The FB Post That Started It All

December in Denver: Divine! 2014

The Last Day of 2014 is upon us and I welcome what’s to come. This year has been full of self recovery and healing in my world as I delved into the darkest depths of my psyche to answer one question: Where is my Life? Or, more precisely: What am I doing with this life?

Awakening occurs in cycles and I found myself at forty, questioning why I hadn’t reached the degree of success I’ve been aiming for all of these years. I had to be honest and confront my daily habits and the continual thoughts behind my actions to come to the conclusion that I still have a lot of healing to do. I discovered and took onus to the fact that I am an adult survivor of child abuse and suffer from severe PTSD. I had never named it. I just survived. All these years, that’s what I’ve been doing; surviving.

This year I decided I was fed up with being continually occupied with the past and being tormented by all I had witnessed; all I survived through. There was this constant dialogue going on in my head, often triggered by normal, everyday scenes. Regardless of my successes and triumphs, I still held on to those memories in my body, so my mind was always preoccupied with battle. I would never allow even my closest friends to be too close, sequestering myself in shame as I wrestled with depression, not wanting to be the person bringing everyone down with my trauma. I hid. For many years.

This year I will no longer hide from the cold, hard truth. It is gratifying and has set me free. I’m so grateful and feel more alive now that I am in the process of going beyond surviving; I’m doing the work so I may finally rise above the nightmares and dissociation to a place of inner peace and actual productivity. I found an incredible therapist and have been fearless about discovering who I am and how I have been affected by the horrific experiences I went through as a child and how to heal myself in order to move on and finally live this life in joy. Through journaling and documenting the abuse, the subsequent effects on my psyche and personality and my struggle to empower myself through it, I may actually have a book to share soon.

I understand now that the thing I’ve been hiding all this time is exactly the gem I have to share. By exposing myself and becoming vulnerable, I choose to open a dialogue of healing and join the many souls devoted to empowering and uplifting others who have suffered abuse. I choose to get to the other side of my wonderful self and be an example and a helper to those who wish to do the same.

Spread your wings, my Loves; let us fly.

Let us face our shortcomings and turn them into assets this year. Let us find peace within where fear, pain and shame used to dwell. Let us overcome the past, no matter how tumultuous, to triumph in the Love we are continually surrounded by. Let us be strong in our conviction to be our best selves. Let us fortify our spirits and share our stories in the name of Change. Let us be courageous and continue to fight against ignorance through striving to be gleaming examples of the type of people our world needs in order to progress. Let us take ourselves from surviving to creating substantiality in our lives and our communities. Let us dialogue and workshop ourselves through to the other side. Let us bloom like the sacred lotus blossom and continue to be the sweet, fragrant flowers of consciousness and free will that the Universe grows.

Her Story

At the Hanging Lake while visiting from Bklyn

As much as I find my mother to be the crux of most of my trauma, it would only be right to do her justice and tell her story. Abuse is a sickness that is passed generation to generation in most cases. My mother, like many addicts, came up in tragic circumstances which formed her beliefs and contributed to her self destructive behavior. In 1952, my grandmother was afflicted with polio the year before the vaccine was approved. Her system was weak because she was pregnant with my mom and the disease quickly spread down her spine. By the time she gave birth, she was a paraplegic, unable to even breathe on her own. This poor woman was never able to hold her own child so my mom never got that skin on skin contact that is imperative to human development. She was born in a huge, metal tube called an iron lung and never got to be physically close to her mother once she was out of her belly. Grandparents split her and her older sister up to help, but they were past their prime and found the young children difficult to care for. She’s shared memories of being held down for baths and being terrified of having her hair washed because they were so rough with her. They were doing their best but they weren’t able to provide the security and attention she needed as a youth. She was basically abandoned, neglected and left to her own devices. Sounds familiar...

