This upcoming week I will be celebrating my 4oth birthday. I mean whoa, my 40th BIRTHDAY!!!
Honestly over the years getting older was not really a big deal to me. I remember the night before I turned 30, I was not sad. I didn’t really think much of it. Except “Wow, I will never be in my twenties again.” And I kept it moving. I spent the whole of this decade growing my family, I had my twins at 31. Growing in my surroundings. We bought our first house at 35. Growing my friendships. Growing my mind. Growing my self-awareness. Healing from childhood trauma. Healing from insecurities. Healing from low self-worth. Healing from troubles in my marriage. I mean this past decade has been a huge decade of growth for me!
And 40 had just really crept up on me. Had I been paying attention, I would have seen the signs. Two years ago, I was diagnosed as perimenopausal. That means my period comes whenever she wants to and stays for however long she deems necessary. LOL! Gray hairs have been appearing all over my head, I pull those guys right on out. My hair is starting to fall out and thin in certain spots. Boo!! I’m starting to see those fine lines on my face that I always heard about but did not care to think about. I now am learning how to apply my make up so that it doesn’t crease under my eyes and make me look older. And to top it all off, my first born started high school this year. In just four short years she will be flying the coop to start the calling that God has placed within her. To say that I have struggled mentally with that would be a complete understatement. “Like, didn’t I just have her?” “Wasn’t she just playing dressing up as Rapunzel?” “Wasn’t she just starting elementary school?” “Weren’t we just selling girl scout cookies together?” “Didn’t we just go on those Girl Scout trips to Disney world and Gatlinburg.” “Didn’t we just move to Georgia when she was in the fourth grade?” I really could go on with these thoughts. I mean why has no one spoke on the mental realization you have of youth lost with turning 40?! I never even thought about what it means to grow older. And to watch those physical changes happen right before your eyes. But still feel young on the inside.
Ok, ok, I know that 40 is NOT like old for real. I mean I see tons of people in their forties KILLING the game. But when the awaking I guess within myself of “Girl, you like getting older for real for real” happened, it put me in place of struggle. And it’s so odd because I have asked so many people my age of what their thoughts of turning 40 are, and they respond so casually without any real concern. Like am I the only one with these thoughts? Am I just being too dramatic? Am I just over thinking it? Am I having a midlife crisis? LOL!
I decided after having my struggle thoughts to start seeking wisdom from women who had already walked through their forties. Asking them questions about themselves and how they felt. Asking them questions about walking through parenting teenagers. Asking them questions about their marriage. And most times the women I spoke with let me know that their forties were their favorite decade. Those woman gave me much advice that I have taken and found much solace in.
I decided after that to start to embrace the changes I am experiencing. To fully live and feel the feelings I have as I journey through. To take each day and be more intentional than the day before. To love unconditionally because life really does fly by so quickly. To focus on the beauty in the creation around me. To deeply breathe in every moment and to truly be thankful because life and birthdays are an absolute gift. Thank you, Father for number 40.
The day I found out I was having two boys I was overwhelmed with an instant joy. I remember being completely convinced before then that I was having a girl and a boy because you and Noah had two different heart rates my whole pregnancy. I thought that was a sign of two different genders. I had a girl and a boy name picked out. Noah and Olive. When the ultrasound tech said BabyB was also a boy, I looked at your daddy and said “What are we going to name him?” When we left the office that day, my mind swirled with ideas of what I wanted your name to be. I decided in that moment that I wanted you to have my initials. I asked your dad, and he agreed. DLY, those were going to be your initials. Now just like the three other kids, your name had to have meaning. It was always important to your dad and I that we were specific in choosing names. We understood that what we named you, is what we were speaking over you. As I searched through all the biblical names, I came across the name Daniel. I knew in that moment I loved that name and wanted it to be your name. Daniel in Hebrew means “God Is My Judge”. I then had to find your middle name, it needed to start with the letter L. I searched and searched for names, and eventually came across the name Levin. Levin in Russian means Lion. So just like Daniel in the bible, you are my Daniel and the lion’s den. And you get to share my initials. My sweet Daniel Levin Yelder.
Daniel, there are so many things I love about you. I love your heart to serve people. You are always willing to help no matter what. For example, there are so many times that you have helped me and told me “No mom, I got it. Let me do it”. Or there have been times that your teachers have mentioned to me that you like to help in class. Don’t stop being that way. This is how Jesus wants us to live.
I love your sense of humor. I love how you can make a joke out of anything. And I especially love all you the silly faces you make with those jokes. Your light heartedness is definitely needed in this world.
I love your passion when you love something. I love how you dive all into whatever that thing is. For example, when you started to like Pokémon. You started collecting the toys, and the cards. You researched the different moves the Pokémon make. You started watching the movies and the shows. You even influenced your brother to like Pokémon.
I love how you fight to have your voice heard. Because you are the youngest of the four kids, you often have to fight for your voice to be heard. And I know that you get so frustrated. Don’t ever stop fighting to have your voice heard. Your voice matters. YOU matter.
Daniel, I want you to know that it is ok to share your feelings. The world will tell you that because you are a boy/man that it is not ok. That you have to be tough and not show how you feel. That is wrong. God gave us emotions. Feel them. Live them. Embrace them. It is what makes us human. Don’t sin because of them. But definitely do not hide them.
I want you to know that you have a beautiful soul. And you are a gift to this world. I am truly so excited to see what God has in store for you. And I am so grateful that I get to be a part of YOUR story.
The day I picked out your name, I remember well. I was sitting on the porch of an assisted living home with an elderly lady who wanted to enjoy some fresh air. I remember as I sat there looking off into the blue sunny sky, thinking I wanted to name my future son Noah. The name Noah came to me from a character in a movie that your dad and I really loved called “The Notebook”. We really connected to the couple in that movie and felt like our relationship was similar to theirs. I wanted to commemorate that connection by using the name of the man in the movie. I remember sharing these thoughts with your dad, and he was in agreeance that we should do that.
The name Noah in Hebrew means rest, or comfort. I definitely see that as you are growing, your spirit gives off an energy of comfort. You have a huge empathic heart for people and animals. I know that God will use that gift to bring comfort to many people. And they will find rest in knowing that you genuinely care about them and their circumstances.
You are a very smart boy. And you pay attention to details and small things around you. You get that from your introverted personality. Which is a gift. Do not let anyone tell you it isn’t. You are not shy. You are not broken. You are created just as you were meant to be. I love how you find joy in the small things. Like collecting rocks, sticks or bird feathers. Or how you like to read books on insects and all things animals. I love how you always have a great animal fact to share with me.
You are a natural leader. You may not see that now. But one day you will. You have a great strength about you. And I know He is going to use that for His glory.
You are a sensitive person. You feel things deeply. The world is going to try and tell you that your sensitivity is too feminine. It’s not. God the father gave you that gift. For example, I love how you came home one day and shared with me that there were two boys picking on another little boy. And you told me that you stood in front of the little boy to protect him from being punched. And in return you were punched. The sensitive heart that God gave you to want to stand in front of the bullied little boy, is something that is so rare. Please don’t loose that.
Keep praying over all the small things that we daily take for granted. Listening to you pray in the mornings is one of my favorite things to listen to. The things and situations that you choose to pray about reminds me daily to not take my life and anything in it for granted. Thank you for that.
Noah, you are wonderful little human. There are so many gifts inside of you. And I am excited that I get to be a part of the process of discovery as you learn who were created to be.
Hey, my sweet boys!! I am going to start with this letter as a combined story of how you got here. A story you share. But after that, I am going to write you each a letter about the thoughts and things I see in each of you as individuals.
In the Spring of 2012, I was working at RMC, the hospital you were born at in Anniston, Alabama. I was working on the 5th floor which is the long-term care floor. It’s the floor that people who have cancer, or a dire condition come to for treatments. Or often times to die. I was a care tech on this floor. And I absolutely loved this job. I really felt like I was operating out of my calling while I was there. I felt like God wanted me to be a calm light for the people who were staying on this floor. I remember walking down each of the halls passing the rooms and praying for the people inside. Hoping that they would feel some kind of peace and joy in that moment. I definitely felt like I was there with purpose.
Leading up to that summer, I kept feeling the push to move out of our two-bedroom condo apartment, to a three-bedroom condo apartment in the same complex. I thought it was because your sisters needed more space as they were growing. But little did I know God had other plans. The month of June came, and we moved. The apartment was much roomier and felt fresh. We gave the master bedroom with the on-suite bathroom to your sisters. It was a much bigger room then the one that they shared before. Your dad and I took one of the smaller rooms. And I gave the third room to your dad, so that he could have a room to write and work on his website and music goals. Life felt very new and exciting. I had a new job that I loved. We had this new apartment with more space. And things just looked like they were on the up.
