Part 1: My story

I recently read a book that had a profound effect on me. So much so, I bought two more copies for my friends and one for counselor. I mentioned it in my previous blog but if you are really struggling with self-love and direction, I cannot recommend “Girl Wash Your Face” by Rachel Hollis enough! There are so many powerful words it’s hard to not want to be a better person after finishing it. There is a quote in it,

“Finding the courage to be honest about who you are or what you’re going through is like throwing yourself into the deep end of the pool and fighting to swim once you hit the cold water.”

I’ve been fighting the cold water. I had this amazing idea that I would write this epic blog about my life so far (the cliff notes version of course because lord knows I’d need a whole book if I were to give away ALL the details). It would be super easy, quick and I’d knock it out in like one hour. I was so wrong. I’ve been trying to write this for a week now but replaying the scenes from images stuck in my head from my childhood has made me realize that I’m not quite ready to jump off the deep end just yet, so I’ll share a little bit for now and make sure you all get part two.

Some of these childhood memories have been tough to think about, much less put on paper. There are parts of my past that have broken my spirit, made me feel less than and small. Sometimes, I was the bad guy. I made dumb decisions and wore out my welcome. There are also times I have laughed until I cried, spoke love and beauty into the world, and gave more than I received. Regardless, my past doesn’t define who I am or who I’m becoming, and yours doesn’t have to define you either! We can learn to BE better and DO better once we recognize the parts of our past that are stopping us from being the best versions of ourselves. So, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to take you back to August of 1989.

I was born August 17th, on my paternal grandmother’s 50th birthday. She once said that I was the best birthday present she had ever received. That always stuck with me. It warms my heart and still makes me smile to this day when I think about it. I thought the world of that woman but more on her later!

My dad was an over the road truck driver for most of my adolescence. My mother worked on and off but for the most part, she was a homemaker. I am number 4 out of 5 children, starting with the oldest it goes: brother, sister, sister, me, brother. We are spread out over 14 years apart from oldest to youngest. I was the baby for a good 9 years before our parents decided that a mid-life crisis meant having another child, but I’m so glad they did.

I grew up in a small town in Texas. I wouldn’t necessarily say my family was middle class…. maybe more closely to upper lower class. My grandpa owned a small farm where he and my grandma, my family, my two aunts and their families all lived. It was our own little compound if you will. All in separate homes of course, this wasn’t the Beverly Hillbillies.

We as kids were required to help out, which meant getting up and feeding the animals before school, sweeping, moping, mowing, etc. with our allowance being able to have a roof over our head. Our families would get together every Sunday for lunch at Nanny and Poppy’s house. Everyone would pitch in what they could on a KFC bucket of fried chicken and sides. If money was really tight, someone would cook. Every holiday we would all get together once again at Nanny and Poppy’s, eat, and just enjoy each other’s company. All of us cousins would end the day by playing hide and seek outside in the dark. We were all really close.

There were occasional fights between families (sometimes within) and the Sheriff’s office would have to come out. I watched one aunt get shot at and my oldest brother intentionally tried to run over the other. But in the end, the fight would be forgotten about as if it never happened and things would slowly go back to normal.

I spent a LOT of time at my Nanny’s house. She taught me how to sew, snap peas, cook porch chops among many other things. We always loved watching country music videos or Boomerang together. She had the BEST laugh especially when she got really tickled. She was my best friend. There was a short period of time she had to move in with us when I was somewhere around 5-7 years old. Their house had burned down and she needed somewhere to go until they found somewhere to live. (My grandpa was a truck driver so he wasn’t home as much and would sleep in his big truck when he was.)

Though I don’t remember her actually staying with us, I do remember the day she moved out. Her and my mom had gotten into an argument and I watched my mom physically push her out of our house and throw a box fan at her. I was unbelievably angry with my mother back then. Having had a mother in-law of my own, I get the aggravation, though I still don’t think I would have chosen violence. My grandparents ended up purchasing a trailer home and moving it onto the property and still living next door.

Because I was the baby, that meant my older siblings would always send me to ask mom if we could do things, because in their opinion, “I was never told no.” If they wanted to go swimming, I had to ask. If we wanted to go ride our bikes, I had to ask. So when my brother told me to ask my mom if I could sleep in his room, I thought nothing of it and just did what I was told. That night my oldest brother stole my innocence. Not just that night but for weeks, months even, he continued.

I know what you may be thinking, why didn’t I just tell him no or tell an adult, but my brother was a bully. He often would start picking on me, and when I would fight back, he would whine and tell our mom and I would be the one getting in trouble while he got off with nothing. I felt that this was no different. If I tattled, I would be the one that would be getting into trouble for something he was doing, that I was the one in the wrong. So I remained silent.

I remember the day it stopped. I was nine years old, sitting in an office with a lady I didn’t know and a video camera pointed at me recoding everything I said. Her asking me if I understood the difference between the truth and a lie before she asked me about my brother and what may have happened. I wanted to lie at first because I still thought my parents would be angry and blame me but as embarrassing and shameful as it was, I told this lady everything.

My parents ended up making my brother move next door with my grandparents as he was still under 18 and in home school. I don’t remember him having any other punishment, however, I’ve blacked out much of my childhood because of this incident (and) I didn’t think it was fair that his “punishment” was to live with the one woman I would give anything to live with, and I was stuck being ushered to group therapy every week by my mother. Having to replay and repeat what happened week after week in front of other girls my age made me feel so disgusted with myself as well as embarrassed. I absolutely hated it. He eventually moved back in with us and the therapy ceased.

