I made a promise to always be the best mom I could possibly be because that was the main puzzle pieces missing in my life. The presences of a mom has always been a sore topic of discussion for me. My biological mom had me at 17-years-old. She was freshman in college and worked a local grocery store. She was a single mom. My dad was in the Military and overseas. She had recently suffered the loss of her dad (my biological grandfather) and shouldering the weight of being a single parent provided to be overwhelming so she relinquished her rights to the State of Arkansas. I was then placed in foster care for 6 months and by 18 months I was adopted. I was placed in the home of the Nelson family.
…so let’s pause! Before the age of 2 I had been in 3 homes that I knew of. That is by definition trauma. Imagine getting use to someone’s smell, getting use to seeing the same person everyday, having a routine (your mom) and one day that is gone. In EMDR (or trauma counseling) your mind is taken back to the moment the trauma occurred in an effort to make the impact less. The visualization I was able to see was a little girl about 1 (of age). It was me. I was in the back of a car standing. I was crying for my momma as the car with a stranger took me away. At a young age I suffered with anxiety at daycare. I had a serious fear of being left. I would cry and could barely function most days. Abandonment is a serious trigger for me (still) however I am armed with the ability to detach almost instantly but at young age it was huge fear!
The Nelson’s were a middle-aged couple. They had been married 13 years and my adoptive mom was not able to conceive children so I was her one and only baby. Berta Nelson carried skeltons in her closet
She had survived one marriage to an abuser that resulted in broken jaw. She had fought against the segregated south to become a teacher/ educator. She was the first in her family to get a college degree. She was a proud woman and never showed weakness. I don’t think I have ever seen my adoptive mom cry once. As the years went on and I moved away from home we became closer however when left at 18 years old I never returned to my parents home to live. In college I would always attend summer school and secure some type of housing. She was my mom and I loved her dearly but we needed our space. We needed time to miss each other. 藍藍藍
In my earlier years, I was very confused. I was never any trouble at home. I had good grades. I never got in trouble in school. I was always under her. I slept in the bed with her from the moment i came home until I turned 12 years old. I did everything I could for her approval. However, she always wanted me to be so girly. She loved dresses. She loved lace. She loved my hair to be pressed. I liked those things to but not all the time
She never supported any of my athletics until l earned a college scholarship to play volleyball. I felt so hurt by that. She would always clip my newspaper articles. She would find my volleyball, basketball, and track information in the local newspaper but she would never come and watch me play or run.
My dad was always there. He worked outside of Little Rock in Benton, AR which was like 40 miles away and he would get off work. He would come home and take a shower and come support me. I just never understood why my mom was never there. Report card days were different. My mother never asked for my report card. She just knew I would always have good grades. I never had chores. I never had to clean my room. I just did. I never had to wash dishes….nothing!!!
I felt like I lived the first 18 years of my life waiting on her. I wanted her to love me. I wanted her approval but as I got older and older she tried to control me.
At the age of 15 mom became a stay at home mother. Her drinking had reached an all-time high. She spent most days at home drinking vodka and watching television which meant by the time my father and I got home it was World War III. Nothing we could ever do was right or acceptable. Never!! My dad began taking on more shifts to help with bills due to the fact my mother was not working. It was then that I became her target. The reason I played every sport was to stay out of my home. I even picked up job at McDonalds which I worked on the weekend to stay away from home. My mom would get drunk and try to fight me. I would ignore her and go in my room and she would follow me in there. She would call me names and accuse me of being whore. Those were really some terrible times. I use to wonder how my dad such a loving and respectful man ended up with her. My dad was the best. He was patient and he was kind. He was loving. He was all I could ask for in a dad. He was my support system. He and my grandmother helped keep it together.
Then one day I was educated on addiction. Addiction is an illness. I really had to have an out body experience and tell myself.
That is not your mom. That is shell. When I learned the psyche of addiction I could make it. The episodes almost became comical. I would think in my head “what form of Berta do we have today”. I even went as far to give my drinking mom an alter ego. Her alter ego was Edna and boy was Edna hot mess. I loved Berta much better.
Only child:
The good thing about being an only child is the fact you get new things. I was the first one on my street to have a computer. I was the first one on my street to have a cd player. I had a game console. These are all things that provided me comfort until I went to bed (while being trapped inside my bedroom). My mother thought she was trapping me inside but I was very content. I loved to read. I loved to write. I started a journal and I would write every day. I prayed often. Neither my mother or father attended church but my best friend’s grandmother would pick me up on weekends and when I was able to drive. I would drive myself to church leaving my parents home in bed most Sundays. That was the only way I stayed sane. I
I suffered from anxiety into elementary and middle school. I was always remember bring super tall YET ccurvy and boys would touch me and it would really upset me and make me cry. I remember being assaulted by a group of boys on the playground in 4th grade. It was on a day my mother made me wear a dress
for picture day I wanted to play on the playground and my flat flipped off. I was trying to retrieve my shoe from a young man named Lamont Davis and he had one end of the shoe and I had the other end and a group of boys surrounded me a started touching and grabbing on me. I remember them saying “get a peice of the rock”.
My mom and I never had conversations about boys or sex. She barely taught me anything about my menstruation anything. I really think she did her best . However, I was so unequipped for the world and life. I learned a lot of wrong information from friends and some information at school via sex education.
Smiling Through It All 