Childhood Trauma

The mind of a child is already complex.  After my attack, I was now burdened with uncontrollable anger, anxiety and I was also triggered into hyper sexual activity.   You hear the phrase all the time “she is fass”.  She is this and she is that. She is promiscuous.   How about she has an issue?  She was touched?  She was raped?  She blacked out?  She woke up tied up and fighting for her life?  How about those labels?  Well that child is forgotten.  That child feels like she is no longer a child. She feels robbed.  She has this big secret.  Every time she walks out of her front door she is living a lie.  She is lying to her parents. She is lying to her teachers.  She is lying to her friends.  She is carrying this weight around that is wearing her out and she is only 13 years old.  That 13-year-old was me.  I carried that weight like many other boys and girls.  I hear the stories all the time.  I know 40-year old’s just like me wearing a banner of shame male and female.  This trauma can make males and females  have sexual urges  and be triggered as young as 5,6,7, and so on.  The question I have always had is who did something to my attacker?   What made him feel he could do that to me?  Was he hurting?  Was she hurting?  What demons are they fighting.  Was I this person only target?  How can this person be stopped and most importantly how can I protect myself so I never hurt anyone as a result of my pain and insure this will never happen to me again. 

The best gift my mother ever gave me was the gift of music.  My mom was a music collector.  She had every album.  She would play them on our huge stereo and she would sit back and have a drink or 2 or 3 and tell me all about “it”. Those were some of our better days.  I loved listening to her stories about her life and growing up in a small town with brothers (her being the only girl).  She was an educator and a great story teller.  I remember writing her story for my Women in Sociology Class and receiving an an A on the paper.  My professor told me I should really turn it into a short story.    She (my mom) was really proud of that.  Our relationship was complex but I loved my mom and I know she loved me.   Music and sports were my release.  One of the benefits of being adopted and being an only child you got everything you wanted.   I had a nice stereo.  I had my collection of records, cassettes and Cds.  I would listen to music to go to sleep.  It would  help push out the constant nightmare.   My attacker was tall, dark and had the whitest teeth.   I remember thinking he has such a beautiful smile.  That smile and those white teeth haunted me night after night.  I remember the anxiety being so intense I could feel it in my throat some nights I was so in fear I would get out of my bed and sit in the corner of my room so I could see the door and full view of the room and i also kept one of my bats from softball in the room so I could bust my window out if I need to escape.  I cannot emphasize the amount of fear I was in.  I don’t understand how my parents could not see it.  I just pray if my kids are experiencing anything I can see the warning signs .

I did not attend church until I was 13 years old.  My friend invited me to church with her.  Most Sunday mornings I would leave my parents at home and go to church.  My best friend’s grandmother would pick me up until I could drive myself. Now let’s picture this, I did not have chores, not a lot of rules, no one on me about grades. and did not go to church.  I think my constant drive for perfection is what kept me just “doing” when no adult was holding to it. However, that was a set up for disaster but God had a different plan for me.  It was all in his hand. It was all part of his plan.  Now back to the hyper sexual activity.  I think my addiction went in phases.  There were phases that I could not stand the smell or look of a man and then there were phases I wanted to conquer “one”.  Yes conquer!  The cue guy across the room or the cute guy in class.  I wanted to conquer and after conquering was over at times I just lost complete interest.   The sad part is this is still a struggle to this day.   However, in my marriage I never cheated.  I was so nervous about it.  I thought I would mess up but as the years went on and on I never felt like anyone was worth the risk of losing my family.  Counseling for sexual addiction is hard.  When you fail it is hard to be honest?  I go into phases of self -sabotage.  I would say to myself.  I can’t do this.  This is hard.  I hear all the time sex for men is different it is like sport.  A man can have sex and not have feelings.  I think because of my trauma I am the same way.  This is not to say I never have feelings. I have an ongoing 27-year crush that when I am in his presences I feel all the feelings in the world that I can suppress.  I assume because that relationship is important to me.I do person of interest but they are few and far between and I tell something amusing to me is “the men’s response”.  It is almost an offense. The sad part about it is I know most of them were out for the same thing but because I did not reply with the traditional response I am the thot.  I am the freak.  I am the whore.   Addiction is so complex.  It is an illness and it should be treated with self-compassion and delicate forgiveness to one’s self.  If you fall off the wagon, get back up and dust yourself off and try again.
I have learned to go in being very honest.  In most cases, the questions are:  What are you looking for?
My response:  I don’t know.
That is as honest as I can be because in most cases I don’t. Sex is so taboo.  It is complex.   Relationships/ situationships are complex and in most cases men and women cannot be completely honest due to judgement which sucks and puts one or both parties at a disadvantage.  I often wonder if the circumstances in my life were different if I would still struggle with addiction?  Would I be different? What if I didn’t have to carry that secret (over 30 years)?  What if I fought him off?  What if I didn’t black out?  What if?  What if? 

