I leave this here to free you of the stigma of me. The adults in your life wrote your story for you. Now, the pen is in your hands. Will you continue the story you were given, or will you take what opens here to write yourself a different one? The way we perceive ourselves is often connected to how our parents were perceived. So, for example, if a woman is called a whore, a daughter grows up as "daughter of whore" and doesn't see many options other than whoredom herself because "she always was and always will be". A son's father goes to jail, his son grows up as "the son of a criminal" and doesn't see many options for himself other than that because "he always was and always will be". "Just forget about them" makes us forget about ourselves as we were with them.
So, everything bad your fathers and others told you about me, write them down and then go back and write "child of " and you will know how you perceive yourself subconsciously. We limit ourselves emotionally, intellectually and physically in accordance with that psychology. It's done with a looping soundtrack of self-identifying(and accusing) statements. I will give mine growing up as an example; child of rape, fat, greasy, ugly, dirty grow up to be a loser, slut....programmed by parental insecurity being projected at me. I'm sure they told my parents and community members the same thing because it's not just our familial conditioning, it's every advertisement, every designation of student, poor, broke, not educated enough, American and what that means (freedom to some, the most vile evil to others). Word by word, another line drawn, wall built, limitation perceived.
I am going to leave things here that will expose some of those trusted voices, not to turn a light on them, but to help you realize you can change what you believe about yourself and move beyond it. If what they said wasn't 100% true, maybe you can question a few more things which have contributed negatively to that looping soundtrack. Maybe I will liberate more of myself in doing this life review as well. I love me a good script flip! It opens new neuropathways in the brain, expanding our access to knowledge and understanding, as does any language we learn and culture we explore.
This is not about hating anyone. We travel life's paths with people who share the same baggage. We all do the best we can with what we have. We choose what we perceive as our only real options. That includes you. That includes me. Familiar feels safe, predictable intellectually. Do one thing in your routine different; put the toothbrush in your left hand instead of right. Change the rules you made for yourself that if interrupted by others would upset you.
You can scroll down to your name if you like, bypassing the rest. Maybe at some point your heart will make room to read the rest of your story by reading about your siblings. Maybe your hearts will open enough to be there for each other. No matter how 'set' you believe you are, one more devoted supporter can't hurt, right? Be assured, you already have one in me. My thoughts and prayers, wishes, desires, hopes, dreams of a better future included you for years on end. Cort is THE most supportive kind of man to have as a brother. He's worth getting know, as are each of you girls.
Now we set the stage:
I came home to an empty house. My mother had moved out while I was out and didn't leave a forwarding address. I was 18 and her legal responsibility to me was over, I guess. I got a tattoo and puppy. So, there I was, a teen with no life skills, no idea how finances worked, bank accounts, bills and a huge load of spiritual, emotional, psychological, intellectual, and physical baggage. No family, no friends (they all married and a single girlfriend is a threat as well as no longer 'necessary'), no inheritance, no support, no guidance, I got a job as a clerk and an efficiency apartment in someone's basement. Daughter of a young man from "the wrong side of the railroad tracks" and young woman from the middle class that made it big then crashed and burned, taking their children even lower than they themselves had been.
Cassandra
The strength, pride and joy of my youth. Your father asked me to marry him, he said, because he didn't want to just live with anyone. I told him I wasn't really wife material, but that yes, I wanted to try it. It was amazing. I had a title and authority of a sudden; "Mrs." I had a place in the world. I fell in love with the man. Even my mother was excited to learn I was pregnant. Ron, however, was not. He threatened to drug me and drag my unconscious butt to someone who would perform an abortion if I didn't get one legally. He had objections to every form of birth control. What did he expect?
Just as excited to be a mother as I was to be someone, have a place in this world, I researched everything. I wanted a natural childbirth. I wanted to breast feed. I wanted to use cloth diapers. I had a baby shower. Then the doctor broke the news; the baby is breech and big. I responded that I had read somewhere that if I put my feet up while rocking in a rocking chair, the baby would turn. The doctor's reply? "Here's what we'll do. We'll grab you by the feet and spin ya 'round and 'round and slam you up against a wall. Then maybe the baby will turn". Ron and his mother decided a scheduled c-section worked best for them, so it was decided. It was traumatic. They had to put me under because I could feel the cutting. I had learned disassociation(though I had no clue about all that then) during trauma and disassociation makes drugs ineffective. The medical staff all made fun of what I had said while under, though they didn't tell me what it was.
The hospital had a policy that baby went to the nurse's station during visiting hours. You cried relentlessly every time, the whole time they would take you away. They thought it was drug withdrawal then the tests came up negative. So, they let you stay in my room. Ron took you out to the waiting area to the objection of the hospital staff, lol I saw that as heroic. It didn't click that he only went against the doctor when it was his rights he was defending, though mine had been damned.