If ever I lament for myself, I sorrow, too, for this lost child who gave birth to me. As if her whole entry into the world wasn’t enough, the drama escalated with the passing of her mother at, wait a minute: 14. Whoa, I’m getting chills linking her to myself at the same age; just trying to survive and get through each day. She was developing into a curvaceous young woman in the era of Twiggy and was constantly teased and bullied by her white classmates. Her sense of self worth had never been nurtured by the wisdom of her mother since she was so ill, so she believed the attacks from the world. Upon being exposed to more diversity at high school, she finally gains acceptance from the Black kids, meets my dad, ends up dropping out and having me at 20. My dad was never really there for her and she was ostracized from her family for her poor behavior, cut off from their money and any chance of inheritance. So she did what she had to do, as she puts it. Because of her mom being the daily focus of their family, she never got to bear witness to a “normal” life. She didn’t get to be nurtured and guided by her mother or father, so she missed out on those crucial building blocks of intimate relationships. She also didn't get to see the adults around her excelling in life because they were just taking it day by day, anticipating her mother passing at any time. Reduced to just surviving.

By the time my grandmother died, the damage had been done. My mother never knew the comfort of her mother’s arms and was well on her way to sabotaging her life. I know it was hard for her; I remember people were terrible to her and would spit at us and say, “nigger lover” in disgust. I didn’t understand when I was young and thankfully it stopped happening by the time I got old enough to figure it out. This woman has been through so much heavy shit and I completely get why she was unable to mother me. She checked out, which was the only way she knew to survive. I got over being mad at her a long time ago when I figured out it was just wasted energy. It’s not her fault and it was never her intention to be so broken that she failed at parenting. I had to stop taking it personal. Developing that understanding has helped me to forgive her for so many terrible times she can’t remember due to her drinking and drugging. It also helps me now when I still need her but have to understand that she is just not capable of being there for me. She is still so deep in the throes of her trauma and her daily dance to dodge it and I have found peace with that. Her process is her own and it has been empowering to finally realize that I can still heal, regardless of where she’s at with her healing.

Yes, I’m dismayed she won’t commit to the work that is needed to overcome her trauma, but again, that is her choice. It’s true that forgiveness is an elixir to the soul. I forgive her and I love her and want the best for her even though I don’t want to see her at this point in time. Her choice to remain a slave to addiction is something I accept but will not stick around to witness. This past year since I began therapy, I am more aware of how I’m triggered by her and am better able to understand those reactions. I’m learning to respond instead of react it brings me peace immediately. As much as I get why I was neglected, I still have to process it and give myself the space to heal. She’s a funny, witty woman with a heart of gold and I thank her for passing on those attributes to me. We actually became friends and overcame the past together many years ago while I was living in Brooklyn. I came home to visit and we had a transcending experience, both having grown enough to come to a beautiful understanding. I know with love and patience we can do so again if she chooses. Until then or if that day never comes, I continue my journey to the other side of myself with a bit more clarity and peace having found unconditional love for my little white mama.

4 am

The Wise Mama Ba

I often wake in the middle of the night, crying and upset, feeling so alone and angry to have been dealt such a challenging hand. We all have crucial moments where we must face Life alone, but most folks have people around them for comfort and support between those times. Imagine if you can, having absolutely nobody to depend on, to call for comfort or to rely on. The whole time you’ve been alive, this is a basic human comfort you have never known. Family. How do you make it through the dark when you’re afraid? Who’s there to let you know everything will be okay? No one has been there for you as a child and by the time you reach my age, it feels like no one ever will be.

I not only console myself about whatever is frightening me; but I also have to calm myself about being the only one here to do so. As a child I never knew the security and protection of a family. On the contrary, it was my family who I needed protection from. Consequently, as an adult I'm unfamiliar with the comfort, stability and protection provided by a loving family or even a husband, although I provide it for my children the best I can. I have to convince myself that I’m okay because I’m here for myself and I will protect us. I have developed a wise mother voice after all this time, Wisa Mama Ba, to say the things to me that we all need to hear to be alright when afraid, frustrated or confused. There’s usually a point where I have to detach from my emotional self just to get up and on with my day and triumphantly be the force that my children depend on for comfort and safety.