Music and sports were my constant.  They were my reason to smile.  The music would help put me to sleep at night and the sports would take my mind off all the thoughts racing in my head.  I fought sexual addiction from the age of 13-24 years old intensely.  I gave birth to my first child at 24 years old.  He was the apple of my eye.  Nothing and I mean nothing came before him.  He was a reason to pull myself together and that is exactly what I did.  I moved back to Arkansas and completed my Master’s Degree.  He was 6 months old when I started the program.  I found a little job on campus and worked with children and fell in love with it my job.  I loved children.  I have always loved children. 
My oldest son’s father played football in another country therefore it was my son and I.  I remember battling with depression after I had him but I would look over there at him and he would have the biggest smile and that made my world a better place.  The other strange thing about my son is that he changed my mom.  She did a 180 after my son was born.  She got into church.  She drank much less.  She and my father were very hands on with him the first 3 years of his life.  He changed us for the better. 

My volleyball career was over but I became involved with the local college volleyball team.  It was like a double edge sword.  They were my college team’s biggest rivals but their coach was my travel team coach and what else was I doing.  As if one-degree program was not enough I was also working on a Certification in Nonprofit Management.  Soooo lets lay this out!  I was in 2 different schools, 2 different degree programs, a newborn son (6 months), working a job or 2 and volunteering with the volleyball team.  This carried on for 3 years.  I had my own place.  My son and I had a nice apartment.   My male interaction was minimal at best during those years I was really about my son, providing for him and school. My ability to compartmentalized has always been a strength and weakness.  In this case definitely a strength but in some cases the ability to suppress a painful past (not so good).  

My son was and still is my sunshine.  All of my children are worth being “the best version of me” and no man will come before them.   I have already decided to settle on a small island where I can wear a bikini year around with a low cost of leaving when they all grow up.  They can always come visit me in my hut and with my younger Tenderoni if Mr.Right manifest. 

During the younger years of my son’s life, I had headaches so intense some days I felt like I was going blind.  I had my own apartment and my oldest son’s father was making such good money. I was able to save up $10,000.00 and use it towards the purchase of my first home in Memphis when my son and I moved back.  I ended up landing a job in a library.  It was such a blessing.  I was able to work with kids which was my passion.  I was able to study for both degree programs and make a salary so I could save my child support for later.  If there is a way we can do it.  Women are strong.  I know I am.  I should probably be locked up somewhere with all the levels of trauma I have experienced.  I could really be in mental facility or strong out on drugs.   I do struggle with junk food addiction (or stressful eatin), sexual addiction and addiction surround physical activity(I tend to take weight loss and working out to far).  

Abandonment is a real trigger for me.  My recent separation through now I feel like was absolutely the best thing for the situation, still triggered me.  It triggered me back into bad behavior. I was triggered into worry and regret but I know how to get help and that made a difference.  I think things could have been much worse.  I think the biggest problem for most people is admitting they need the help.  It is hard to admit you have an addiction. It is embarrassing. Who wants to say I am Lacey and I flawed!!! 

However, I had to learn not to worry about how people felt about me.  I know who I am I know what I am and I also know I am work in progress.  I am really at a point of who cares?  They are “really” going to talk about you/us when you are hanging over the Mississippi or Arkansas River  bridge ready to jump or threatening to take a bottle of Tylenol. Please go get the help and tell people (excuse my French)  to kiss your ASS!  I love yawl on Purpose Lacey Jones.

LIFE AS A COLLEGE ATHLETE

How did I get my scholarship?

