Every time I share my story to people I get a new view on who I am. I get “I am sorry ” or whispers that I might become abusive Or become addicted to drugs.
I remember sitting in one of my child development classes in college and the professor said ” Those children who are born in abusive families, will become abusive themselves when they get older.” I immediately dropped that class. It changed my whole view on becoming a teacher. I knew I wanted to be above the statistics. To show I am living proof that I am the “impossible.”
Growing up, I was so scared to show where I came from, I did not want people to know. I felt ashamed of Who I was. I just want to fit in and be normal. Have baby pictures and have my parents talk about my “firsts…”
Whenever I would go over to family reunions , I would hear a lot of “I remember your first walk so and so…” And ” seeing you at the hospital for the first time…” Those words hit me like a needle to the heart. They should bring joy and happiness right? If you are here to read about all the positive joys of an abusive child. I am sorry, but to get to that point. I have to bring you into the pains that hurt , guilt and confusion.
Being a foster child, I found that I kept a lot of things to myself. I did not want to show the real me. I was ashamed of it. I was ashamed of the person inside of me. I had so many bad memories in my mind I was scared of the new memories that my adopted family was giving me. I was scared of putting my trust towards someone that could let me down again.
I am native american and no don’t ask me if I know “Traditional views or ways or the language” if you want to know that go read a history book. As you read those books you might come across values of mothers respecting their children. Teaching them to grow and learn in the traditional Native American way. Well, I hate to disappoint you, I was never taught that. I was never taught how to dance at powwows or make dream catchers. I was never taught how to make beaded art work and or speak to mother earth. My mom was too drunk to really teach me those things.
If you are here to hear the cut and dry, happy ending story. Well, my happy ending starts with a rough growing up. I was labeled as “delayed” developmentally or physically even though I knew I was not any of this. I just labeled this way because that is what everyone told me I was. I could not speak my mind. I didn’t have a choice to speak for myself, I was told what I was. So I just kept my mouth shut for most of my younger years.
I never knew where I fit in this world. My adopted family is Caucasian and we live in such a world that the skin color is noticeable when we go out together. My adopted family taught me the values of how important I am no matter the color. They taught me to never judge those based on color. But , inside I still didnt know where I fit in. Should I run back to my real mom and feel better? Should I cry about it some more? I had so many feels of uncertainty that some days I just cuddled in a dark closest and read my books or drew. These things took me away from all that. A world where I had no control of who I was. A world where I was already determined my fate before I even had a chance to prove myself.
In middle school, high school snd even college people would ask about the marks on my arm and body and I had to make up some “dumb” story just to cover up my past. I just want to be normal and fit in with everyone else. I didnt want those memories ruining a life.
I am now 28. I have a great job and 1 step away from going into the Air Force. I have a great family and I live far away from my old family who only gave me pain and suffering. But before I give you that story of how I ended up on Texas. I want to share the beginning of my life. I have been writing a book for a few yeas now. Wondering if the world is ready for a story like this. Being abuse, abandoned, being bit by dogs over and over. These next words might make you stop reading , but they have to be said. Being raped by my step dad every night or whenever my mom was not around. Have cigarette burns on your arm, because your mom didnt have a way to put it out. Or being thrown in a room with cement walls and locked in for days, because you asked a kind little old lady for food.
As the years passed, I have learned to develop me. I was tired of everyone telling me and labeling on who they want me to be. I have learned that it is okay to be me and I have learned this through trail and error. My next blog, I am going to go more in-depth on this journey and the lessons I learned.