I’ll never forget the day July 7th, 2012. It was a Saturday. The week before this I had missed my period. And I had been feeling very fatigue and just not myself. On this morning, after it had been an official week of no signs of my period, I asked your dad to go purchase a pregnancy test for me to take. When he got back, I took the test and almost as quick as I peed on the stick, it came back with the two lines. I absolutely could not believe it. If I am honest, I was not happy. I cried. I cried because I was worried about what your dad was going to say. I had just given him that third room in the apartment, and I knew he was not going to be able to have that room now. I cried because we only had one car that had room only for the two car seats it was already carrying. I cried because I wanted to finally be able to focus on me and my calling, and not feel held back by having another baby to take care of. I know all of these reasons sound completely selfish. And I am so sorry. Your dad, who in that moment was so supportive, had showed no signs of being frustrated. I was thankful. It relieved a lot of my unexpressed worry that I had felt. I am naturally a planner, so to be surprised that we were now expecting another baby completely overwhelmed me and the plans that I had in place.
Almost as soon as I found out I was pregnant, the morning sickness set in and it was UNBEARABLE. I was so tired. My body was so sore. I couldn’t keep anything down. And I mean anything. Not even water. I ended up having to quit my new job. The job was very physical, and I just could no longer function like I did before. I was so upset. (Now because I had to quit my job, I lost my health benefits, which mean I had no health insurance. I ended up filing for Medicaid. Which embarrassed me greatly, I did not want to be seen as a person who was lazy and incompetent for not having health insurance.) The morning sickness grew stronger with each passing day. I remember telling your dad, I thought I was going to die. I felt worse than I had ever felt in my previous two pregnancies. I felt so bad, that I could not even go downstairs to cook or prepare food for your sisters. Patience who was 5 at the time, use to climb on the counters to get into the cabinets to get food for Lyric and herself to eat.
Because I had been so sick, CICI, your god mom, who was a nurse practitioner, came over to help me with your sisters. She noticed that I was gray in color and told me that I did not look good and that I needed to go to the ER. I didn’t want to go, I hadn’t bathed in almost a week, so I knew I had smelled. Also, the Medicaid hadn’t been approved yet, and I did not want the hospital bill I was going to have to pay for going to the ER with no health coverage. She had her mom come and talk me into going to the hospital, so I gave in and went, unbathed and all. While in the ER, they diagnosed me with Hyperemesis which just means I had a very healthy amount of pregnancy hormones in my body and it caused extreme nausea and vomiting. They admitted me to the hospital for three days so that they could run IV fluids and medicine for the extreme nausea and vomiting. I remember asking if they were going to check on the baby because of how sick I had been, and they reassured me that the baby was fine, and they never checked while I was there.
After leaving the hospital I felt a million times better. I felt brand new. I could eat. I had my strength back. I felt energized. I just felt incredible. When I got home that day, the letter of approval from the Medicaid office was in the mail and I was relieved. Because I knew they were going to fully cover the expenses that occurred from my hospital stay. AND I could now finally schedule my first doctor’s appointment to see about my baby. I luckily was able to use the doctor I had seen at the hospital who had been so kind and helpful to me. I scheduled the appointment for a week later. I ended up going alone that day. Your dad had to work and could not be with me. Which was fine, because I had done this before, and there was nothing special about the first appointment. Until this time. I remember when I got there, and it was time for me to go to the back have my first ultrasound. As I lied there on the table, the tech started to do all the measuring’s, I did not notice anything out of the ordinary as I watched on the tv screen that was on the wall. When she finished, she told me just as casual that I was having twins. My heart stopped. I looked at her and said “Wait, are you sure? Twins do not run in my family or my husband’s family”. She said she was definitely sure and preceded to show me Baby A and Baby B on the screen in their different sacs. Which meant you were fraternal. I was completely shocked. It made complete sense in that moment why I had been so sick so soon. I was having TWO babies.
When I left the doctor’s office, I texted your dad to tell him the news, worried about what he would say. And he was happy. I asked him what were we going to do, he said that we were going to be fine, and God would make a way for us. After I had time to process the news that we were going to now be having twins, I remember being excited. God was showing us that he was doing something new with our little family, and I was excited to see how he was going to work it all out. As time went on, we of course hoped that one of the babies would be a boy, because your daddy really wanted his son. And I wanted him to have that. When I would go in for my checkups, I would notice that the heart rates would be very different. Baby A had a faster heartbeat then Baby B. So, I thought I was for sure having a boy/ girl combo. At twenty weeks when it was time for us to find out the gender of our babies. We were very surprised to find out that God had blessed us with TWO sons. I remember telling your dad after, that we had prayed for one son, but God gave us two. We were ecstatic.
At around 24 weeks I ended being put on bedrest, because my cervix was soft, and the doctor did not want me to go into labor early. This was very difficult for me. I had a two-year-old and a five-year-old in kindergarten to take care of while your dad worked. But somehow God graced that season that I was able to still take care of the girls and not go into labor early with each of you. When it was time for you each to make your grand entrance, the doctor scheduled a C-section. Noah you were breach, which means you were lying feet first. And Daniel you were transverse, which means you were lying sideways. The doctor did not want to risk any complications, so he thought the safest thing to do would be to go ahead and have a C-section. I had not had one before and I was terrified. I remember being on the table sobbing in fear of being cut open and feeling it. But I never did, and my fear subsided when I heard Noah cry. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to see him. I did not feel anything when they pulled Noah out. But when they went in to get Daniel, I felt it. It was so weird feeling the pressure of the doctors grabbing and pulling Daniel out of my stomach. But just as quick as the procedure started, it was over. They brought the both of you to my face on the other side of the curtain and I cried. You both are worth every bit of sacrifice and pain I have went through to get you here. I am so thankful that God saw fit that for your dad and I to be your parents. I can’t wait to see how He will use you in the future for his Glory.
Hey, my little Blue Bell. My singing princess. My little mermaid, sprinkle, cupcake, unicorn, rainbow, with a touch of cayenne pepper on top. You have brought SO much color into my world. I honestly did not even know that I needed what you have. But God knew.
I remember when Daddy and I started talking about having another baby. Patience was two, and she was such a joy, that we wanted to give her a sibling. We completely planned out the process and started trying in November of 2009. I was working at a daycare at the time, and it was so perfect, because I was able to work and bring Patience and a soon to be planned out baby with me for free. I mean what a blessing that was for our family.
I found out I was pregnant with you in January of 2010, right after Patience turned three years old. I remember being so excited. Your daddy and I talked about having a boy. Because we thought well, God blessed us already with a little girl, that He was probably going to give us a little boy now. About six weeks after I found out I was pregnant with you the morning sickness set in. The first time I had morning sickness with your sister was hard. But this time seemed harder to manage, because now I had to take care of a three-year-old. And still work teaching at a daycare with a class full of three-year-olds. I struggled. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it. I was vegetarian at the time and did not eat any meat. And was also very health conscious with what I put into my body, so I tried all the natural remedies, and nothing seemed to work. Around the twelve week mark my morning sickness subsided, and I was finally able to enjoy my pregnancy. As time went on, I did not gain much weight. Which concerned my doctor at the time. She thought that because I was a vegetarian, I wasn’t bringing in much nutrition and recommended for me to eat some meat while being pregnant. I really struggled with that because my conviction to not eating animals was very strong. I had learned about some commercial practices in the meat processing industry that really disturbed me. And I absolutely did not want to support any of those companies financially. But because I wanted to make sure you were getting all that you needed, I gave in and only ate chicken or turkey maybe once or twice a week.
Around the twenty-week mark in my pregnancy, your dad and I went in to find out what you were going to be. And because my pregnancy with you had really been different than when I was pregnant with Patience, we sincerely thought we were having a boy. I remember lying on the ultrasound table while the tech measured your body parts to make sure you were growing properly, when she asked us if we wanted to know what your sex was. We both said yes. We looked at the screen and the tech spelled out “I AM A GIRL” I busted out laughing. Because I knew that daddy wanted a boy. He was mad at me. But I sincerely thought it was so funny, because now I would have another little girl to give all my love to. And we would outnumber daddy and the two boy cats at home.
I remember after finding out you were girl struggling mentally, as to how I would be able to love another little girl as much as I loved Patience. I remember being scared that if I did that Patience would feel pushed aside and unloved. I thought how I could ever fairly love another child as much as I did my first. So, I sought after advice from older moms. And other women who had more than one child, who all reassured me that I would not have any trouble loving another baby equally. That my heart would easily have room to share between two children. I prayed to God a lot during that time asking him to make that so.
When your daddy and I picked out your name, we were very intentional. Just like with Patience, we wanted your name to be a representation of our relationship. So daddy came up with the name Lyric. Lyric in French means song. I loved it right away. Your daddy at the time was making Christian hip hop music and was always writing and in the studio. And he and I shared a common bond and love for music that the name Lyric was a very natural choice. Because your dad picked out your first name, I decided that I would pick out your second name. I found the name Bella. Bella in Spanish means beautiful. But also, in Hebrew it means devoted to God. So, in full, your name means a beautiful song devoted to God. And what a song you are. I love listening to you sing every day, using the gift that was spoken over you. And placed within you.