Nothing could have prepared me for college athletics!!!!  The amount of running.  It required tons of time and effort.  There was “tons” of running.  I worked out all summer Arkansas.  I lifted and ran at War Memorial Fitness Center in my home city.  I was actually employed at the pool the summer before  I left for college.  I lived in the gym and at the track (pretty much).   I followed the summer schedule mailed from my head coach.  I was aware of the conditioning test I would have to endure and I was terrified.

I am often asked how I got my scholarship? It is more difficult now but my dad and I took matters in our own hands.  I was playing AAU volleyball so my dad would come to watch my games (high school).  He would record them for me so we could go back and watch them on VHS.  I was so dedicated.   Well I told my dad to record me talking one day.  He recorded me talking  (small intro) and I told him to record my game. I wanted to send it to the University of Memphis.  I knew we had a couple of AAU tournaments coming up there and I wanted to invite the coach to watch me play.  The other thing that helped me was attending the Razorback Volleyball camp at University of Arkansas my senior year.  The coach there was interested. His name was Chris Poole.  He came to the gym one morning of the camp.  It was early.  I had eaten breakfast and went over to the gym to work on blocking. It was a skill I learned the day before.  He saw me in the dark gym and cut the lights on and came and talked to me.  We had a conversation.  He (Coach Poole) gave me good feedback.  He told me I was tall and athletic.  He said you can really jump but you are very behind with your technical skills.  I want you to be a Razorback but I would have to send you to Junior College first.  I had no idea what Junior College was at the time.  He gave my parents the contact information of Coach Knight and gave Coach Knight my parents information.  My parents and I were crazy about Coach Knight from day one.

Recruiting

My parents and I were no strangers to recruiting.  My 9th grade year going into high school (which used to be 10th grade) every High School Coach in the City came and talked to my parents about me coming to play basketball.  Yes! Basketball!  I was an athlete!!! I went to Louisiana Tech Basketball my senior year and made there All Star Team.  I  met T. Weatherspoon before the WNBA was birthed.  She was cold. I was recruited by a small Junior College in Alabama from that camp but I was so over basketball. I wanted to do something different.  I was also offered by the Division 1 school in my city to play volleyball.   I was told I would stay at home instead of on campus and the state my mom and I were in at the time.  Ummm….no! I was offered by Coach Knight with the intent to be a Razorback but I picked University of Memphis.  It was a 4  year school D1.

I never understood the concept of the dumb athlete either like to be able to manipulate your body to perform? To be able to run  plays and bs strategic.  I still use those skills now.  We were not just our there as robots and those volleyball comes like missiles and learned to hit the ball exactly where I wanted it to go. Like I know it is stereotype but I loved school and sports. .

The other issue was that darn ACT.  That thing was awful.  I made a 17 at best.  How could someone that was a National Honor Society Grad not pass the ACT ( then someone said it only determines how you will do your Freshman year)?  Well the first semester I had a 3.1 and the second semester I had a 3.5 GPA.  I never understood it.   In all that stress and trauma, I was still compartmentalizing it all. 

Moving Day

  My dad was a dedicated employee.  He took very little time off work therefore I had to be dropped off early on the college campus.  I was placed in the dorm we would live in for preseason.  It felt like the dorm was 100 stories high and I was at the very top all alone.   I was dropped off a couple of days before everyone else.  I cried myself to sleep the first night.  I was happy to be free of my mother’s reign but at the same time I was out on my own.  I was nervous.  Was I going to make it?  Would I end up back at home?  These thoughts were racing through my head “over and over” again.   I cannot fail.  I cannot fail. I can do it.  After a couple of days of eating tons of junk and watching tv and tons of anxiety the rest of the team arrived.  I always loved being part of a team.  It was somewhat like a sisterhood. We laughed.  We had fun.  We danced.  We sang. We bonded instantly.    I had become a diligent writer.  I want to make sure to take the time to track this journey. 

