After getting to know people and telling them a little bit about my childhood, I often get a somewhat shocked and confused response. They look at me, cocking their head to the side, and saying in a serious and slightly high pitched voice, "I never would have thought that about you" or "You don't look like the kind of person who would have had a childhood like that."
I never know quite what to say after that.
It is what it is, and this is what it is.
I was born into a family that most would consider white trash. My father rarely kept down a job. He was abusive and mentally ill. He was an alcoholic and ended up purposely overdosing, killing himself on his prescribed meds after a stint in the mental hospital. He died alone and miserable.
My mother tried to take care of us, but she had her own battles that kept her from being emotionally present. She managed to keep us fed and clothed. I remember having a love of meat that still exists, because this was a luxury for us. I still get a warm feeling after I go to the grocery store, put all of the food in the cabinet and step back to look at it. Full cabinets of food are a gift.
My mother often worked several jobs, and we were by ourselves or under the "care" of our father a lot as kids. This is when he did things like put beer in my cup when I was 3 or 4 years old to get me drunk and laugh when I couldn't walk. He would put his hands over mine and my brother's mouth and nose so that we couldn't breathe, start laughing as we'd flail about, and then let go right before we passed out.
When my father was still in the picture, my mother would leave him over and over again just to be sucked back into the abusive cycle. Sometimes, I didn't know where I was when I woke up...a shelter, a friend's house, or a new place my mom had found. Nothing was stable. Nothing was sure.
I loved school, because the schedule and routine provided safety for me. Yet, I remember being a little girl in outdated, faded hand me downs feeling embarrassed around the other kids. As a first grader, my teachers noticed the bruises and called me into to talk to the principal and school counselor. I was honest, and this elicited a visit from social services to my home which my mom took a major beating for.
Our houses were often run down. My mom tried to fix them up, but you can't fix something up that's about to fall down. There were bugs, smells, decay...we moved constantly.
Despite all of this, my mother always had us in church and this influence began my spiritual journey.
At the age of about 10, I knew. I knew I was not going to live the life that I was being raised in. This was after my father died and my mom was a single mom still struggling to make ends meet.
I remember studying Geography in school. I was enraptured by all of the different cultures and places in the world that were unique and beautiful. I knew I didn't want to stay put. I didn't want to live in the town I grew up in. I didn't want to stay in the place that I found myself. I didn't want to continue the path that had been laid out for me. No, I would fight. Fight to get out physically, emotionally and spiritually.
And that's what I did.
With the hand of God guiding me and sustaining me, I got out of that pit of despair. I prayed and cried and prayed. Jesus Christ is the reason I live-not just physically but as a whole person.
He's why I didn't get pregnant at 16.
He's why I didn't end up with a jerk that would abuse me.
He's why I don't live in poverty.
He's why I am more emotionally stable than I ever thought possible.
I don't write all of this to elicit pity. I write to remind people not to judge based on appearances. I have battle scars that you can't see. I was not born into privilege despite how I dress, speak or my skin color. I was born into a big fat mess that began generations before on both sides of my family. I made choices that led my life where it is now. The power of God took me on a different path. His influence is what changed my mindset. I could have rejected him, but, by his grace, I didn't. Even though it has been one scary and uncertain ride, I would NEVER change it.
I continue to battle demons from the past. I always will. It will always be worth it, too.
We can blame our society. We can blame other's opinions. We can blame everybody else in the world...but that doesn't mean that those things are responsible for the way that our lives turned out.
Take responsibility for yourself.
Work...get off your butt and work if you want a better life. Work to make yourself more educated, more healthy on the inside. Work to be financially secure. Work to make your family what you want it to be. Stop sitting around complaining that you don't have what everybody else does.
An entitled society is a dangerous society.
I never know quite what to say after that.
It is what it is, and this is what it is.
I was born into a family that most would consider white trash. My father rarely kept down a job. He was abusive and mentally ill. He was an alcoholic and ended up purposely overdosing, killing himself on his prescribed meds after a stint in the mental hospital. He died alone and miserable.
My mother tried to take care of us, but she had her own battles that kept her from being emotionally present. She managed to keep us fed and clothed. I remember having a love of meat that still exists, because this was a luxury for us. I still get a warm feeling after I go to the grocery store, put all of the food in the cabinet and step back to look at it. Full cabinets of food are a gift.
My mother often worked several jobs, and we were by ourselves or under the "care" of our father a lot as kids. This is when he did things like put beer in my cup when I was 3 or 4 years old to get me drunk and laugh when I couldn't walk. He would put his hands over mine and my brother's mouth and nose so that we couldn't breathe, start laughing as we'd flail about, and then let go right before we passed out.
When my father was still in the picture, my mother would leave him over and over again just to be sucked back into the abusive cycle. Sometimes, I didn't know where I was when I woke up...a shelter, a friend's house, or a new place my mom had found. Nothing was stable. Nothing was sure.
I loved school, because the schedule and routine provided safety for me. Yet, I remember being a little girl in outdated, faded hand me downs feeling embarrassed around the other kids. As a first grader, my teachers noticed the bruises and called me into to talk to the principal and school counselor. I was honest, and this elicited a visit from social services to my home which my mom took a major beating for.
Our houses were often run down. My mom tried to fix them up, but you can't fix something up that's about to fall down. There were bugs, smells, decay...we moved constantly.
Despite all of this, my mother always had us in church and this influence began my spiritual journey.
At the age of about 10, I knew. I knew I was not going to live the life that I was being raised in. This was after my father died and my mom was a single mom still struggling to make ends meet.
I remember studying Geography in school. I was enraptured by all of the different cultures and places in the world that were unique and beautiful. I knew I didn't want to stay put. I didn't want to live in the town I grew up in. I didn't want to stay in the place that I found myself. I didn't want to continue the path that had been laid out for me. No, I would fight. Fight to get out physically, emotionally and spiritually.
And that's what I did.
With the hand of God guiding me and sustaining me, I got out of that pit of despair. I prayed and cried and prayed. Jesus Christ is the reason I live-not just physically but as a whole person.
He's why I didn't get pregnant at 16.
He's why I didn't end up with a jerk that would abuse me.
He's why I don't live in poverty.
He's why I am more emotionally stable than I ever thought possible.
I don't write all of this to elicit pity. I write to remind people not to judge based on appearances. I have battle scars that you can't see. I was not born into privilege despite how I dress, speak or my skin color. I was born into a big fat mess that began generations before on both sides of my family. I made choices that led my life where it is now. The power of God took me on a different path. His influence is what changed my mindset. I could have rejected him, but, by his grace, I didn't. Even though it has been one scary and uncertain ride, I would NEVER change it.
I continue to battle demons from the past. I always will. It will always be worth it, too.
We can blame our society. We can blame other's opinions. We can blame everybody else in the world...but that doesn't mean that those things are responsible for the way that our lives turned out.
Take responsibility for yourself.
Work...get off your butt and work if you want a better life. Work to make yourself more educated, more healthy on the inside. Work to be financially secure. Work to make your family what you want it to be. Stop sitting around complaining that you don't have what everybody else does.
An entitled society is a dangerous society.
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