The day I went into the hospital be induced to have you; I was very excited. I couldn’t wait to meet you. I couldn’t wait to see what and who you would like. Would you look like Patience? Would you look like me? Would you look like your daddy? What would your personality be like? Would you be a mommy’s girl like Patience? Would you be a daddy’s girl? I had so many questions. And I couldn’t wait to find out. The doctor gave me Pitocin and broke my water. The contractions came and were very strong. It’s funny because when I went in to have you, I did not have a strong memory of what the pain was like with Patience. So, when I started feeling those contractions, I couldn’t wait to get an epidural. I got the epidural, and you came very soon after. Your birth was a very easy one. I believe it’s because with Patience, I hadn’t given birth before. But this time, my body was already experienced, so you just came right out. And boy were you beautiful!! You came out looking just like your big sister when she was born. I was overwhelmed by how easy it was to just naturally love you the way I did with Patience.
Lyric Bella, you are an extremely passionate person. You have such kind and empathic heart. And I love how you just make friends with everyone so easily. The gift that you have of making people feel seen and valued is like no other. Your spicy protective attitude that God gave you, I know will be used in a mighty way for those less fortunate. I love how you speak out when something is not right or fair. I love how you embrace and love yourself. So much so that your outfits reflect your bright personality. And at times when I think you don’t match, I just let you be you and rock what you feel comfortable in. As you grow, continue to seek God. Spend time in his presence getting close to him and allowing those fruits of his spirit manifest through what he has already placed inside of you. You are going to do BIG things for his glory. I cannot wait to see it all unfold. And lastly, remember to “Be A Light For Jesus”
I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with you. I woke up one morning after your dad and I had been married for about four weeks, with something telling me I needed to take a pregnancy test. I hadn’t even missed my period yet, and I had no signs of even being pregnant. I went out, bought a pregnancy test and took it in the pink bathroom in the house on Juanita Cir in Birmingham. The house where your dad and I got married. And sure enough it came back with two little pink lines. I remember being extremely excited and nervous at the same time. Your dad and I had talked about having kids before we had gotten married. But we never talked about how soon after. I was worried to how he would react. When I called to share the news with him, I was surprised to his reaction. He was very happy. Which eased my worried heart.
About two weeks after I found out I was pregnant, the dreaded morning sickness set in. OH. MY. is all I can say. I felt terrible. I couldn’t keep anything down. I wasn’t at the time vegetarian, vegan or health conscious about what I ate. So, ALL the processed foods that I consumed at the time, came back up. I remember your dad and I used to buy the gallon sized Hawaiian Punch drinks in all the flavors, and I couldn’t even keep those down. I would watch the colored drinks come back up into the pink sink in the pink bathroom in the little house on Juanita Cir. And because of this, I to this day will NOT drink Hawaiian Punch. LOL!
Even with me being so sick and exhausted I was very excited about you coming into the world. I hoped you were a girl. Your dad and I talked had about what we would name you if you were a girl. And we decided on Patience. Patience was the fruit of the spirit we were learning in that season of our marriage. We were very intentional with picking out your name. We understood early on that the meaning of the name you give to a person is the very thing you are speaking over them. The word patience means to have self-restraint or to not give away to anger. You absolutely exemplify these qualities each and every day. And this makes me so very proud.
The house we were living in was a rent situation that we took over for a friend of your dad’s. And it wasn’t exactly a nice enough house to bring a baby home to. So, I asked a friend of mine who’s ex-father-in-law owned rental properties if she thought he would have a house available for us to rent. He did. We ended up moving soon after I found out that I was pregnant with you. The house was small, but super cute. With a fireplace in the Livingroom. It had two bedrooms and one bathroom. And it worked perfectly for us in that season life.
At the time I was pregnant, I worked as a retail store manager at an outlet store called Kitchen Collection. Most, at the time would have considered this a great opportunity for a 25-yr-old who had not gone to college to earn a degree. But for me, being pregnant only brought out so many insecurities I had about being a mother. Because my own childhood had been so terrible, I worried that I wouldn’t be a great mother for you. And that I wouldn’t be able to provide the best for you. I knew I wanted to raise you knowing Jesus and loving God. But I had no example of what that looked like. How was I going to raise you in godly truths without even knowing how to do that? I struggled mentally. I at the time did not even know who I was, or even what my purpose was. I worried that I would project my short comings on to you and then in turn you would grow up struggling the way I did. And I was never one of those women who wanted to hold or babysit other people’s children. I never felt an urge at all to connect with a baby. And because of this I wondered how I would know how to take care of a baby. I remember reading all the books. Soaking in all the information I could on how to properly take care of you. Reading about developmental stages. And foods that I should feed you. And products I should use on your new skin. I would say that, because of YOU, I became more health aware. This was something I had not ever thought of before you came.
The day before you were born, I had a doctor’s appointment to check on your progress. I hadn’t eaten that day and was planning on going to the Olive Garden with your dad after we left. But because I was already past due, and you weren’t moving much, (they believe it was because I hadn’t eaten) they sent me on over to labor and delivery to start the process of having you. I was so nervous. You were finally about to make your grand entrance. They inserted a pill to soften my cervix, and that was all it took. The contractions rolled in soon after. They gave me my epidural and some Ambien soon after so I could rest. But you decided to come much earlier than they expected.
The first time I heard your little cries, I thought how they were the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. And the look of adoration your dad gave you when he first saw you is something that I will never forget. When they finally placed you in my arms. I had never in my life felt a feeling of love like I did in that moment. All the things that I worried about before you came suddenly disappeared. It was like I just knew what to do. God showed me in that moment what real love looked like. And I am beyond thankful to this day for YOU. The blessing that first made me a mother.
Patience, these past 14yrs being your mom, has taught me so much. YOU have taught me so much. You are an incredible human. You have the gentlest heart, with a stronger will. I love how you care about what is right. I love that even when things get hard and you want to quit, you don’t. You persevere well. You love to serve people, without recognition. I love the entrepreneurial spirit that you have. I can see so many gifts that God has placed with in you. And I know that He has much more for you. You are going to do great things in this life my She-bay. Just keep pursuing God. Remember that your worth and value come from the creator and not from this world. And remember to “Be A Light for Jesus”
The drive down to Alabama was long. I remember being so upset as I sat in the back of the van my mom had driven. I remember thinking “Boyz II Men will never find me in Alabama. Where all the country people live.” My ideas about Alabama were very immature in nature. I thought of uneducated, mountain-living, racist people who lived in small towns that spit tobacco as they spoke with their unintelligible accents. I did not want to be a part of that life at all. I just knew that when I graduated high school, I was moving back to Cleveland. I mean I only had two years to go. Surely it will fly by and I would be far away from old country Alabama and my evil mom and stepfather.
When we finally made it to the hotel in Alabama that we were going to be staying in for a week while waiting on our double-wide trailer to be fully set up. I got out of the van and was hit with the hottest and most humid air I had ever felt on my face. The sun was bright and blinding. And true I was not unfamiliar with the sun, but it just hit different down in Alabama. My eyes burned and watered. I remember walking up to my mom convinced that if I showed her how watered my eyes were, that she would not make me live here. I said, “See mom, I can’t live here, this sun and air hurts my eyes.” She kept walking and did not respond. I walked into the hotel, and then to my room. (I didn’t mind staying at the hotel for that week. It felt like a vacation.) I laid down on to the bed and turned the tv on to see Will Smith’s Men In Black video playing on TRL. It had just come out. I will never forget that. I will always associate that song with my first day in Alabama.
When the week was up, we were able to move into our double-wide trailer that my stepfather had picked out. I remember being quite surprised by how nice it was on the inside. Up until this point every place, I had ever lived in was an old, and unkept mess. When you first walked into the trailer, there was a really nice entryway with a hall closet. To the right of the entryway was the large-sized living room with a fireplace that connected to a hall that had two bedrooms and a bathroom off of it. I had never lived in a place with a fireplace. (My Great Aunt who lived in Berea Ohio was the only person who had a fireplace, and she was rich. So, I had always associated fireplaces with rich people.) To the left of the entryway was the dining room that had built-in shelves with a mirror in the middle that connected them. To the right of the wall of shelves was my mom and stepfather’s bedroom. The room was huge. Bigger than any of the other bedrooms she had ever had. The bathroom connected to her room was also big and beautiful. The shower and tub who were separate were so nice. I remember thinking that this was the fanciest bathroom I had ever seen. And feeling slightly jealous after seeing it. Wishing that my bathroom on the other end of the house looked like this too. The kitchen, also connected to the dining room via the other side of the room, was big. With a window that looked out onto the trailer next door. The laundry room separated by a doorway in the kitchen housed the back door. (Which was the door that my brother and I would use with a key to get into the house from walking home from the bus stop.)