I dreamed of being a Division 1 Athlete.  I had written it down as one of my life goals. I slept with those goals under my pillow for 2 YEARS.  I slept with a volleyball my junior and senior year of high school.  I studied the game.  I wanted to jump higher and run faster than anyone.  I wanted to be the best.  I had the athletic ability but lacked the technical skills.  How would I ever catch up?  Preseason was a nightmare.  The running!!! I hated long distance running.  There was something mentally about a track.  I hate running on a track (on South Campus).   Our team was required to meet “time” for a 2 mile test, a 1.5 mile test and 1 mile test!  It was a nightmare.  I remember the day of our first test one of my teammates collapsed. I remember everyone being in a panic.  I was in a panic.  We had to call 911.  It was very hot.  Sprints however were my thing.  I loved running sprints.  I could run sprints all day.  I enjoyed the little burst of energy.  I loved the way my body responded to the recovery time and I was mentally able to push on after catching my breath.   I was a sprinter!

My teammate did recover only to quit. We had two all conference player quit during preseason.  I could not understand why but as time went on I did. Our coach was big on mental toughness.  I felt like I was in the military.  She played with our heads.    I know she was always in my head. 

The Memphis heat burned our skin as we ran day after day.  Our practice consists of what they called “3 a days”.  We had 3 practices in a day.  I remember my desire for rest had intensified every day. My joints, muscles, my feet! Everything hurt on me.   My only high point was our Tuesday and Thursday practice at the Hyper building at the pool.

Every day we started at 6am.  We met in the male dorm for buffet style breakfast.  This was the highlight of my day.  This (breakfast) and lunch! I could see all the handsome football players. However, never at my cutest but always with the least amount of clothes.  They did not mind my hair all over my head.  Volleyball players were thick players (white or black).  We had big legs and big butts from all that jumping and running. My freshman year, I stood 5’10 and 163 lbs. I had a 6 pack.  I had abs of steel.  I worked hard on my body.  It was my temple.

My Freshman year I met a lot of opposition.  I was battling mental trauma and I had a coach that did everything in her power to trigger it.   I think the thing that hurt the most about my experience with my coach was the fact she looked like me.  She was a black female coach in a white dominated [UT1]  sport and I looked up to her.  The only black female coach I had in any sport was my cousin Cynthia which ended up being my coach after my dad retired from coaching me in softball.   I was hoping to learn a lot from her.  However, I felt like my coach was more concerned about winning and destroying my character.  I never felt any love, compassion, or appreciation.  I never felt any mutual respect NEVER.  I was terrified before more practices.   There were mornings I would throw up.  I was afraid of this woman.  Fear consumes me the entire season. I also became the butt of most jokes.  I became the weakest link.  I was given the nickname of LJ because surprisingly there were two Laceys.  I was LACEY and she was LACY.  I was black and she was white.  We were both freshmen.  One thing I learned in the world of volleyball color did not matter.  Until my Senior year I can honestly say I did not have any horrific exchanges within my team or at any games.  We were sisters and I honestly loved my teammates. We laughed, we danced, we sang, we watched tv, we slept, we traveled.  We were together!  We were a team.  The Team dynamics were great in JUCO and D1 (particularly Arkansas State after I transferred)  volleyball. 

“The fieldhouse”!! It was trimmed in blue.  Oh, how I loved the color blue and the color gray.  I loved our practice shirts that held the catchy phrases like “Diggiin” Memphis. That was my favorite.  Our uniforms were to die for and I looked pretty awesome in mine.  At 5’10 and 163 lbs.  I think 20lbs of that was booty and man did it always make a scene anywhere I went.  I ended up grown 2 inches my freshman year putting me at 6ft.  I was from a small school in Arkansas.  I was not used to attention.  When preseason was over and the men hit campus and I was headed to classes.  The entertainment began.  I was so entertained.  How I had good sense my freshman year . I was not sleeping with anyone.  I loved going on dates.  I had an endless supply of suitors. Somehow in all my dating I got labeled as a whore.  It was my coaches belief I was sleeping around which was untrue.  I think Freshman year I was afraid of everything.   I was requested to go to the infirmary on campus and given a pregnancy test.  It ended up being negative which I could have told them before I took it.  I was trying to figure out how I got this label when I knew what some of my teammates were doing.  I am was trying to talk sense into them.  She went even as far as to tell my parents I was always in the male dorm.  I had never been in the male dorm outside of the Lobby.  My parents were really trying to come down on me and I finally turned them and said look….you guys raised me….does this sound like me? They finally apologized later after conversations with other parents.  I can honestly say we were warned.  My club coach warned me when I signed my scholarship that the Head Coach was a handful and I had to bring that back to my parents attention