Ron refused to take me in public if I stuck to breast feeding. You would throw up on him every time he picked you up. I knew it was you feeling his dis-ease with holding you, being a father. Ron and the rest decided you were colicky and the doctor prescribed a special; formula that smelled awful. That man tried every which way to torture me into getting rid of you. He threatened to have his mother raise you. He made me go to the state and lie about him leaving because he wasn't going to pay for the child. The final straw was him grabbing you, putting you in a car seat unbuckled, placed you on the hood of my car and drove off down the road. I left with you as soon as I could. A steak knife to my throat was fine, but he would not hurt my baby! (we broke a link in the chain of generational trauma right there). Roman Catholics only divorced for infidelity, if at all even then.
Our next chapter was moving temporarily with Betsy. Her condition: "You will go on welfare because I am NOT babysitting this child so you can go to work". I wondered to myself where I would go to for parenting advice. God. God is the ultimate parent and he would know. The search began and the Jehovah's Witnesses came to our door. They said and did all the right things to help me become one of them. Betsy had a fit! She had friends whose church she wanted me to go to instead. "Will they come get me and bring me to services?". "Of course not!". "Well, the Jehovah's Witnesses care enough to, so I'll stick with them". (I did a trade with Amy; I continued making my car payments and she paid insurance and got to have my car for a time).
We became the sweethearts of the congregation. I was in such good standing, the elders asked me spend time with the youth. Theocratic ministry school brought me out of my shell in regards to speaking in front of people. (I was never able to do an oral report in school, I'd run out crying). Getting my hand slammed in a door while engaged in ministry, I reminded myself to rejoice when persecuted for His name. I overcame other people's violent hatred. ( more links in chains broken) I couldn't go to pioneer school as a single mom, but I could an auxiliary pioneer, so I did, every month. I could touch and feel and live in that state of innocence we were born to.
Of course, that made me want to give my marriage another try and I told Ron that when we arrived at court for the divorce. He didn't want to. He thanked me for only taking half the money in the accounts. He never showed up for visitation and I'd cry alone at night because you'd be looking out the window asking for an hour; "Is big daddy coming? Why doesn't big daddy love me?". NOT what I wanted for my daughter! You were embraced by the congregation, including the men, though. And, of course, being Jehovah's Witness you had the only Father that mattered, right?
When my aunt Laurie called from Maine to invite us to come stay with her, I was ready. A guy's head got blown off in our town and she said Maine was a lot safer with a lot less pressure to conform to the latest trends, etc. Less "worldly"?, count this JW in! By then, however, my sense of security in the congregation was gone as well as that in my neighborhood. "The only true showers of God's love amongst themselves" lost that title for me at that time. I had a married friend with a son you used to play with; baby Joel. Then another young woman of our age group moved to the congregation with two sons and a husband. She started to spend time with us. Eventually, she invited me over one day to break the news to me. She was jealous of me because I was single, good looking and had a daughter and couldn't tolerate being my friend because of it. She demanded Joel's mom stop being my friend as well, because of it. Joel's mom agreed because the other mother needed her more; she was struggling in her marriage. At one point after answering an elder's questions, he told me I was too honest. Yeah, for my parents. I got my face slapped for speaking obvious truth. Wasn't the Organization all about the truth? My authenticity, my innocence, should have been safe and welcome. In the mean time, the woman who I had studied the Bible with, bringing me into the organization, started on me. "You can't wear that style dress because it looks too good on your figure. I can because I'm round and don't look so good" (broken English, her first language was Spanish). No friends, no family other than Maine, so off we went.
It was hard living in a house of someone who absolutely hated Jehovah's Witnesses, so we moved in with a large family. They lived in an unfinished house without running water or heat other than a wood stove. They were good to us, though. The husband was an elder. Eventually I noticed I was still alone. I asked the elders why no one invited us for meals in Sundays like everyone else was. They said it was because the wives didn't want a young, single, good looking woman possibly catching the eye of their husbands. I asked why none of the brothers was interested in me, then. Because I'm good looking, intelligent, a good mother and had a good standing in the congregation and men found that intimidating. Wow, what a world. Young woman would wish they were as pretty as me and I would tell them "no you don't!". So, I married the first man brave enough to ask. He was wealthy and thus influential in the congregation. He was also obese and abusive. The elders would not allow me to speak to them without him and even then I could not speak if he didn't want me to. His ex wife (also JW) told me, yup, they did the same thing to her. I moved out and rented a trailer in a trailer park, divorcing him. My sense of innocence was gone, swallowed up by a fat man, elders who wouldn't protect or defend me, and jealous sisters. I began to experience a war in my head. One side told me I was chosen, one of the anointed but I couldn't be most were already dead and it was more likely to be a man now, not women was the JW belief. The other told me I was one of those good looking women compared to a pig wearing a nose ring for decoration inside.
I couldn't take it. I stopped going to meetings and asked the elders to disfellowship me. I didn't want to disassociate myself because I didn't want the congregation to get the blame, it was me, I was going crazy, drew demons, etc. They refused. I started smoking cigarettes again and drinking. I finally gave in to having sex with the annoying 18 year old who lived in the house in the trailer park. I called the elders, told them what I had done to force them to disfellowship me.
Then I learned I was pregnant.
Cheliana
Cheliana's birth was the greatest contrast and my glory.
(continued in next post)