I am all my children have. Literally. I’m often overwhelmed by the extreme pressure of providing some sort of stability that will remain with them regardless of me actually being there. Thinking of them being alone in this world like I was before they came drives me crazy; at least they have each other and the chance to create their own families since they’re still young. But like me, they have no blood family beyond me that we are in touch with and that makes me so sad. Yet my daughters are strong and nourished, secure in who they are as individuals. Essentially I have instilled all they need to succeed whether I’m in the flesh or not. But I still feel lost sometimes, not knowing my grandparents, aunts, cousins, in any other way than being the unwanted bastard mulatto child of two troublesome youngsters.  

Lack of these basic relationships have made it difficult for me to build strong intimate bonds with people in the world. Yet there is an upside to the tragedy: I easily connect with everyone on a very basic, human level and feel like we are all part of one, huge family. I have more regard for strangers than most people have for their own family members because I honor this bond so much, being deprived of it in my personal life before having children. It’s kinda cool to be able to somehow relate to everybody and know that we’re all linked by something beyond any of our comprehension. It’s that monumental connection to humanity that has kept me from disappearing into complete and utter dispair. No matter how alone I feel, the second I step into the world, I have consistent interactions of compassion, camaraderie and unity with people on the streets, in cafes, at the grocery store; wherever I go I find family.

But I worry about the example I’m giving my daughters. Only in that I am extremely critical of the company I keep and most often, after leaving a thriving community in Atlanta, I’ve been on my own here in Denver. All of my deep adult friendships were forged with people I encountered during my twenties which I spent in New York and Atlanta. After having my oldest daughter, I moved back here to my hometown hoping to finally get close to my mother. After years of estrangement we finally made peace about our tumultuous past and I thought the move would help facilitate our healing, which it did for a while. Being away from my her for so long, 16 years at that point, I had forgotten the depth of her psychosis. After only a short time, I felt myself negatively influenced by her constant complaining and poverty mentality. She was still in victim mode; always brought up tragic news like the most recent missing children or rape and murder victims and her conversations dwelled on negative interactions with people. The truth was that getting away from her was the smartest thing I had done and now I was back in the fire with her like a crab in the barrel; just pulling me down every time I made a move to get up.

Misery loves company and she was elated to have me back. I had hoped for a grandparent for my child and possibly a friendship with my mom. But I forgot that she’s the most dysfunctional person I know and that being around her is soul draining. She had began drinking again after 15 years of sobriety and it was ugly to watch, so I started to drink with her. After a few years around her it got to the point where my Monday morning was her Friday night (she worked weekends and would be getting off on Monday mornings at 8) and we would be drinking and smoking marijuana by 10, after I dropped my kids off at school. I had recently graduated from CU and needed to get out there and get back on the work horse but I would be reduced to nothing mentally because I hated myself for being caught in her web. Great way to start to the week with failure. I would participate in this behavior in cycles; she was like that bad friend who you go and be your worst self with. But this was my mother.

It would inevitably get to the point where we’d have to have “the talk”, where I’d explain that I left all my friends and community to be closer to her so she and my children could have a relationship. By that point I had another beautiful child with another emotionally unavailable man and had moved on to do my best as a single parent. I had to ask her to not drink alcohol and smoke in the presence of my babes, which she would never adhere to. Being around her became a task and the family assistance and support I initially sought was never fulfilled. The more I brought it to her attention, the worse she got with her drinking. It was to a point where I had to pretend I was okay or even unaware of her being constantly drunk and high in order to be in her presence or else we would have it out. I personally preferred to evade the drama and would just act like I didn't notice, but it got to me. It reminded me of my childhood and I didn’t want my girls exposed to that. I knew I had to extract ourselves from her life once my girls began to complain about going to see her. I fell into a deep depression that I am just now emerging from, having to face the reality that this woman who had never been there for me, never would be.

