I didn’t want to leave those of you following this story hanging. I found it hard to continue after my last post. No matter how old you get things in your past are still hard to deal with at times. I wanted to show those of you out there, that there are others, with trauma, in all corners of the world.
I loved my mother, many ask why, others can’t seem to understand. She was all that I had. She wasn’t as hard on me as she was my siblings. There were times we would be hungry at night, and because my punishment wouldn’t be as harsh, I would sneak into the kitchen at night and get us something to eat. I would try to put things back the way they were so that she wouldn’t knowl, but she had a way about her. She knew.
I remember getting sick on some kind of pinwheel hamburger helper one night. My mother had planned to take us out to the pool where we lived that night, but because I just couldn’t stomach the food, she made me stay at home and lay down, while she took my siblings swimming that night.
I could hate her if I chose to, but why? I am who I am because of her and what I went through all those years ago. I am the best mother I know how to be because I choose not to follow in her footsteps. I choose not to let my trauma dictate who I am or who I choose to be.
I write because it’s an outlet for me. I love telling stories because I love how reading takes me to another place, another time, and often at exactly the time that I need to be taken away….
I won contests as a child for my writing and it was always a dream of mine. Through other traums endured even after my parents passed, I didn’t fullfill my dreams and although many may say I’m not qualified to be a writer, I’d like to beg to differ.
Don’t let trauma hold you back from who you are or who you want to be. Use it to fuel you in the moments to come. Decide to be better than the trauma that set out to tear you down.
Thank you for following me while I chose just to tell a portion of my life of hell.