After moving into the trailer, I remembered feeling quite optimistic about the move to Alabama. The house was nice and felt fresh. Which was something I really needed. The trailer park itself sat alongside this beautiful lake called Lay Lake. I naturally recharge when being in nature, so living next to this lake brought me much peace. The town we moved to was called Shelby, and it was located about 20 minutes away from the nearest town with a grocery store or any store really. To say this small town was rural, was quite an understatement. I didn’t mind that though. After living in Olmsted Falls, and getting used to being away from the big city, this small town felt ok.
It was very slow and quiet in this small town, in this trailer, next to the big, beautiful lake. I kept myself busy that summer while my mom and stepfather worked almost an hour away by watching a lot of tv. And writing letters back and forth with my friends up north. The highlight of my weeks would be when I would receive a letter in the mail from one of my friends from Ohio. I remember when I would write them back, my letters were always full of questions about what they were doing, how they were doing, and what were other people we knew were doing? Because quite honestly, nothing was going on with me in this new town.
I remember being really excited about starting school that year, I couldn’t wait to make new friends, and not feel so alone anymore. I remember one afternoon before school started, my mom and stepfather took me to see the new school I would be going to. It was in the small town next to ours with the grocery store, and it was super cute. Not quite as nice as Olmsted Falls High School, but it was still nice. The small town next to ours was called Columbiana and it felt very home-like. The downtown had all the cute little boutique shops. With people walking up and down the sidewalks stopping to speak to each other. It was really the cute little quintessential southern town that you see in all the movies. Which made me even more excited about starting school. I longed for community.
It’s funny looking back over that first summer in Alabama. I remember being excited about school and new friends, but also very ready to move back to Cleveland once I graduated in the next two years. Not even realizing that I would never leave, because God had bigger and better plans than I could have ever had for myself.
In honor of my recent fifteen-year wedding anniversary, I thought I would take a break from sharing my story and share with you some things that I have learned over the years being married. In no particular order here we go…
1. Keep God First
I know this seems so cliché, but it is so true. Marriage can be hard at times. Life can be hard at times. The bible says in Matthew 6:25-27 “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on it. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” We have always put God first in our lives, and in our marriage. There is much comfort in knowing that the creator of ALL things, cares about us individually and together. George and I have seen this verse in action many times over the course of our marriage. There were times that we did not know how we would provide food for our home. Or meet some of the needs our children had, but God provided. Always. There has not ever been a question of whether he would or not.
2. Celebrate Your Spouse, To Show Them You Are Thankful For Them
I work for a place that believes that what gets celebrated gets repeated. This is very true for work and even for your marriage. When you take the time out to recognize something that your spouse has done, whether it’s an extra chore around the house, or an uncommunicated need that they have met, or even extra help with the kids. Take time to tell your spouse you are thankful for them. They will feel appreciated that you noticed. Then this will most likely lead to them wanting to help you more, knowing that you appreciate the extra little things they have done for you.
3. Serve Your Spouse
George and I live our lives with the mentality of trying to out serve the other person. When you live your life trying to out serve your spouse, you are showing your spouse that they are important to you. That their needs and wants matter to you. There is much joy in knowing that my spouse loves me enough, that he would take the time out to listen to a need that I may have passively or clearly communicated, to then go out of his way to serve me to try and meet that need.
4. Forgive Your Spouse
This is a BIG one. Forgiveness is key in marriage. We are all flawed humans who make mistakes. Your spouse is going to make you mad. Accept that. They are not perfect. When they do, forgive them. Do not hold anything they have done to you over their head. The bible says in Ephesians 4:32 “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” When you show your spouse grace and forgiveness you are telling them that you love them enough to forgive them even with their flaws. Now I know there are some mistakes and circumstances that can and will require extra time and maybe even some outside counseling. Be open to that. George and I had to go for marriage counseling a few years back. Because we were bumping heads on some things and were completely unable to see the other persons point of view. Seeking wisdom in counseling is not at all a bad thing. It honestly helps you to step outside of yourself, to see how your spouse is feeling, and what they are trying to say.
5. Learn To Speak To Your Spouse In Their Love Language, Not Yours
If you are not familiar with the Five Love Languages quiz, I highly recommend you and your spouse look into it. It is basically a quiz that you each take to show what it is that speaks to your spouses’ heart. (I will leave the link below if you are interested in taking this quiz.) When George and I first took this quiz, we struggled with speaking to each other from our own Love Language instead of speaking to each other in their Love Language. For example, my top Love Language is Gifts. I would be out and see something that I know George would like and I would pick it up for him. Thinking that it would warm his heart because it showed I thought of him while I was out. Well, it didn’t warm his heart. He was grateful for the thing I bought, but to him Words of Affirmations is what speaks to his heart. This has even to this day been a struggle for me to intentionally speak Words of Affirmations to him, being an introverted HSP. Vocal words are just not my strong suit. But because I love him, I make myself step outside of what is comfortable to speak to his heart. By doing this, it shows him that he is important to me.
Communication is a definite factor in trying to maintain a healthy marriage. When trying to communicate to your spouse, make sure you are not coming from an emotional place such as anger, or even frustration. Things that you may be trying to communicate can often times get lost through those emotions. Take some time to calm down, and then come back to communicate how you feel. This way they can really hear your heart. And not be distracted by the emotion that you are communicating through.
7. Allow Your Spouse To Grow
The person you married today will not fully be the same person in five or even ten years from now. God the Father has called each of us to a purpose to walk out. In that process your spouse will grow and change. Encourage and support that change. Its ok if they change their thoughts or ways that they do things. George and I are actually in this process in our marriage now. I have changed as I have grown to learn my value and purpose here on Earth. At first George had a hard time accepting the “new” me. But after some time, and sought-after Godly wisdom, he has embraced and encouraged me in this walk. Realizing that “All things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28.
8. Date Your Spouse
Dating your spouse like you did before you got married is such an important detail to continue as a married couple. It is very easy to get lost in the day-to-day activities. Taking intentional time to reconnect makes marriage and life way more joyful. And a joyful marriage is something you want to model for any children or future children you plan to have. George and I take a date night at least once a week. When our kids were small it was a bit harder. But we got creative. We would put the kids to bed and reconnect over conversation, over shared movie/ tv show interests. We made the time to reconnect, realizing the importance of keeping our romantic relationship a top priority.
9. Laugh With Your Spouse
Just like dating, laughing with your spouse is important. Laughing is good for your body and great for your marriage. When you are laughing with your spouse, you are having fun. Laughing helps to add joy, it creates a positive bond, it heals resentments, and helps to unite you with your spouse. George and I have so many inside jokes, that I can look at him in any given moment and we will laugh about whatever it is that may be going on.
10. Have Patience With Your Spouse
Along with forgiving your spouse when they upset you, have patience with them. As people we are all raised in different ways, in different households, with different ways of doing things. How you may do something, may not be how your spouse does that same thing. I learned this early on in my marriage after we had our first child. I would bathe, feed, dress, and take care of my daughter in a way that I thought was the “right way”. Because hello, I read all the articles, all the books, and asked all the questions. He absolutely did not do any of those things. And I would get so frustrated with him when he didn’t take care of our daughter the same way that I did. Until one day I read a parenting article that spoke of having grace for your spouse when they do things differently then you. It said as long as the results are the same, how they get there is not as important. That was such a light bulb moment for me. I from there on let George be George. And do things the way that George would do them. Now, I cannot say that I have fully mastered being patient with him. And in those moments when I lose my patience for him, I apologize. Which leads me to my next point.
11. Put Away Your Pride And Apologize
I cannot count how many times I have gotten frustrated with George over the years and expected an apology. He would graciously apologize. I would forgive him. But when I would upset him (WHICH IS BARELY EVER! LOL! JK.), I would find it hard to swallow my pride and apologize to him. And this would hurt him. He would ask “Why do I always have to apologize to you, and you don’t ever apologize when you hurt me?” He was right. So now, when I find myself in a situation of having to say I’m sorry, I will say it. Realizing that he is worth the respect and love action of me apologizing.
12. Do Not Punish Your Spouse For Sharing Their Feelings
It’s easy to get offended when your spouse opens up and shares how they feel about you and the relationship. Many times, early on in our marriage, I would clearly communicate to George how I would feel about things. And he would then punish me by not validating my feelings as being real. He would distance himself from me for weeks after. He would tell me I was wrong. And so on. I got to a point where I stopped sharing my feelings with him, in fear that he would make things hard on me in those moments. Years later, after some marriage counseling, he was able to see that he was punishing me for sharing how I felt with him. He now, is completely open to any conversation that I want to have about any topic. Even if that topic is sensitive.
13. You And Your Spouse Are On The Same Team
From forgiveness, to serving, to apologizing, to having patience, remember that you and your spouse are on the same team. In all things you should be treating each other like you are teammates. You are conquering life together. You are raising kids together. You are walking out God called purpose together. Treat each other that way. The bible says in Genesis 2:18 “It Is not good that man should be alone. I will make him a helper fit for him.” In Ecclesiastes 4:9 it says, “Two are better than one, because they will have a good reward for their toil.”
