- 3 years ago
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Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs to do; having a life depend on your every waking move is scarier than can be expressed. My insecurities in the beginning years of my journey were sometimes the most debilitating experience ever. How I got through is a miracle in it of itself. I was a dysfunctional functioning mother to say the least. The following entry is a flashback of my early years, not of my motherhood but of my childhood. You may not be able to relate but maybe you’ll understand a bit of my dysfunction.
How could a mother handle if her family was in danger from a wanted killer? “I’m coming for you. I’m not only going to kill you, but I’m going to kill your children…” My mother could not move fast enough when the news came to her that my father had been shot. How bad was he shot? Who could have done such a thing? No one could give her any answers nor prepare her for what she was about to go through as she rushed to the hospital.
Let’s talk about what happened. Knight Rider, as he liked to be called, was a friend of the family and was one of my father’s close friends. His name was no different than any of my dad’s other friend’s names like, Music Man, Road Runner, and Dark Fist. My father and Knight Rider became fast friends. Many days after school, I came home to see both of them, along with the others watching TV, playing video games and playing cards. There were times when my mom would come home to see them smoking and drinking in the living room. She begged my dad to end his friendship with the crew, but he saw no wrong in his friendship with them. They were brothers, in my father’s eyes, and he would do anything for Knight Rider and his other friends. I heard a few arguments between my mother and father where my mother shared her detest for Knight Rider and his influence on our family.
Knight Rider and my father enjoyed drugs, drinking and vulgarity as if it was all their times together were made for. During the summer, my father would have secret BBQ’s with his friends, mainly Knight Rider. Those BBQ’s were fun as my younger brother and I ran around the park not knowing the dangers we were in.
“Guys”, my father called us over. “Do not tell your mother where you were today.”
“Why?” I asked curiously.
“Because your mother isn’t as forgiving as me. She doesn’t like Knight Rider and I don’t want her to get upset.” I was lost because my mother was never a woman to express such dislike for one person. We all would find out later why her motherly instincts were flaring.
My father and Knight Rider were driving around together and my father needed to stop at the store. My father told him he could wait in the car while he went inside. After running his errands, he dropped Knight Rider off and looked for the money he had from work but it was nowhere to be found. He knew he had it nestled in between the seat before he picked up Knight Rider. He knew that Knight Rider had stolen from him and he was not going to stand for it. My father immediately went to the police to file a report instead of confronting his friend. That was the end of that friendship.
The incident came and went and finally my mother was rid of that disgusting friend of my father’s…so she thought. My father was known for his cooking by many. He was asked many times to cater a party or he would just cook out of the kindness of his heart for his friends and family. On one particular Friday night my father came home with all the ingredients to make his famous soup for a party one of his friends were throwing. The aroma not only filled our two-bedroom apartment, but it extended across the hallways of the 4th floor in the building we lived in. You could even smell his soup in the staircases leading to the other floors. My older brother and I were jealous that we didn’t get any before going off to youth group that night. He was originally wanted to stay home to take the soup to the party, but he decided instead to join me at church.
My mother did not want my father to stay at the party, so he had planned to drop the soup off and come home to be with her. She expected him to be gone for a half an hour but what should have taken a half an hour, was now turning into almost two hours. She quickly assumed that he chose to stay at the party instead of coming home, after all, what other reason could there be?
My father was driving into the driveway of the party when he saw his ex-friend, Knight Rider. “You’re finally going to get what’s coming to you!!”, he screamed at my dad. My father put the van in park but refused to get out. Knight Rider walked over to the driver’s side of the van and started arguing with my father. As the argument escalated, my father’s friends just gathered around, no one stopped the argument or tried to deescalate it.
The fight got so vile that soon they started spitting in each other’s faces. My father was not a man to be trifled with and the only two people he feared were his parents. Knight Rider didn’t scare him…yet, as we were told of what went down I wondered why he hadn’t gotten out of the van to teach his former friend a lesson. The only reason I could think of was that this man didn’t just used to be his friend, he was “the” friend, in fact all the eyes watching were friends. They all came to our house at one point to eat, drink, smoke, party and now they were all watching this happen without any defense.
Before my father could think about the next vile insult he would spew it, Knight Rider took out a gun and pulled the trigger. My father was knocked by something and felt the burn of the first bullet as he heard the sound of a second round being shot. Blood was everywhere. He was actually hit. Blood was in his mouth and air was leaving his lungs. He sat up and put the car in drive, but Knight Rider ran in front of the car unable to grasp how my dad was still alive. Knight Rider was determined not to let my father go. He stood in front of my dad’s van, looked him in the eyes, pointed the gun directly at his head and—full of pure rage and revenge—pulled the trigger a third time. The gun must have jammed though. He pulled the trigger several times…but not one bullet was discharged. That was when God stepped in, I believe, and clogged the gun. It gave my father enough time to put the van in reverse and speed off. As he was speeding off, Knight Rider was able to get two more shots off that hit my dads van but missing my father.