 

Through The Looking Glass

14 year old me, 9th grade, East High School

As children, none of us witness addiction, abuse and poverty and desire that as an outcome in adulthood. Yet children learn through mimicking the adults in their environment, so it goes without saying that the people we grow up around shape our ideas of what kind of people the world is made of. How we are treated by them forms an idea of our own place in it. While every family has natural ups and downs to deal with, children raised in stable, safe, secure environments develop feelings of acceptance and belonging which allows them to become capable and often substantial members of society. They have the ability to do whatever they want, from going to college and becoming the CEO of a billion dollar software company to becoming a New York Times bestselling author and blogger. Whatever they can conceive themselves doing; their family and friends support with positive energy and whatever is needed to assist their beloved in getting to their dreams. They are told they can do it and they believe they can.

Children brought up in disheveled, broken homes with drug addicts and alcoholics as their role models often grow up feeling like have nots and believing we don’t deserve the good life that regular people have, no matter how much we want it. Many grow up to create lives of chaos and disorder, unable to even fathom a “normal” existence, mimicking the negative behavior and situations we grew up in. Passing it on generation to generation. Then there are those of us who saw enough disaster as children to choose the complete opposite and struggle to swing into the light of day. We get away from our captors as soon as we can and strive to create a new life with new rules and infinite possibilities. We get jobs, go to college, try to do what everyone does. But deep down we are pretending to be okay while struggling with feeling like we don't belong in the same circumstances and situations as regular folks. Until we confront and overcome the lies and abuse we experienced as children, we are unable to be adults capable of manifesting a truly substantial existence.

I was a positive thinker at a very young age despite my unsavory surroundings. I somehow knew that I wasn’t born for lifelong suffering; I was born to break free from it. I’m not sure what it was but I knew there was a world where constant drama was not the focus of reality. I knew that as soon as I could get away from the circus my mom ran, I’d be on my way to being a contributing voice in this world and would live this life the way I wanted to live it. And I did just that. In 9th grade I got a job at a downtown cafe and worked after school and weekends. By this time my mom had been busted for prostitution in several states and was a year into her bargain of drug and alcohol rehabilitation for my sake (nice judge). We had just moved out of the program’s house into our own place and I couldn’t stand to be around her. Suddenly she was sober and was trying to discipline me, while all these years I’d not only been her caretaker but my own as well. She couldn’t tell me shit. My way of rebelling was getting out of the house and earning an income in order to get away from her forever. There was nothing out there that could hurt me more than what I’d gone through with her. I was fearless about my entry into the world of the living.

I’m having a moment writing this… thinking of my own daughter who is now 14. The same age I was, trying to figure out how to get away in the name of self preservation. I can’t imagine my little girl feeling trapped and hopeless in the reality I’m responsible for providing to her. I can’t imagine her working tirelessly to get as far away from me as she could in order to finally feel safe. That would just destroy me to know that I had failed her in such a detrimental way. I’m so grateful to have become a parent who strives to give the children what I didn’t have. That begins with my devoted presence and protection, but I digress…

My point is, I went out into the world and have accomplished things I never thought possible, yet have not been capable of bringing my talents to fruition...

I believe that without the love and support of family and friends, people wither away. No one can do it alone; whatever “it” is. I have succeeded as a poet and musician, made a dent in beauty care with my shea butters, and always had the ability to create beautiful jewelry and apparel and get it featured in designer boutiques. I have paid my bills, kept a job or two at a time, had a nice, clean home; I have survived. I even earned a couple degrees at a prestigious college while raising two incredible daughters as a single parent. Yet none of my endeavors have resulted in long term success because I had no idea how to succeed. That’s not the reality I was exposed to. So there was only a certain level I could rise to before I was trying to figure something else out: to survive.

Just being aware of the fact that I've been stuck in survival mode has helped me step out of the loop. Through this process I am learning to understand myself and how I’ve lived in a state of dissociation just to get by. This whole journey is really me trying to figure out how to rewire my brain to move past just surviving and find a place of feeling truly stable in the world. For the sake of being able to pass on the confidence and self worth I had to find on my own, to my daughters. And the opportunity for success that comes with that foundation so they have a qualifying chance at a decent life. They are worth this good fight and so am I.