14. Pray For And With Your Spouse
Let’s be real, living in this world can be really hard sometimes. Things happen, sickness comes, difficulties with work, kids acting up, etc. And finding the right words to say to encourage your spouse can be hard. Thankfully, we serve a God that is here to always hear our cries. There is nothing more comforting in this world than knowing that the creator of EVERYTHING wants to hear from us. That he loves us. That because of His Son we are able to come to him to make our supplications known. Get with your spouse and pray before the Father. Pray when things are hard. Pray when things are great. Just pray. The bible says in 1 Thessalonians 5:17 to “Pray without ceasing”. In Philippians 4:6 it says, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be known to God”. Walk in peace knowing that you and your spouse are not alone, that God the father wants to hear from you.
15. And lastly, Do Not Give Up
WOW, this one here! A few years ago, George and I almost walked through divorce. We both had childhoods filled with traumas. We were so broken, and without realizing it, we brought all of that trauma into our marriage. I mean there was constant miscommunications. Constant misunderstandings. It was hard. I wanted to leave. At the very end, I told him we needed counseling. Because I just couldn’t do “US” anymore. We went to counseling, and it changed us. It changed our point of views. It helped us to see where the other person was coming from. It opened the door for us to focus on where we needed to put in the work. We both decided to stay and not give up. The road that we traveled to get where we are today was by no means an easy one. We had to both put aside our pride and GIVE. But because of the work that we put in then, we are more healthy and joyful today. We both decided that this thing we started, was worth the fight. We deserved it. Our kids deserved it. So I encourage you to stay and fight. Seek wisdom when it gets too hard. Don’t give up, and watch God move and make your marriage a beautiful one.
The January of my tenth-grade year, my stepfather took a job offered to him by an old boss and moved to Pelham, Alabama. (We would move down to meet him after the school year ended.) This excited me at the time. Because now he wouldn’t be home to make things so hard. He would be gone. And maybe then, my mom would be easier to get along with.
After he left, our house was a lot quieter. He wasn’t there to yell all the time. He wasn’t there to stomp around. And most of all he, wasn’t there to control or be unkind to me. That did not initially stop my mom from being mean. She continued on the nightly tradition of “glove checking” after our chores were complete. And still, we would have to stay until they were done according to how she liked them. I became good at cleaning after this. In fact, if you come to my house today, most times it is always in place. Unless my kids are home alone, and then, well, NO CLEAN house. LOL.
A month or so later my mom eased up a bit on her strictness. I’m not sure if it was because she was tired after getting home from work. Or if it was because she had felt bad from how we were previously treated by her husband. Or if she had just stopped caring because my stepfather wasn’t there. But she did. She started to let me go hang out with some new friends I had made. I was allowed to go to their house. I was allowed to go to the movies. She even let me go out a couple of times at night to some school functions we had. Things finally started to feel good at home. Until about two months after he had left, she had informed me that my checks from Wendy’s would now go towards helping the house. And that my stepdad in Alabama was staying at a campsite and needed my money to live off of. I had no choice in the matter. I cried and felt that it was completely unfair that she would take the little money I was making and send it to the man who always treated me so terribly. I hated this man. I didn’t want to help him. I did not have a choice in whether he moved to Alabama to take a job. So why, now do I have to give him MY money to live off of? But I did. Every time I got paid, I would sign over my check to her so that she could deposit it into her account for him to use. She promised me that she would pay me back after we moved. I believed her. To this day I have yet to see any of that money. Which totaled to more than a $1000.00
The last of the school year rolled on, and I ended up having a crush on this senior named Chad. He was in my computer science class. Where he and his friend Patrick always flirted and messed with me every day. I enjoyed the attention. I felt like someone valued me. And I was important (Remember, I found my value in what a male thought of me). Because of his daily flirting and attention, I really started to like my new school. I started to put the effort into doing my schoolwork. I started making friends with the kids that I disliked in the beginning. I found myself even having a little bit of school spirit.
When I finally processed that I was going to soon be leaving this school, I struggled. I did not want to move again during my high school years, to a new school. To a new town. To a new state. And to a new region of the country. In which the only thing I knew about the South was that the people were uneducated and hilbillies, thanks to the tv shows I had seen. I wanted to stay. I didn’t want to have to live with him again and feel controlled. My mom had eased upon us. I finally started to feel like my life was good. My school life was good. My home life was good. And now again, because of stepdad number two, my life was going to be unhappy.
When the end of the school year came, my mom decided that because we were moving to Alabama before my birthday, she was going to let me have a party to celebrate turning 16. AND I was going to be allowed to invite whomever I wanted. Even my friends from Cleveland. I was SOOO excited, I invited all my friends, from Cleveland and Olmsted. It was so surreal to me. I had fought so hard all this time to keep in communication with my friends from Cleveland. And now, they were going to be allowed to come over to see me. A whole year had gone by since I saw them. But when they came, it was like no time had passed at all. We ended up having the party outside that day because the house was small. Which didn’t seem to matter in those moments. I was just so thankful to have the opportunity to see and reconnect with the friends that I had missed so much. I was appreciative that my mom allowed me to have that sendoff that would close one chapter of my life. And start a new one once we moved to Alabama. The countdown continues…..
Friends I Made During My Tenth Grade YearMore FriendsThis is Amanda. She was my closest friend. Chad. My Tenth Grade Crush
We moved to Olmsted Township, Ohio, the summer before my 10th-grade year. The first time I walked into the house they rented, it was nighttime. The rural landscape was pitch dark. I was not used to not being under the bright city lights. It was a strange reality for me at that moment. The house was older, a lot older. It had a musty smell from the dingy carpets in the living room. The house tilted to one side and this was probably one of the least of the things I disliked about this house. The laundry room off to the side of the kitchen, had unfinished wooden stairs that lead down to a clay rock floor. When it rained, the floor would get wet, and the room would smell like old mildew. It was also not connected to any form of central heat or air. So, when it was cold outside, the room was cold. The same could be said when it was hot outside (This room will be relevant later in the story.)
The bedrooms were upstairs. But to get up to them, you had to first duck under the doorway that preceded the slanted wooden stairwell. The floors creaked as you walked over them to get to my bedroom located at the end of the hallway. The room was small. It had only one window. That overlooked the front of the street. I liked that. I could sit there and imagine being in one of the cars driving away from my current situation. I spent that next week unpacking my room. (I was allowed to have all of my stuff back.) I found that one of the wooden planks from the hardwood floors was removable. When I lifted it, there was a small space underneath where I could hide some small things. This excited me greatly. Because now I knew that I could be free to write in my diary again. And feel like I could express myself without fear of my mother and her husband reading it. I would be able to hide my diary underneath the plank in the floor so that they wouldn’t find it. I could then hide the loose plank underneath a Mexican ceramic hacienda cookie jar that I used as decoration. (They never found or knew about that lose spot in the floor.)
The August before school started, I got my first job. It was at Wendy’s. And I was almost 15yrs old. I was so excited, that I was finally going to be able to make my own money. I could then buy all of the “in-style” things that I wanted. (My mom would only purchase my brother and I the essentials. One pair of tennis shoes. Five pairs of pants and five shirts. That I would rotate each week, to not look as if I had always worn the same thing. And, on top of that, those things came from K Mart or Walmart. Which then ensued the kids to make fun of me for wearing the same clothes that were also not “in-style.” I would work for most of the day each Saturday and Sunday, to not have to be around my mom and stepdad. And to feel like I had some freedom.
At the end of the month, it was time to start my new school. I went to Olmsted Falls High. It was a beautiful school with the majority of the kids being white. Who were very well off. I hated being at this school. For no other reason than I did not want to be there. And because of my racist white stepfather, I disliked the white kids at the school. I felt out of place. And that I did not fit in with these privileged kids. I wanted so bad to be back in Cleveland with my friends. I missed them. Which only made my hatred for that school stronger. As time went on, I became friends with some girls who were also not from Olmsted Falls and were minorities like myself. We had a common bond of hating the school and the privileged kids who went there. We were all in different grades, so we only saw each other in the halls and at lunchtime. When we would get together, we would complain about how much we hated the school. And how we wanted to be back at our old schools. I put in zero effort while I was at that school. I did not care about my mom. Her husband. This town. This school. These kids. My grades. Or even my life. I just wished I was 18 and able to move out and be on my own.