Blood was gushing everywhere from my father’s throat. The bullet went from one part of his neck and exited out the other side shattering his trachea and voice box. To the shock of everyone, according to the doctors who took care of him, if there was a small space for a bullet to go and still give him chance, that was where the bullet went. My dad couldn’t breathe so he put his middle finger and thumb into the holes while he drove (or some angel above) and he could get just a touch of air. He was losing blood fast and it was a miracle that he was still alive. He found a fire department that he almost crashed the van into. He slumped over as he was passing out. The firemen opened the door to see the horror of blood. An ambulance happened to be driving by and one of the firemen ran in the middle of the street to get their attention.
My mother was not ready to comprehend what she was going to hear when she got to the hospital. When she heard that my father had been hit directly in the throat, she did not think he would make it. The doctor’s explained the damage that he had experienced along with the chances of him recovering. How could Knight Rider shoot him so mercilessly?
Knight Rider wasn’t done; he was not going to stop until my family was eliminated. My father’s life was in danger as Knight Rider told some people that he was planning to go to the hospital and finish off my father. They had to change my father’s name in the hospital and put him on high security. My mother was also notified of his plan to kill her, my brothers and myself. We were kept from going to school and would not return till my mother felt it was safe. He knew our ins and outs because my father had let him into every aspect of our lives.
My father barely started his recovery before checking himself out of the hospital. He refused to live in safety while his whole family was at risk. After only a week of being in the hospital he came out to set up some safety guidelines and tell off every “friend” he thought he had. In truth he didn’t know who to trust. Many thought the way he handled Knight Rider’s theft by going to the police was cold and that my dad was a snitch. Just days before my home that was once bustling with rowdy West Indians who were parting and hanging out, but that was all now a thing of the past. Our home never saw those people ever again.
My younger brother and I were unaware of the extreme danger we were in. No one talked to us and told us about how much our lives were in danger which is why we were not allowed to answer the door, answer the phones or go anywhere extra.
After being home for a few weeks, my parents got the news they wanted but at the same time, did not want to hear. Knight Rider had been arrested and was no longer a danger to us. That was the news they wanted to hear. What they were not expecting to hear was that Knight Rider was actually a wanted killer whom law enforcement had been looking for, for years.
Knight Rider was not done inflicting fear into my parents’ minds and hearts. He was allowed only a few opportunities to make a phone call and he used them to call my father. “I’m coming for you. I’m not only going to kill you but I’m going to kill your children. I know where they go to school, I know where your wife goes to work. I’m coming for you.” My father didn’t engage the phone call too much, but didn’t hang up before using some foul language. Knight Rider just threw out a meaningless threats because shortly after his arrest he was deported back to Jamaica.
All that I know now was told to me much later. I was oblivious to his threats, his determination to kill my father and the rest of my family. My family made it through, but it all could have ended very differently. I thank God for watching over us, even when we didn’t know it.
Now, so many years later, I see my home as my sanctuary and I work very hard to protect it. It is a place for my family to feel safe, protected and secure. Sam and I have learned that the enemy doesn’t always come looking like an obvious threat he can, at times, get close through a friend. My mother knew something was off with Knight Rider from the start. She never felt safe with him around. Her instincts caused her to beg my father to cut off the friendship.
In time I would learn to follow my own motherly instincts. The first I learned, was to listen in putting God at the center of my family’s life. There was and is no way I could do anything without Him. Sam and I were already serving in ministry before we became parents and if you haven’t heard it before, it’s hard for people in ministry to have close friends. When it was just us was one thing, but when it later became about who we allow to influence and expose them to we became very cautious. We knew that we had to portray an image and behavior that our kids would model and we believed the same with who we chose to surround ourselves with.
Second we knew learned, that some relationship may serve a purpose for only certain seasons of life. Not every person we became close with are as close to us now. At times the reasons to disconnect may not mean that a friend became evil or anything but things now are just different and like Paul and Barnabas, taking different paths in life was the better choice. In some cases the separation were not on good terms, in other cases life just continues in different directions. Regardless of how it happens it is hard to part ways with those you love.
There are some relationships that we are good with either way but, Sam and I pray and hope for the connections where we loved and lost to one day be healed. We also learned that time can heal that as well. In some cases I know we could have handled things better, we are not perfect, but I will not regret ever wanting to protect my home and the lives that God had trusted in my care. He gave Sam and I four minds to nurture and inspire. He allowed me to see what life without discernment could lead to so I choose to show and teach my children different.
Author archives: Marsha Winters
- 3 years ago
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Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs to do; having a life depend on your every waking move is scarier than can be expressed. My insecurities in the beginning years of my journey were sometimes the most debilitating experience ever. How I got through is a miracle in it of itself. I was a dysfunctional functioning mother to say the least. The following entry is a flashback of my early years of motherhood. Can you relate to me?
She just wouldn’t stop crying, nothing I did soothed my newborn baby girl. I laid her on the bed and had to walk away as I just could not get her to stop. We were hit with a major heat wave in the middle of the summer that was going to last for days. We had no electricity, the phone lines were dead and I was at my wits end. I needed to think. I needed a moment. I JUST NEEDED A MOMENT!!!!