I found escape through reading and music. So I joined the school band my 6th grade year and was invited to be in honor band my 7th grade year. Which for you non-band nerds, you don’t make honor band unless you are really good. I was STOKED!

This was about the time my dad decided to quit long haul truck driving so he could be home more. I thought I would enjoy seeing him more, but it was weird and took a while to adjust. This is also the summer my parents decided to move us thirty minutes away to the next town over. Now, that really isn’t that far but when you are 12 years old and have no means of getting to your grandma’s house to see her, it might as well be a different country. No grandma and no honor band. My world was crushed. On the bright side, my older brother would not be moving with us.

I begged my mother to let me move in with my grandma, but despite my efforts, she never let me. So I put on my big girl panties and I set off on a new adventure in a new town, new school, to find new friends. The first year was a bit of a struggle as I learned to maneuver all the newness on top of coming into womanhood. My second year I gained a lot more confidence and decided to run for class president for the next school year. Being pretty new to the district still, I didn’t think I had a chance, but thought what the hell anyway.

I ran my campaign. I made shirts, buttons, signs, you name it. I had started to really want it so when voting day came, I tried to not get too excited and anxious because I still didn’t think I had a chance. I cannot even describe the sheer shock I felt when my name was called as the winner!

I was on cloud nine for a week making plans about how I was going do this and do that. I was determined to be the BEST class President this town had ever seen! That was until I learned that we would be moving to a different state that summer and I had to step down as class President. Once again, I felt like the “trophy” I just won was ripped from my hands. If I thought thirty minutes was too far from my grandma, six hours was going to be TORTURE!

An elderly man my mother had met in an AOL chat was offering us to stay in one of his rent houses.  He had a job lined up for my dad once we got there. It sounded like a pretty sweet gig, almost too good to be true, but we packed up the U-Haul and headed north to Oklahoma. When we arrived, we were told there were a few items still in the house that the previous tenants had left but they would work on getting it out. Turns out, it was a bit more than a “few items”. Two of the four bedrooms were packed full so there wasn’t much room for us four kids to spread out. It was just……odd and something didn’t feel right.

My parents started to fight more and more, and eventually separated. My mom moved into an apartment on the other side of town. It was just a one-bedroom apartment so my little brother ended up living with her while us girls lived with my father. It was inevitable that they would be getting a divorce. Living with my dad was not easy. He had been a truck driver most of my childhood so for him to be the soul parent and authoritative figure now was really tough to accept. He quite frankly became an asshole. I wanted nothing more but to run away.

I’m not sure how the realization of the situation we were in happened, but my parents eventually saw the red flags for what they were. We walked out of that house that day with just a few changes of clothes so we could stay in my mom’s apartment while my dad went to see his brother in hopes of finding us some place to go permanently. I don’t remember if the owner wouldn’t let us or my parents just didn’t want to, but we were never allowed to go back into that house. We would eventually find ourselves moving 3 hours south (3 hours closer to grandma). There were still a few things left in the house that would be tough to replace (I couldn’t tell you what they were now), so my sister and I broke in one night and grabbed what we could fit in a backpack. That night when I left, along with all my possessions, I left my childhood behind too.

It was middle of the first semester, my freshman year of high school. My parents decided to work things out and we moved in next door to my uncle. He had a barn where a portion of it was converted into a one-bedroom studio apartment, roughly 600 sq ft. Mind you, at this time, my family still consisted of 4 children aged 6-18 (three being teenage girls), and two adults. There was another bedroom, but it was in the barn area with no heat or ac so you could only comfortably stay out there certain months of the year plus (that’s also where the trash was kept until it was picked up so the smell was unbearable at times).

I started what I call my “rebellious period”. I got my tongue pierced, started wearing baggy clothes, and adored Eminem (okay, I still do but that’s not the point here). I was a brat to my parents, I just wanted to do whatever I wanted, when I wanted and I didn’t want anyone to tell me I couldn’t. I would want to be at friend’s houses instead of my own. I never felt like I had any privacy. During the summers I would stay at my grandma’s house as long as I could because at least there I had my own room.

My parents were both working and were eventually able to afford a two-bedroom trailer house just on the outside of town to where I didn’t have to change schools. Looking back now, with five kids, I understand why we struggled so much. Kids are expensive.

We were at least able to afford to still get together at Nanny and Poppy’s for the holidays. My sophomore year, close to Christmas, my grandma’s health really started to go down-hill, and in March she suffered a stroke and went into a coma. My grandpa would always try to lighten the mood in the hospital room by saying, “Suzie, you gotta put on your hot pink mini skirt and high heels so we can go dancin’”. It always made me laugh picturing her in a mini skirt! (I guess that’s why he will always be my Ray of sunshine) Up until this point I was staying in her hospital room as much as possible anticipating her waking up at any moment, but my parents had used up as much leave time as possible and we had to go back home.

The weather matched my mood on the drive home. It was storming so bad you could barely see the road in front of us and no matter how hard I tried, the tears wouldn’t stop falling. Halfway home, my dad’s cell phone rang. It was the call I had been dreading and praying wouldn’t come. We had lost my Nanny. I know it’s cliché but I felt like my world had ended right then and there. For now, that’s where I will end as well.

I encourage you all to think about your past. What events or experiences have you tried to bury and forget about that affected you emotionally, physically, spiritually that you may have not fully healed from yet? It doesn’t matter how anyone else viewed that experience or what their opinion is, what matters is how it made YOU feel. This is YOUR journey, not theirs. Let’s find the courage this week to be honest about who we are and what trauma we need healing from so we can forgive where we need to and learn how to do better. Most importantly, remember to love yourself and give yourself grace. This won’t be easy but I know you can do it.