The Healing Process

January 17, 2019 I woke up in a bad way, as I mentioned in my last entry I was at my moms, I went to her dining room and cried. I told myself it’s cool… let it out… now what’s wrong and what are you going to do about it?!? At that moment I realized how much I’ve healed over the past year, but also how much more growing and healing that I must do.

I swear you don’t know how much is wrong until something in your present connects emotionally to something in your past. The story I’m about to get into shows the differentiation of how I thought I healed and got pass something, and when I actually healed. The actual healing is what was done in the past year and is something I’m currently still trying to heal from. Remember I spoke about my last day in court and how it gave me confidence, but I was still fighting with myself back and forth, let me tell you why the withdrawal and not full fledge attitude.

The last thing I was asked during my trial was, “Has this ever happened before?” I sat silent in the thought, after one minute they asked again as if in a rush, so I said no but still in processing. I was dismissed from the stand and each step felt like thirty seconds, as I got halfway past the jury, I was smacked with reality of the past. I could see it, the things that I pushed so far back in my head that I forgot, and I couldn’t stop seeing it. The first three people I saw after exiting the courtroom was my mom, my sperm donor, and my attorney and I couldn’t stop crying. My mom held me and asked me several times “What’s wrong?” and “What happened?” but I gave her basically the same answer from the first time before the trial even started. I don’t know why, why I couldn’t confide in her, and I don’t even think it was that, I just couldn’t mouth those words. This wasn’t the first time I had been victimized. It felt like talking would make my hell worse, what’s on the inside of my mind would be seen and knowing that those issues would be the things one would think of considering how I felt bad and nasty about myself, I didn’t want other people to see it and didn’t know what to do or say about it. I remembered everything from four to nine: being forced to eat a vagina at four, sit on this young mans lap to satisfy his hard on at four, having to let a grown woman feel on my body for her pleasure at eight and nine, to having to suck the dick that fucked my mother at nine and ten, and I had no one to talk to. Those were the things that just sat on my mind.

Outside of home at school, from kindergarten to eighth grade I was bullied, hard. Kindergarten wasn’t so bad, something I could handle. First and second grade I had Ms. Drobish who was a very attentive teacher, my savior for those two years, so it wasn’t bad until third grade and it did nothing but got worse from there. I remember crying outside of my classroom every day for at least 30 minutes before entering Mrs. Martin’s classroom. Of course, I was teased because my hair was never done and my clothes looked like shit, what’s crazy is one of the boys that teased me always sat next to me so he could put his hand on my thigh (another thing I said nothing about). Fourth grade I was the black dirty girl. I was surrounded by Puerto Ricans and got my first real taste of racism and was teased due to the color of my skin and the texture of my hair. The bullying about my hair got so intense (a girl went around saying my hair was dirty and had lice) that the nurse had to come to the classroom and check everyone’s hair, so it didn’t seem like I was the target. That concluded in my bully having lice, karma’s a bitch, right!?! Fifth grade I was bullied again due to hair and clothes, and me being academically intelligent made it no better. That also was the year I thought I could confide in someone. We both were walking to school one day and a man on the way was harassing all the young girls. My friend and I reported this to the school (she was the strong one) it felt good to say something, so good on the walk home I told her about my stepfather. I made her promise not to say anything and she held it all the way until she didn’t have to (thank you Yvonne I still love you for that), until it all came out anyway. Sixth, seventh, and eighth grade I did in Virginia, between my self-esteem already being shot and hair again (one day you’ll hear about my step mother), and clothes I was just an easy target so of course the usual happened. Luckily by time eighth grade my body started forming so it let up a little.

With everything I just mentioned, when I turned fifteen, I vowed to leave it all behind me, you can’t dwell on the past, so what’s next? I was trying to make a new me (remember last entry) and I couldn’t do that with all those feelings, so I said “Fuck em”. I became numb to it, learned to speak on the topics with no emotion, I built up a bangin ass wall with a bangin ass poker face. I looked it at all like these are the obstacles that made me, me. I didn’t look at them any other way, didn’t separate them they were all one thing that I put in a box in the back of the closet. That was me dealing with it, because I got so used to it, that it just didn’t hurt anymore or at least I thought.

My pregnancy was the first step back into the reality of my past. I was worried about three things on a daily basis: 1) I may not be able to properly love my child, 2) Revenge from the man I put behind bars, and 3) My son dying before me.

I knew the love I wanted as a child so I knew what to give, but I’ve been angry for so long and haven’t really loved in quite some, I was scared of all that would get in the way. I also began to receive letters from the state giving me an option to write a statement on why my predator shouldn’t be considered for parole. At that moment all I kept thinking was, I may have to kill this man. Revenge for everyone is different but I know for me, I’m coming after everything you love. Let’s be real, I’m the only reason that man is behind bars, my testimony alone did that because no one else wanted to step forward. All I could think was he might come after my baby and I if I see him, I’ll have to kill him. Then there’s every black mother’s fear after she births a prince… he may walk out the door in the morning but he’s not guaranteed to walk back through it. There were plenty of access thoughts that came along with those: What if someone sexually assaults my child? I want him to be able to talk to me, how can I want him to talk to me when I didn’t want to talk to her? How will he look at me after he knows? Damn I do have to tell him one day, when do I do that? What if he hears it from someone else?!?! I cried like everyday with this crowded ass head of mine. But when my son was born it was like the rest of my life, with what I call a “love filter”, just for my son. I had to push all that to the side because I was a single mother. My focus had to be going back to school, working, and being the best mom I can be, without letting the kid see me struggle. Because I didn’t think about them (the memories) on a constant basis and the thoughts didn’t consume my head anymore (had plenty of other things to do that) I felt like I was healing. But that was just another box added to the back of my closet.