Things at home were still very controlled for me. Each day my brother and I had to swap out the chores we were to complete. For example, if I had to clean the kitchen and the dining room, he had to clean the living room and the bathroom. Then the next day, we swapped. He cleaned the kitchen and the dining room. I then cleaned the living room and the bathroom. Which was fine, but my stepfather each night would put on a glove and inspect the rooms. We were not allowed to go to sleep. (On a school night, with homework and all) Until all of those rooms were cleaned, according to his liking. If there was a speck of dust or dirt anywhere, we had to clean the WHOLE room back over again. And then on garbage day, it was my job to clean out the refrigerator of all the old uneaten food from the week. On one particular winter morning, before school. I went downstairs to throw out the old food from the refrigerator. The garbage can was in the nasty laundry room off of the kitchen. I would have to walk from the fridge to the laundry room door. Open the door. Walk down the stairs. Over the nasty floor to the garbage can to throw out the old food. On this one particular morning. Inside the fridge. There was this plastic bowl of canned corn, that contained water and solidified butter. I took the bowl to the trash and dumped it out. Then, I proceed to head towards my room so that I can go and get ready for school. My stepfather stopped me in the living room to tell me to go and get my only pair of shoes out of the garbage can. I turned to my mother, and say my shoes were upstairs in my room. She replied softly to me just go and get your shoes. (There was a rule. We weren’t allowed to leave our shoes downstairs. And I had apparently left my shoes downstairs the night before.) I turn back towards the cold laundry room to look for my shoes. And when I got to the garbage can, I lifted the lid, and with my bare hand, I moved around the corn I had just dumped out to find my shoes covered in the wet and watered-down corn. I completely lost it. I start yelling. I hate this bleeping house! You are NOT my father! I hate you! I wish you were dead! He hears me yelling out. He stomps towards me as he is hollering out profanities, proceeds to grab me, and as I try to fight back. He takes my arms and puts them behind my back as he pushed me face-first up against the backdoor. I am screaming and yelling to Let me go! Let me go! My mother, then comes into the kitchen and tells him to let me go.
I ended up going to school that day with dirty, wet, cold shoes. (It was wintertime in Ohio. Which meant we had plenty of nasty, slushy, cold snow to walk in.) I remember being at school sitting in class that day feeling defeated. And wondering, how could my mom let him do this to me?! You would think that I would not have been surprised by this after everything. But I was. And per usual, this would not be the last time she would not protect me from him….
A couple of months after getting caught cutting lunch, my two friends Keyah, Felita, (who were not in my culinary program classes) and I were in class talking about how fun it would be for me to come to their house to meet Reggie and John. I can’t remember the exact dialog from the conversation, but our plan was this. We were going to cut school, ride the bus to their house, hang out. And when we were done. They were going to stay home, and I would ride the bus back alone to be in my last class of the day. I also had a plan on how to get around that annoying sign-in sheet. At this point, I had been getting the sheet signed by my teachers for a couple of months now. Which meant I had plenty of time to think about how I could get away with cutting classes and still be able to get my sheet signed. I decided I was going to ask one of my friends who was in all my other classes with me to pretend it was her sign-in sheet and get our teachers to sign it. I would then get the sheet back from her at the beginning of our last class together, erase her name, put my name on it. And then boom, sign-in sheet all signed and I freedom I could still have. LOL!
The day comes that we decided we were going to cut school. Keyah, Felita, and I got on the bus to head out. I was so excited and nervous at the same time. I couldn’t believe I was doing what I was doing. I am a rule follower by nature. And at this point, this was probably the biggest thing I had done that would be considered “breaking the rules.” I kept thinking, “I hope I don’t get caught.” “I’m going to be in so much trouble if I do.” But then, eventually, the fear subsides. And we get off the bus to start walking towards their neighborhood. When we got to Keyah’s house, John and Reggie came over to meet us. I was so nervous and feeling very shy at that moment. I had spoken with both of these guys and was very familiar with them. But still seeing them in person made me overwhelmed. They all started talking and then I joined in. The conversation flowed easily and soon after we ended up at John’s house to hang out. The talking eventually turned into wrestling, we wrestled around the room. Laughing, and having fun, just being kids. It was very innocent. Time flew by, then it was time for me to leave. I still had to get back to school before my last class, so that I wouldn’t get caught. On my way back, I relived the excursion in my mind. Thinking about how much fun I had just had. And how it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t be friends with whomever I wanted to be. I mean I was in general a good kid. I had only rebelled because I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my friends outside of school. I thought about how I dreaded going back home into what felt like a prison around people who did not care about me as much as they cared about controlling me. I made it back to the school on time for my last class. I got the sheet signed and made it home on time. Without anyone knowing what had occurred on that day for me.
Because my first “real” trip away from the school was so successful, I continued with my occasional trips to Keyah and Felita’s houses. And I didn’t think much about my attendance or my grades. My mom didn’t care whether I brought home good grades, so I did just enough to keep them above a 69%. She didn’t care. And why should I?!
Later that year, we had a half-day at school, there was testing going on. And we were going to be able to leave once we were done with all our tests. I decided this would be a great day to go to my friends’ houses. I mean how would my mom even know!? Up until this point I hadn’t gotten caught. And I was completely comfortable with navigating the bus routes to get to where I needed to go. After taking the tests, I rode with my friends to their house. We had all the fun that we always have. And I ended up staying longer than I should’ve. I did not take into account the time and number of buses I was going to have to take to get back to my neighborhood from their neighborhood. After I left, I was riding through downtown, and we ran into a lot of traffic. Which slowed down the already slow bus trip dramatically. I was so anxious. I knew I needed to be at Tower City by a certain time, so that I could catch the next bus to my neighborhood to be home at the time I was expected to call my mom. Well, I ended up missing the bus, and I had to wait for the next bus to come. This was it… I knew I was about to be late. On the last bus ride home, I thought about all the excuses I could use to get out of the trouble I was about to be in. But nothing believable came to mind. I get off the bus and start walking towards my house, I see my second stepdad standing outside the house. He sees me and of course, starts yelling at me from down the street. “Where the bleep have you been?” I get closer to him and tell him that I missed my bus. And that’s why I was late. He continues to yell at me and tells me how he read my diary to see if I had written about running away from home. My heart dropped because I knew I had written about cutting school and hanging out with my friends. And now I knew that he knew. I never thought they would read my diary. I go upstairs and go into my prison and cry. Because once again, I am grounded to a room with nothing in it. And now I am not allowed to be home alone after school anymore. Which was my time to sneak and talk on the phone with my friends. I was back to feeling trapped and unfree.
A few weeks later, my mom and second stepdad informed me that this would be my last year at my school. That we were moving over the summer to the city where my second stepdad was born and raised. (A white suburb of Cleveland) I was heartbroken, I knew that I would not get to see or talk to my friends anymore. This only fueled my hatred towards them. I knew they were doing this to keep me away from my black friends.
When the last week of school came, I told my friends how much I loved them. And I asked them to sign a school t-shirt I had. I still have that t-shirt to this day. And I very much value the friendships I made that year. (Thankfully, I am friends with a lot of those people on social media today.)
After I graduated the eighth grade, it was time for high school. I chose to go to a vocational school instead of my assigned high school because the boy who I liked since the fourth grade, (who was also my neighbor) went to that school. He was in a grade above my own. And I knew that I needed to go where he went so that I could see him every day. LOL!! There weren’t school buses available to go to this school. So, I had to take the RTA. (The RTA is Cleveland’s public transportation system.) I was able to talk my mom into going to this school because it was a career-focused school. I honestly didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life at this point. I just knew I wanted to go because Tony was there. On the first day of school, I walked to the bus stop at the end of my busy neighborhood road and waited for the bus, listening to music on a secret Walkman that my mom and second stepdad didn’t know I had. (My friend from eighth grade gave it to me at the end of the year, so I could listen to music when my mom and second stepdad weren’t around.) I waited. And then, Tony walked up to the bus stop. I was SO excited and full of butterflies. I said, Hi. And of course, that was it. (Hello, I was an insecure introvert. So, anything more than “Hi” would have overwhelmed me at the time. HAHA.) We rode the bus together sitting separately and I was SO excited. Not only would I get to see him every day, but I also would get to ride the bus with him to and from school.
We got to school after two bus rides downtown. I walked into the school not knowing anyone. (I mean Tony and I weren’t exactly friends. I was always too shy to talk to him up until this point. Other than saying “Hi.”) I went off to my assigned homeroom, and I met a couple of girls who ended up becoming my friends for the school year and my social media friends to this very day. We were given tours of the different career program environments so that we could choose which career program we wanted to take, besides our normal core classes. I ended up choosing the culinary program. It was the program my friends were taking, and it sounded the most fun. My mom did not take the time out to teach me how to cook, other than scrambled eggs, spaghetti, and mashed potatoes. So, I was excited to learn how to cook. AND… we got to eat. I mean what kid doesn’t want to have the opportunity to eat food while they are in school!?!HAHA.
Fast forward a couple of months later, I met two other girls that became my friends who weren’t in my culinary friend group. They were neighbors and really good friends. I remember talking with them throughout the year and they would tell me about their other neighbor named John. I ended up getting his phone number. After one of my girlfriends told him about me. I wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend or even allowed to talk on the phone with a boy. So, I would sneak when my mom and second stepdad weren’t home to talk to him. He went to the Cleveland School of the Arts. And he played music. And because I loved music so much, I thought he was the coolest person. Until he introduced me, over the phone, to his friend Reggie. Reggie was a singer and went to his school also. He was a cousin of Michael McCary from Boyz II Men. And I was so excited to have a friend who was connected to my favorite music group. Reggie and I hit it off well. We talked all the time, for months actually. And became really good friends. I liked Reggie. We laughed. And he would joke with me about Wanya (My crush from Boyz II Men.) How he sang with his head. And how one day his head was going to fall off into my lap while singing to me. (It was funny at the time. LOL!) Reggie’s friendship meant so much to me. And I knew that I needed to meet him face to face….
