I have met thousands of people through out my life. Childhood and high school friends. College roommates, classmates, dance and cheer friends, work friends and many random others. 15 years of Teacher colleagues, students and their families, and kids of all grades. Dancers and Baseball players and their families. Neighbors and church families.
Why does that matter? Because only very few know what has shaped my life and made me who I am. And out of those people, even fewer know the pain it has caused me.
The very few times I have shared the story, I say it very matter-of-factly. It was just a story to be told. That’s because I didn’t want to give it any credit. It already controlled my thoughts and perception of myself. I didn’t need others to think too much about it and see what I saw in myself.
Because it’s just a story, I will share it as such. No clever phrasing or tearing at the heartstrings. Just words to share the little bits of the story I know.
Basic Facts
I was born to parents who were drug addicts.
I was a drug baby.
Drugs were more important.
They hid drugs in my diapers.
I was given sugar water in my bottle and malnourished.
For part of my baby life, we lived in a van under a bridge.
For part of my baby life, we lived in the van in front of a house.
I had broken my leg on a slide (age 2) when mom left me with grandma who left me with a neighbor.
The state took me away from my mom due to neglect. I went into Foster Care. Several Times. They always wanted kids to be with their mom even though it wasn’t a safe environment.
We played the back and forth game between foster home and mom for years to come. Thankfully (when there was space), I was taken to the foster home my younger sister was at. This foster home is where I finally got the love and structure a child should have. (They are also the parents who chose to adopt 3 kids with a background. ❤️)
I don’t know the timeline of my memories even though there are only 3. I consider it a blessing I don’t remember much.
Memory 1: There was a time I remember being outside. My older brother was protecting me. A kid nearby must have not been very nice or hurt me. The only thing I remember is watching my brother sit on a tricycle and run over his toes and watching the boy cry. I don’t remember if the boy had done that to me or something else, but that was his punishment.
Memory 2: I don’t remember why this is a memory because it couldn’t have been the worst thing. I remember being freezing cold, and having water hit me in the face. When I became an older kid, I asked my mom (my mom who adopted and raised me) about it. She said when I was given back to my mom after one of my foster care times, my biological mom called her asking what to do with me because I wouldn’t stop crying. Apparently she suggested a shower and my mom didn’t think to make it at least warm. (Personally, a bath would have been more relaxing but probably less safe.) I just remember feeling trapped and cold.
Memory 3: This may sound strange, but it’s all I remember. I remember a dark room with a window that had blinds, and the light barely shined through. I remember a door off to the side and dark carpet. That’s it. I don’t remember anything in that room or what happened in that room. I just remember looking at that window.
To continue the story, that chapter of my life soon ends. This chapter ends when I was 5. I’m just going to write this bluntly.
While at Grandma cockroach’s house (don’t know her real name that’s just what I was told when I got older), my older brother being a kid, did something that wasn’t very nice to the neighbors across the street during their daughter’s birthday party. (I’m not sharing that here. It was childish, but he had some crappy stuff in his life.)
The dad was very upset (and I get why), but anger should be dealt with better. He approached my mom about what had happened, and they got in a heated argument. My mom was holding my younger sister at the time who was just a toddler.
As she turned to go into grandma’s, he pulled out a gun and shot her in the back of her neck. My sister was ok (besides what trauma that has caused her ❤️🩹), but my mother died instantly. (Maybe that’s why I remember the window… I don’t remember but that makes sense now. But that is just speculation.)
My dad was in prison and wouldn’t get out for 12 or so years and extended family… I don’t know why my great grandma wasn’t given the opportunity to raise us. 🤷🏻♀️ For obvious reasons (my broken leg), our grandma wasn’t able to take care of us.
Our most recent and consistent foster parents were given the opportunity to adopt us.
They chose to adopt me along with my younger brother and sister. We were officially adopted a couple years later.
My older brother lived with his dad. It was years later we reconnected with him. He dealt with a lot more abuse or neglect than we did, and I am so proud of who he is today. ❤️ I love seeing his life via Facebook and someday, I’ll see him again. (I did get to meet him and his daughters a 2-3 times over the last 20 years.
That part of my life ends, but it shaped who I am. BUT That is a different post.
My story is now shared. Some will read it and be surprised. Others will read it and roll their eyes (because they had it worse). Regardless of how it is taken, it is my story. No one can discredit it, AND I no longer want to hide from it. ❤️🩹❤️
Hmmm maybe not hide from it, but I have tried to “forget”— hmmm no more like “disown” my past. It was someone I didn’t want to be. It was someone who wasn’t worth caring about- bc her family didn’t. Why would I want to be associated with that girl when I so badly didn’t want to be her?
This story has shaped me. The good and the bad. I am learning to fight the bad, but more importantly I am now proud of the good it has caused.
Turns out the past that molded me into who I am is pretty incredible. ❤️🩹(That post coming soon- Scars.) ❤️ I just could only see the negative and only let the bad assumptions and feelings control my thoughts about myself. I’m done with that. 37 years of inside hurt is long enough.
The beginning of my life is like many others in the world. There are many who have had worst experiences. Lots more kids have and are in it. There are many kids that suffer nasty things that should never happen. There are many that never get out of it. My heart goes out to all children trapped in homes of neglect and abuse. 💔
I hope to help others who struggle with internal pain. ❤️🩹 I have always fought for something better (not because I thought I deserved it, but because I so badly wanted better.) You can too. You deserve it too.
My Childhood Scars Post Coming this week