I have met my share of star athletes. The potential NBA players.   I have met my share of professional athletes.   I even went out on a couple of dates.  Most were JERKS and they worked my nerves.  They were accustomed to dumb silly ass girls doing everything for them.  I always felt like I was the “ish” too.  The constant attention was giving me a big head.  However, my big head was deflated at every practice.  Our normal practice began with 15 minutes in the blue.  My coach’s practice was to push me to my limits.  There was a breaking process.  The breaking process began in my mind.  The exercise of 15 minutes in the blue required me to stay at the front of the pack.  If LJ fell to the back of the group, the team would be required to complete the exercise again as LJ watched.  There were so many days I wanted to quit.  I sucked.  My freshman year I was terrible.  I felt like I had two left feet.  The footwork!  The amount of time it took to reprogram myself. The amount of time it took to educate myself on the technique.   All of this while having classes, practice, and traveling.   The travel was great.  I enjoyed being part of Conference USA.  I took my first trip to the Beach.  I went to South Padre Island.  We played Central Florida.  We went to DePaul.  We went to Marquette. We played Wisconsin University. I will never forget playing Houston.  It was the first time I saw a packed volleyball game.  The crowd was a beast.  We went to Clemson.  We were able to travel all over.  I do thank the coach for those experiences.  I was a inner city kid that had not seen much of anything.  I paid for it out my ass “tho”.  She beat the breaks off of us.  Pit drills were the worst.  A pit drill is a drill that volleyballs come flying in different directions and you have to try to touch them all.  We traveled all over.  I saw states and places I would have never seen without the opportunity to play.

Austin Hayes:

Then one day I met HIM.  He was tall (about 6’3). He was thin. He had the most beautiful eyes and pretty teeth.  He had beautiful brown skin.  He had a wonderful sense of humor and was very different. He did not curse.  He did not smoke.  He did not drink. He wasn’t a gang  banger. He was so handsome even to this day I still think he is the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on at 44.  He reminds me a lot of my dad.  He has such a great spirit and has always helped me stay grounded and positive.  We share a love of music and debating.  Yes, we are still “really good” friends. Our only issue has been timing.  Our timing is always off.  Still off to this day but his presences settles my heart and calms my soul.   His name is Austin Hayes.  He was a football player and the day I met him it was “over” for everyone else even his TEAMMATES. He was a local player so I was able to visit his him at home as well.  I even came back to visit with him when I left and went to JUCO.  He was/is my dawg! We hung out. We ate.  We played card games with other friends. He was a crush and bestie all in one.

The day we met face to face was October 5, 1995.  I wrote it down in my journal.  I met the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.  The sad part is I still feel the  same most days!  It comes and goes.  However, timing is everything and our timing is always off.  It has been off for the past 25 years.  It has always amazed me how we lose contact and run right into each other.  I always said it had to be divine.  How in all of Memphis?? I ran right into him over and over again.  When we reconnect, it is like we never missed a beat.  A lot of times sitting, listening to music, watching football or a movie.  We never even touch.  We will debate and the man is so smart is a walking encyclopedia and a great sense of humor.  He is very calm. He is very cool and collected.  I don’t think much ever bothers him.

Bitter sweet:

The day I was saved.  I went up to block with my coach and came down on her foot. It rolled my ankle.  It was so painful.  I mean instant pain but in all that pain swelling a bruising it meant the mental and physical abuse would end so I thought.  I was taken off the travel team instantly.  I couldn’t travel.  I was in so much pain my ankle was huge.  I would constantly have to ice and come to therapy.  It was so cold walking across campus in a boot to class.  The injury happened late October.  Our season ended in November so I missed 3 travel games but I could go to the last one at Arkansas State University.  The Convocation Center.  The Arkansas State Indians were a powerhouse at home.  They had a crowd and I had no idea that in a year or so I would be playing on that very court.  They killed us and I am happy to say University of Memphis and Arkansas State played each other every year and every year I was an Indian we beat the Memphis Tigers.  I saw a couple of my old teammates.  I think some hated they stayed after the new coach came in because they became practice players.  It was great to see them and not be a butt of all the jokes.  It was great to let them see how I had progressed in my game. 

