I knew of my siblings probably before I could talk, I believe now that my mother never really grieved for her children lost. So, there you have it starting off in existence I questioned rather or not I would be here if they survived.
Parents often don’t realize children process information much more swiftly than adults, so I put puzzle pieces together quickly. My father had made my mother, a single mother of 5 children, 4 which were his. But my mother is not an innocent party in this as well – let’s just say, chaos doesn’t breed peace.
She struggled and often cried a lot. I found myself as a child there with her, watching her cry as she ironed our clothes on the floor, as all the other children were oblivious or maybe just too young to notice. I was always there next to here. Not knowing what was being created in me in those moments, watching my mother mop and cry, in my mind over a man. I would tell myself, “I would never let a man do that to me”.
I am sure I am not the only young girl that experienced this but this was the beginning of my own destruction and I had no idea. This isn’t a story about my childhood or my past transgressions. No this is a story about how every day I have to strive to be the best version of myself. Every... Day….
My father and mother eventually went through custody battles and in my mind my mother gave us up and we went with my father. Hindsight it was the best at the time, but a young girl always needs a mother – well any child. No matter the gender needs their mother. Nothing really helped for me, I tried but it was hard, our father was around now but there was still a gap. Something missing.
Thinking about it, we all tried to acclimate to the new way of life pretty quickly and without complaint. I often cried myself to sleep at night and when we first went with my father my younger brothers would cry every time they spoke to our mother, leaving me a ten-year-old to hold all three of my brothers until they stopped crying. I grew angrier by the day, along the way I had sexual violations that tailored me. Without knowing none of it was my fault, I carried shame and became the person you didn’t want to be around because I didn’t want to be around myself.
How do I get here now, writing this story telling my truth? Well, it’s because I realize in nearly mid-thirties, I have lost who I was, who I wanted to be… I find myself in the midst of familial ties that anchor down so heavy and when you try to get air for just a moment the anchor gets upset. I ran away just for me never to be far enough to escape the feeling of drowning.
I am sure I probably seem like I am just blabbering on but I also know that someone even if just one person knows what I am going through, when I write my words down, from thought through the streams of my blood, into the tips of my fingers onto the press of the key. I am speaking from my spirit self and as I speak, I am trying to find solution as well. So bear with me.
I never had the best or really any relationship with my parents but it is a two-way street, any attention I may have wanted was locked away in the crevice of my mind never to come out, only anger came out not a child saying mom I just need a hug, an embrace. Just angry, that my mother never just knew that. A hug, such a simple yet sometimes escaping thing. One can only yearn for a hug when he is alone.
But even worst is the hug that never comes in a room full of people. No one seen my hurt because they only seen what they heard of me.