New Years Revelations

My mom lights a cigarette next to me at dinner. Easter, 1975

The first day of 2015 rises and I’m feeling divine. A door has opened within me after writing and actually publishing my declaration to healing and sharing the process yesterday on FB. I woke up today and immediately began writing with the type of abandon I haven't felt in years. The awful weight of the stress I've been carrying has been somewhat eased by my confession and I've decided to write a blog in order to share my thoughts and revelations. It was hard to out myself and publicly admit that I’m an adult survivor of child abuse. I’ve never disclosed such detail on social media and I felt a pit of anxiety every time I got an alert on my phone, worried that I had used the wrong tool to get my message across. But every response has been kind and supportive and those who are too hip and cool to care about the subject can use their free will and not read it. I won’t delete it although I really want to! I feel extremely vulnerable and don’t want people to think I’m fishing for attention. That’s not where I’m coming from with this story. This is no poor me tale to round up sympathy; this is a tale that needs to be told for the sake of those who cannot get it together, like I was, because of past trauma. This is also for the many who have not suffered severe abuse yet would like better insight to those who have and do.

I’m going to make it to the other side of myself. I even feel like I’ve done so much just by being brave and speaking out. Being stuck in the loop of an abusive past is a very lonely place...

I understand how we won’t let others get close, even though we truly desire genuine friendships and lovers. We sabotage our victories, thinking somewhere deep down we don’t deserve them. This voice is to address those in need of a reflection. We all feel like we’re the only one who is suffering while in the throes of sorrow’s depths. But we are not alone. Most people have been through some sort of serious trauma, i.e., a car accident, death of a loved one, natural disaster, rape. Some folks have gone through isolated incidents and some have gone through recurring situations; many suffer from PTSD. It’s been documented that when severe conditions and trauma happen to children, the PTSD is slightly different and has been dispersed into the body and memories in layers. That’s why it may take years of therapy and bodywork to fully remove the long term effects of recurring child trauma.

When you see “child abuse” you think of a cruel parent yelling obscenities at a child and beating them. That would be half of America’s dads, right? Most definitely mine. Lots of people had a shitty parent and went through child abuse in that form, on a recurring level. Sexual abuse is a big one. I’ve heard many sickening stories of it being the mother or father as the abuser, as well as uncles, aunts, the babysitter, grandpa. I have experienced sexual abuse from uncles and family friends from a very young age. Been there. Usually in the company of the neglectful parent who is too busy getting high with shady characters to notice that one of them is getting down with their child in the other room. I was the kid at the bar playing pool with drunk strangers as my mom perused the placed with her playmate for the evening. It took a few years for me to get that she was a lady of the night, an alcoholic and a serious drug addict. Hence, all the shady characters constantly around while she was, conversely, constantly absent (just in the other room taking care of business). Later she told me she did it to take care of me; that wasn’t a mind fuck or anything.

But really, who drags their kid along to the bar? It was the early 70’s so the whole PC thing wasn’t in the mix. Hell, my mom smoked cigarettes and weed in the car, with the windows rolled up. All the time. Drunk. She admitted I was conceived on LSD and I know for a fact she drank and smoked while i was in vitro. I never had a chance and yet I’ve made it so far. That’s why this story is important to tell. I'm making my way to a healthy place and so can anyone who wants to get to the other side of their suffering.

Neglect is a big deal, especially if your parents didn’t keep quality company. I’m honestly amazed things weren't worse; the situations my crazy mom had going on in our house. We would move two or three times a year, always running from one of her insane boyfriends, who I found out years later were actually her pimps. Which made sense because I always wondered why they were so mad at her. Why rip apart all of our furniture and and my stuffed toys? Because these guys were looking for their cut of the cash. She told me all about it in a drunken stupor several different times and then consistently denied it all when I brought it back to her sober. But knowing the truth helps me sort it out and get what I need to heal. For many years I thought I needed her to heal, too, in order to move into the light of day. The truth is that I only need myself and my conviction to heal. There is an abundance of assistance available in different forms and my mission is to offer my perspective and my process to all who need the strength and courage to do the same for themselves. 

Look within and you will never be without.