Because things were so controlled for me at home, I decided to take back some control over my life. I thought it would be a good idea to start cutting classes so I could have some freedom. I started small. I would cut lunch, and my friends and I from the culinary program would go to Burger King down the street and get food. Or we would go across the street to the community college and get lunch from their cafeteria. We would always be really careful about sneaking back into the school. Until one day we got caught. I remember sitting in the principal office just crying. Because I knew how much trouble I was about to be in. (Even though my mom once told me that she used to cut school too.) The principal was nice and told me that he would wait to call my mom until I had the chance to tell her myself. But he was going to call later that evening to also tell her. I was so scared. That bus ride home I was full of nerves. I knew it was about to be bad. I got home, and my mom wasn’t there yet. I did my homework and all of my chores. So that maybe that would lessen the trouble from the news I was about to share with her. She eventually gets home, and I tell her what happened. I told her we only cut school to get lunch because the school lunch was gross. (I mean that was technically the truth, right!?!) I surprisingly did not get into too much trouble that night. I think maybe because my mom used to cut school, she was more lenient with me at this moment. Or maybe she was tired from work. Or maybe my plan of doing all my homework and chores worked. I’m not sure. But my actions did not go unpunished though. I had to start taking a sign-in sheet with me to each class and have my teacher sign it, to prove that I was actually in class. This did not stop me from cutting class. I just got more creative…. Part two next week.
After all of my Boyz II Men things got ripped up. Eighth grade came. And the situation in my house got way more controlled. My brother and I weren’t allowed to eat any food after we got home from school, we had to wait until dinner. My mom and my soon-to-be second stepdad weren’t home after we had got out of school in the afternoon. They worked until the evening time. I remember one time after I got home from school, I was so hungry, so I baked a batch of blueberry muffins and hid them under my bed in a tin so that my mom and my soon-to-be second stepdad wouldn’t find them. Silly me didn’t think that the smell from the muffins would still be in the air when they got home. I got in trouble and after that my soon-to-be second stepdad started marking little black marks on all of the food containers in the fridge so that we couldn’t get away with eating anything after school. They would also keep up with how much food was in the cupboards.
I (Not trying to share my brother’s story, and he was wrong for this, but he snuck into a neighbor’s house one time to steal a can drink out of the refrigerator so that he could have something to drink. He ended up getting caught and got sent to a house for troubled kids because no one believed him when he said why he broke into the house.)
My soon-to-be second stepdad would also prevent my brother or myself from having any alone time with our mother. We would try and go into their room to talk to her. He would come in and make us leave and, were told to “Leave your mother alone!” Our mother never said anything to him. She never protected us from him. She stayed quiet. And at this point, she really did not engage with us at all. Other than to communicate commands. She allowed him to take complete control of the house. They ended up getting married. And I remember just feeling so helpless.
Around this time, I was in the 8th grade, and every morning they would leave the exact amount that we needed for breakfast and lunch on the table. As we would leave out for school, we would take our money and put it in our pockets. I decided at some point that I was going to save my money and buy another Boyz II Men tape from the corner store. I had saved up $10.00. I now had enough to buy the tape I wanted. One day my second stepdad sent my brother to the store to buy a pack of cigarettes for him. (You could send kids to the store back then to do that.) I gave my brother my $10.00 and told him to buy me the tape and he could have the rest to buy himself a pack of cigarettes. (Cause remember, my mom said it was ok for us to smoke with her. But when my second stepdad came, he stopped that. And at that point my brother was addicted to smoking.) He left, and I was so excited. I remember I was standing at the sink washing dishes when I heard my second stepdad stomping up the stairs, (we lived in a duplex house, and our house was upstairs) and I knew by the sound of his stomp that I was in trouble. And sure enough, I was. I guess my brother took too long at the store, so my second stepdad decided to walk outside just in time to see my brother trying to hide the tape and the cigarettes he had just bought for himself. He came in hollering and started to hit us. My brother who was in the 5th grade at the time decided to fight back. And my second stepdad grabbed my brother by the neck and pushed up against the wall lifting him up from the floor. I went to my room crying. I couldn’t do anything to help him. My mother never said anything to my second stepdad about it.
After that, I guess my second stepdad didn’t trust us anymore. So, he decided to come pay me a visit at my school…….
I remember the bell had just rung and it was time to go to lunch. I was walking in the hall with some of my friends. And I heard my second stepdad hollering my name in front of all of the kids in the hallway. My friends at the time were very aware of my home troubles, and one of them said to me “Come on, let’s go hide.” I didn’t go with her. I knew when I got home, it would have been way worse on me. So, I walked to him. He was cussing at me in front of all the kids in the hall and telling me to take him to my locker so he could search it. We walked to my locker and I opened it. I knew I was about to be in trouble because I had a picture of Wanya Morris from Boyz II Men hanging in my locker. I opened the locker, he saw the picture, tore it down, and continued to yell at me. I started crying and ran to the bathroom. He also found my lunch money for the day in my locker and took it. I didn’t eat lunch that day. I was honestly way to upset to eat anyway. When I got home that day, anything that was extra in my room was removed. I only had my bed and my dresser. Nothing else. He even took the door off the hinges. I had to get ready for school in the bathroom in the mornings. I remember just having such strong hate for my mom and her husband, that I started a count down on my calendar until I turned 18. I still had four years to go and many more encounters to endure. To Be Continued…..
When my mom finally left my first stepdad, I was 13yo in the 7th grade. I remember being happy. And not sad at all. Happy because the man who was abusing me would finally not be able to hurt me anymore. And happy because my mom started dating new men and had a newfound happiness about her. Which made her a lot nicer for those few months.
I remember the day well that I met my second soon to be stepdad. He was this big, burly, long brown-haired man covered in tattoos with a loud deep country accented voice. He came over to our house dressed in a Harley Davidson t-shirt with a black leather vest that connected to a chain that was connected to his leather wallet that was in his back pocket. He also had on his black leather boots that stomped loudly as he walked around our house. He had recently moved back to Ohio from Columbus, Georgia. And was introduced to my mom through a great Aunt that knew some friends of his. While he was at our house, he shared stories about how he was in a biker gang. And how he loved the South. And how great it was. I didn’t think much of what he was saying at the time. As I had never been to the south. It just wasn’t important to me. I was at the time obsessed with the musical group Boyz II Men. And I remember sharing that with him. He said to me “Oh you listen to that boom boom music?!” I wasn’t sure what he meant then, and I played one of their songs on my tape player for him so he could hear who they were. He wasn’t interested in listening. And I didn’t realize at the time that THIS was going to be a huge issue for me and the rest of my time while living at home.
To continue forward with this story, I have to go back for a moment. In the years leading up to becoming a teenager, I LOVED music. I loved to sing. I loved to listen to music. I found much solace in singing and getting lost mentally while listening to music. My first favorite artist that I would listen to on my little brown Fisher Price tape player was Michael Jackson. He was my first celebrity crush as a young girl. LOL. And you couldn’t tell me anything when “Beat It” was playing. Haha. As I grew, my taste in music never changed. I loved R&B music. I felt so connected to it. And when I was introduced to Boyz II Men in the early ’90s, they were absolutely everything to me. The first song that I ever heard by them was “Please don’t go” I knew after that song I had to have their tape. Cooleyhighharmony was my on repeat every day. Then when II came out, it, even more solidified my love for them and their music. Right before my mom met my second stepdad, she had bought me tickets to go see Boyz II Men in concert with my older cousin. And I was the most excited than I had ever been about anything up until that point. I remember saving all my lunch money for a month to have spending money for the concert. When the second soon to be stepdad came into my life, it was a few months before the concert. Going back to the night I met him, I remember being so excited explaining how I was going to get to see them in person. And I absolutely could not wait.
He ended up moving in with us soon after they met, and he was always around. At first, he was pretty nice. I don’t remember thinking anything bad about him. The day of the concert comes around and, what an exciting day it was for a 13 yo to go see her absolute favorite music group. I had the best time that night. I remember I bought a t-shirt, a concert program and a poster with my little saved lunch money. And to me, these items were my most cherished possessions.