About five years later I was at a point where I was making enough money to only have to work one job, go to school, and focus on my son. Around that same time, I met a man that I thought I’d never meet and actually wanted to love him. Just with those minor changes, my mental health began to suffer, and although I’m to the point where I’m only working one job, this was the one out of many that took a toll on my life and wasn’t just a distraction from it. The job was at a Devereux facility, whose job was “supposed” to aid children with mental and behavioral issues with day to day activities and life skills which was the main reason I wanted a job there. I wanted to work with little girls who felt like they had nobody, so I could be that somebody out of anybody they could come to. My journey could have taken me on many different paths and with just one different step I knew I could have been in their shoes, and beyond not being physically in their shoes I knew what it felt like to be stuck in that mental cage of pain and silence.

There I experienced a lot of flash backs and realized a lot of the staff that was around were not there for the betterment of the children and there were days I would just go home and cry, something I fought and tried to disregard and just do my job at its best. As I did my job, I was pulled to the side several times by several different employees because they saw how much I cared and was told, “The only way to stay at this job is to not care too much.”. I didn’t realize what they meant until I started being targeted due to my love and passion to see them succeed, and still stood my ground through it all which lead to my first experience of racism in the workplace. Towards the middle of it I was crying everyday… the drive to and from work, and due to the fact I was only working one job then, my mind has time to run and that bitch ran a marathon. You’re spending more time with these kids than your own! You can’t quit because they need you! But your son needs you! Your son matters more than anything! Your kid needs attention right now! You never quit a job before but fuck it! Now during the month of my mental anguish, I complained to several supervisors and tried several different ways to fix the situation so I could be there for my girls. Then a co-worker pulled me to the side and told me that it didn’t matter what I’d do they wanted me out of there, and my supervisor asked her for my social media to find something as leverage from my private life to get me fired, which she declined to do (and soon after became the next target due to not cooperating with them). Having this new knowledge my last complaint I wrote in letter form asking to leave after all of my girls were discharged due to harassment, and the next day I was fired due to foul/violent language on campus with no investigation on the supervisor I’ve been complaining about. This resulted in my termination in May of 2018, and my beginning of the path to real healing.

That May I stopped working and haven’t really been back to work since which drove my mind crazy. What are you doing? You’re useless, you’re not even working? You think he fuckin with you the same now that you’re not working? Your son doesn’t even look at you the same? Etc.… I wasn’t sure of anything, the anxiety and panic attacks I thought were over came in waves, I felt like a target of racism more than usual (which all may not have been just in my head), and I battled heavy depression with added waterworks every day. Trying to fight this I started seeing a therapist and tried going back to work to distract my mind a little. The therapist caused extra stress and going back to work didn’t work this time, I was already in way too deep to act like this didn’t hurt that bad. The pain that comes from healing is worse than the experience, you get to see and feel something first hand and have a deeper perception than earlier due to growth.

After my mental breakdown my boyfriend took on most of the financial responsibility and I started meditating regularly, which caused so many emotional breakdowns, not mentally but emotionally and they hurt. I realized all the thoughts and pain originated from my childhood, things I learned to compartmentalize as I was developing. For everyone it’s different but for me during mediation after a state of stillness for a minute, I would search for the core of the unhappiness. I would ask myself “What’s wrong?”, until I can feel the pain so fresh and so raw that eventually, I can see a little version of me, not too clear and the image goes in and out but it’s me. Now this wasn’t easy, nor did it come without time, I had to call for her first for a while because she would run from me. Eventually I got her to stop running from me and we would stand face to face while I watched her glitch in and out, I was able to get her to trust me and now I could see her face. Soon after we were able to sit next to each other and I would hold her and let her know I’m here, I will always be here and I will never leave you alone again. I wanted to reassure her that she was not alone, and soon after that her face started glitching again. Out of mediation in real life I started struggling again because I thought just bonding with her and reassuring her was going to heal me and obviously that wasn’t it either.

One day I went into mediation with my head in a different place, for some reason she doesn’t talk I’ve never heard her voice so that’s why I felt like I had to talk, but this time I asked a question? I asked little me the question I’ve been asking myself now, What’s wrong? Of course, she didn’t say anything back or give me any response for a little while but one day I asked, and she took me by my hand and led me to a door. She opened the door and we barely stepped in and I could feel her eyes on me waiting on my reaction, she grabbed my hand and still with no words I could feel her asking do you remember that? She would always shut the door before I intake too much for my mind to handle, and we would cry together, and I could feel what she wanted. She wanted someone to feel what she felt and still be there like they said they would, and she was tired of hurting alone when she’s always heard the audio that she didn’t have too. I’m still not done opening these doors with her and I can say even though its painful I’m enjoying healing her and seeing her smile and giving her a voice. I love the fact that she waited until I was strong enough to give her a voice, she waited until I had control enough over my current voice. I still have a lot of healing to do, she never opens another door until I properly digest the last thing she showed me, so yes it’s time consuming but the bond that comes with it and the true understanding of self-afterwards is priceless. This may not seem that hard but imagine dealing with the things you’ve seen, out of meditation, and the double helix your life is becoming because you can’t process it fast enough to have an understanding before it turns your life upside down.

Honestly, the best thing I’m getting out of the healing process other than the healing process is being able to witness the bond that’s growing within self and witnessing the delicacy of how it had to be done and it shows me where I need to be parentally. Which will lead me to my next entry.

Happy reading!