Even in injury the cycle of abuse continued,  I was very depressed when I was taken off the travel squad but Austin was not my only friend I had a group of girlfriends! OMG!  We had so much fun my freshman year.  Parties!!!! We did hair! We ate!  We hung out!  It was like a huge slumber party all the time.  I loved these young ladies so much.  My girlfriends, on campus events, Austin (and other male suitors), and my teammates life was manageable.  Therefore after my injury my friends wanted to cheer me up.  Hey Lacey! There is a party!  I am looking down like how am I going to a party with this big ass boot. 

..to be continued

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    LIFE AS A COLLEGE ATHLETE

    THE “Diagnosis”

    I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety disorder and PTSD after my ex and I separated. I struggled with these things for years but I think the diagnosis is what made it real. I thought to myself I am flawed I have a medical condition. After a total meltdown after a martial counseling session I had to come to the realization this is what my life is now. I had lemons and now it was time to make lemonade. My first step was to conquer all the skeletons in my closet. I participated in a year of trauma counseling. It was so hard. Most days I had to go home and laydown before being at work a 12pm. I carried skeltons from childhood until the age of 42. It was about survival. It was about being health not only for ” Lacey” but being healthy for my children. The first thing I had to do on this journey was get equipped. What would my tool kit consist of?

    What did I like? I liked music. I liked exercise. I was a dedicated yogi at one point and loved mediation. That was it! I loved to read. I loved to learn and I loved kids. That would be my main focus to conquer this journey!

    Music, yoga, exercise, books, meditation and my kids were “my” key components.

    I made a promise to myself to mediate every night even if only 5 mins. Read something everyday and write everyday (even if it was something I was grateful for). I was armed with my tool kit. I was ready.

    The first month of separation was pretty awesome. I slept so good. It was like a weight had been lifted. I felt freedom to mold my future. It felt like a new start and then my oldest son had to go off to college.

    I felt myself spiraling. It was hard but we raise our kids to go out into the world and it was his time to go. It was really hard on the younger kids. I had a set of 5 year old twins and a 9 year old that was missing dad and now big brother. Many nights I remember us all crying. I tried very hard to hide it and be strong for them but sometimes I just could not hold it. The strange part was I wasn’t said that my marriage was over. I was sad “the idea” of my marriage had ended. I was tired of constant competition. I was tired of lies and betrayal but I was able to compartmentalize in the name of my children. I was hurt for them. I knew I would be strong. I was concerned about the long term effects on them.

    However, I began to meditate with them.
    We moved out of our 2600 sq ft home into a 1100 sq ft apartment. The kids were in shock at first but they began to enjoy momma’s room being so close. I promised them after the one year we would move back into a home and that is what we did with more room and more space.

    Everyone had their own space even the twins could have separate rooms if they wanted too.

    I had to adjust to no Male support in the home. About a year out God connected me with a crush I had a college and we never crossed the line and he became the best support system a girl could have. When I needed to cry he was there. When I needed to vent he was there.
    I was also presented with another unconventional friendship and with those two I was on top. I think it was the “the male presences” I had over a decade that was killing me. The best part they were solid friendship I still hold today. If I need a shoulder to cry on they are their even at 285 lbs they always told me I was beautiful, smart, strong and my ex was an idoit which a girl loves to hear and now at 100lbs less yep 100 those 2 dudes are still there..my goons! 🤣🤣🤣
    They are respectful. My kids still have not seen me interact with anyone outside of their father but they are smart and nosey!!! Especially those twins

    Mommy is that daddy (on the phone)?
    Mommy do you have a boyfriend?

    The process:
    Holidays are hard!
    Child support lets not even talk about it
    Visitation is hard. My kids hate leaving me and I hate to see them go but I have learned to appreciate the downtime. I need time to myself. I can honestly say I can’t tell you the last time I have struggled with depression anxiety or PTSD because I am prepared. I know my triggers. It is much harder to flip my lid and knock me off my square. I know how to manifest and utilize principles such as law of attraction and most importantly I know GOD!

    I love you on purpose. I accept myself 100% and all these have changed my world. Lacey Johnson is now ready for the world. ❤❤❤

    Childhood Trauma

    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.

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