Spring break comes and his two kids from Georgia come to spend the week with us so they could see their dad. They were a lot younger than I was. And I didn’t know how to connect with them. His son was young, like 5 or 6. And his daughter may have been 9 or 10. I was 13. But even though there was an age difference I tried my best to connect with them. I spoke a lot with his daughter about my life, my school friends, my crush at the time. My favorite music group of course. And how I went to see them in concert. Nothing crazy that I can remember. After the week was over, they left and went back home to Georgia. After a few days of getting back, their mom called my second soon to be stepdad and said her kids were acting “black” after hanging around my brother and myself. And she was apparently angry about it. I do not know the extent of that conversation he had with his ex-wife. I just know that when I got home from school that day, it was really bad. My mom and my soon to be second stepdad were yelling at me and my brother. Telling us how we were acting like the N-words. And how we would no longer be allowed to listen to anymore N-music. We couldn’t be friends with any N-words. We couldn’t watch anything on tv with N-words. And then my mother proceeded to get a pair of scissors and cut up my Boyz II Men t-shirt. She ripped up my concert program, my poster, and my ticket stub. And she tore up all my music tapes. I remember being in complete shock and thinking “Why is my mom doing this?” I was so upset. I did not even realize that this was going to be the start of what was to come with the soon to be second stepdad. And all I could think in that moment was “Not Again.”
It’s funny looking back and realizing that I always had a connection with God. Because I most certainly did not grow up in a Christian home. My Puerto Rican mom very traditionally grew up in a Catholic Church. And was very much turned off to organized religion. She always told my brother and I that she wasn’t going to choose our religion for us. She wanted us to have the freedom to choose once we became old enough to decide. She did share with us that Christmas was the season that Jesus was born. But we very much celebrated Christmas believing in Santa Claus. And somehow, I was never confused that Christmas was Jesus’ birthday. I was very excited about all the gifts that Santa was going to bring. But I knew that Jesus was born on Christmas. I didn’t know any of the details surrounding his birth. Or even the sacrifice he would make soon after. But I did know about him.
My mother was a very damaged woman. She grew up the youngest of 5 children. And she was also molested by some family members. She dropped out of high school and got married to my grandmothers at the time boyfriend. Yes, you read that right, my grandmother’s boyfriend who by the way was in his 30’s and my mom was only 16. She married my dad at 16, had me at 17. Had my brother at 18. And got divorced from my dad soon after. And then he died a little later on from being drunk and taking a bunch of pills. After she divorced my dad, she raised my brother and I with some very unsound ways of thinking. She would say things like “It’s ok if you smoke cigarettes. I would rather you smoke with me than sneak around and smoke at school.” This was the 80’s/ 90’s, and smoking was a common thing. Or “I don’t expect A’s and B’s, but I don’t expect D’s or F’s either.” And there-fore I never pushed myself to do well at school, because I didn’t have to. Or “I don’t care if you have sex, just don’t bring a baby home.” So, I didn’t know that the most precious thing you could give to your husband was your virginity. Although that was already taken from me before I could choose to give it away.
My mom was also bipolar. She would have moments of immense emotions that would lead her to take out her frustrations on my brother and I. I remember she told me after I had Patience, that she tried to smoother me with a pillow as a baby because I wouldn’t stop crying. I didn’t even know how to respond in that moment. I just looked at her. As a child she would punish us for the times that we were just being kids. She would beat us with a belt. Not like whoop us. But beat us. She beat me so hard one time that I fell forward and hit and bruised my head on the corner of the wooden boxed tv that sat in the living room. “Bend” she would say. And we better bend over and not stand back up, because wherever she swung, we got hit. And then we would be sent to our rooms crying and locked in by the outside lock that was attached to our doors and not let back out until she calmed down. Which most often times was hours later. She would sit in the living room and play The Carpenters on the tape player. I can tell you the lyrics to every Carpenter song to this very day.
Needless to say, I was conceived out of confusion. And raised in confusion. But even in the midst of it, I always felt a connection with God. I would pray to him while looking at the sky, wanting to run away from home with my favorite toy. My Amy bear who always brought me so much comfort. I never did try to run away, because I was scared of the streets. My mom who had run away often as a teen shared with me that if I ran away, “they would put me in a foster home.” And that scared me.
While sitting here writing this and thinking about that little girl who felt lost and sad. I can’t help but to think of that verse in John 6:44 where it says, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws them, and I will raise them up at the last day.” The Father was definitely drawing me near to him in those days. I didn’t know anything about him. We did not even own a bible. But I knew he loved me. And he listened to me. And that I could find comfort in him. To this day, I can honestly say I do not know where I would be if I didn’t have that connection with him as a child.
Growing up in Cleveland, I would always get the question from my peers “What are you?” as if that was the most important thing about me. I would answer them knowing that they were talking about my ethnicity, “Puerto Rican and white”. And then thinking that my value must lie in “What I was” ……. I struggled.
My mom is Puerto Rican, and she found no value in that. She did not raise my brother and me to know any of our cultural heritage. We didn’t speak Spanish. We didn’t learn to cook that yummy Spanish rice or any of the Spanish foods my grandma used to make before she died. We just grew up very “American”, if that’s even a thing. I grew up in a part of Cleveland known as “Little Puerto Rico” and not knowing how to speak Spanish, I was told, “You’re not Puerto Rican if you can’t speak Spanish.” Like how does that make me less Puerto Rican, I wondered?!
My dad, on the other hand, was a white man who died when I was young. And because my mom had a conflict with him when he died, his family didn’t want anything to do with my brother and myself. So, I didn’t get to know anything about his side and ultimately the other half of “What I was”.
Now because I didn’t speak Spanish, I didn’t fit in with the people who looked like me. And because I didn’t look like my white side, I didn’t fit in with those kids. I, from the start, struggled with knowing “What I was” and where I fit in.
On top of not fitting in anywhere, I struggled with low self-esteem. I was molested by a stepdad from as early on as I can remember until my mom left him when I was in middle school. He would make me sit on his lap and he would touch me. Or he would wait until my mom left and he would make me do things to him in the bathroom or the basement. He would sometimes come into my room at night and touch me. I was so scared, I wouldn’t move. He was my “dad”, and I was raised to respect adults and not talk back. I was raised that kids were to be seen and not heard. I never had the courage to have or find my voice.
Not fitting in and having low self-esteem early on put me on a path in my life that brought a lot of struggle. I grew up thinking that my value/ identity or “What I was” was determined by what a male thought of me. And because my earliest form of validation was from a man who touched me in a sexual way. I always had a crush on a boy. I would change what I liked and was into based on whatever the boy I liked was into so that he would like me. I sought constant validation from a boy. My low self-esteem caused me to be afraid to speak out when I was in a situation that was uncomfortable. I remember one time being with my mom at a friend’s house, and this friend had a grandson that lived with them. I would always go into his room when we were there to hangout. Because I was a kid and so was he. I remember that we were cool. We played video games together. We watched T.V together. I really liked hanging out with him. One day I was at his house in his room, and we were sitting there, and all of a sudden he took his pants off exposing his self. I ran out of that room so fast to my mom. I never said anything to her. And I don’t know why. I can only guess now that it was because I did not know how to use my voice or that I even had one. It wasn’t until recently, within the past couple of years that I learned how to use my voice. And I learned where my value/ identity came from. (We’ll talk about that later.)
As I am sitting here looking back, I can see where Satan tried to stop my calling/ purpose early on, causing confusion to me not knowing “What I was”. I am so glad that God had a different plan for me…… and instead of me knowing “What I was” He showed me “Whose I was”. Stay Tuned.
It’s ok little girl, you have great things ahead of “YOU”.
Starting new things and letting go of old habits is so hard. Saying goodbye to the things that you have consistently made time for is such a difficult task to complete. Even when those things are unhealthy for you. I heard a song today and one of the lyrics went “You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness” and I thought, wow, how true is that?! But then me in my very logical mindset thought, “Well how does one become “addicted to a certain kind of sadness?” And then it came to mind that, it is because it is familiar. And there is comfort in familiarity. Comfort because you already know what to expect. I once read an article that spoke of how our brains like situations that are familiar. And that there is safety in familiarity. When a situation becomes unfamiliar and we don’t know what to expect, our brains shift into a “protective mode” if you will. Which makes me think that it makes complete sense why starting new things and new habits are so hard. Our brains can’t predict how that thing will pan out, so we struggle to let go and start new. I, like many other people I know personally struggle with starting new habits and letting go of old things. Being an HSP, or a Highly Sensitive Person, at times works against me. Because my nervous system is constantly overstimulated, the task of trying to start something new or let go of something that is not good for me has always been difficult. But recently I have been feeling a push or a call even from my Father in Heaven to start something new. I have sat on that for a little while, and contemplated “Ok, what am I supposed to be doing?” I most definitely want to walk in the purpose that He has for my life. But I would struggle with thoughts of “What do I have within me that I could share with the world, when the world is an excess of information?” I keep hearing “Just step out, be you and share your story.” So today, nervous as I am, I’m going to do just that. I am going to step out, be me and share the story of my life with you. I am going to share my life experiences, the ups the downs, the moments when I wanted to give up. I am going to be vulnerable, even when I don’t want to be. I really hope you will stay with me, share with me, and connect with me. Because I think that as I step out and start a new thing, the Father in heaven will begin to start a new thing in you. 🙂
Just Being Dee 