Just 48 hours earlier I was in the hospital about to have my first time alone with her. I was determined to make the best of it as the nurse wheeled her in my room and a sense of nervousness and excitement welled up in me. I was sorer from this delivery than I was with Joey because I didn’t have time to get an epidural. My pregnancy with my daughter was also emotionally harder because I had battled with depression all through out; but did not know what it was. There was no way I could love another baby after loving Joey, my first born, so much. Can I acclimate her to our family or will she just cause a disruption in the small family Sam and I have been building?
The nurse scooped her up and I could hear her cooing as she was carried over to me. There she was…aww my beautiful Rachel sucking on a pacifier bigger than her face. Rachel in the Bible was known for her beauty; it wasn’t the reason for the name but I wondered if she would have features that would equate her with Jacob’s wife. I heard nothing the nurse said as I waited anxiously for her to leave the room. As soon as the nurse left I carefully placed Rachel on my bed and started to unwrap her. The hospital did a fantastic job of wrapping babies as tight as they were in the womb. One layer was off, now the next. She was slowly waking up as I was peeling the swaddling blankets away and exposing her to the cool air.
Finally…now I got to her. It was time to get to take off her clothes and socks and the hand mittens. Oh, and let’s not forget that pacifier. I wanted to see what God gave me. I wanted to see all of her. I carefully looked at her perfect body. Not one flaw. 10 beautiful fingers that stretched out when I touched them. It was okay…one day she would hold my hand and never let go. She had 10 beautiful toes on her tiny feet. I scooped her up and carefully flipped her over and saw from front to back she was flawless. By this time, she was awake and wondering what was going on; it wasn’t long before she started fussing. It was a whole new ball game with a girl.
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Living in a new country was confusing and scary but my mother was my everything. After our transition from Jamaica to America my mother needed to do what she could to make her sacrifice worth it. After it was discovered that I was being molested at my aunt’s, there was quick arrangements for me to live with my mother and father in a small room 15 minutes away. The three of us rented that room and it was the first place where the three of us lived together after leaving Jamaica. My mother worked hard to give me what I needed; food nor clothes was ever a problem. I wanted as much of her as I could when she wasn’t working. Sometimes she gave me a comb and just sat still while I played in her hair, other times I just laid on her lap and played with her hand as she talked on the phone with family members back home. She tried to read me a story every night and tuck me in. My mother tried to juggle everything.
She worked tirelessly Sundays-Fridays and on Saturdays was chore day. At the age of 6, I will never forget laundry day but one specific laundry day. My mother and I had to make the very long walk from the apartment we had, to the laundromat several blocks away. She was so tired. I remember reaching the laundromat, loading the clothes and then we sat on a spot and waited for the clothes to dry. She asked me to sit at a certain spot and then she placed her head in my lap. Within minutes she had fallen asleep as I played in her hair.
Girls have a piece of their mother that differs from boys. It is not a better piece or a more valued piece, it just different. A mother is the blueprint to a little girl of how to handle life’s victories, challenges, hiccups, mountains, valleys and storms. A mom shows a little girl who she will become and gives her an understanding of her potential. Mothers are not to portray perfection…let’s not get that twisted; but a mother is walking in the role that a daughter will soon step in one day. How we play this role will determine if our girls will walk with confidence or walk with a limp that only straightens with a crutch.
As a little girl I saw my mother as beautiful and elegant. I know every little girl thought their mother was beautiful, but I knew beauty. Her hair was always perfect and never out of place to me, and to this day I have never seen my mother’s hair out of place. She was too good for that. In all my life my mother never used foul language because culturally, to do so was seen as something low class people–whose vocabulary was so limited–did to portray their thoughts. She was well spoken and highly educated. Even when she lacked knowledge, she stayed silent because even a fool seems smart when they keep their mouths shut. She always knew what she was doing, and I rarely saw her sweat. My mother always seemed like she had a plan; life never left her in the dark—so it seemed. She was my definition of strength. I remember her crying once, maybe twice, before my dad passed. As a child I could rarely get my mother mad. She had such patience with me but when I got her angry…oooffffff that was it. Some of my most memorable spankings were from her. I could never stay mad at her when she disciplined me because there was never a time that I didn’t deserve it. Despite the many times of pain from my childhood, they were often erased by my moments spent with her.
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Could I live up to such an image? I had a new life to protect and the only way I could do that was to depend on God for guidance and hope that my motherly instincts would kick in.
I scooped up her tiny 7lb 14oz body and placed her on my bare chest and she immediately went silent. She curled herself up as tightly as she could and nestled herself on me and we had our first moment. I placed my cheek against her tiny warm soft cheek and started talking to her.
“I will always be there for you. I am going to do everything I can to protect you. I will make some mistakes, but I promise to keep you close. I won’t let you go through what I went through.” She seemed to respond to my words, as she seemed to get closer to me the more I spoke. I kissed her face several times and she it soothed her even more and before I knew it, she was asleep. I made a promise to her that I was determined to keep.
Around 11 am the next morning I started having this feeling that something was not right. I called Sam and told him I wanted to come home and I wanted to come home now. He was shocked and asked if everything was okay. I said yes but something was not right. He said to ask the doctor and he would make preparations to take us home if they released us.
The hospital was thrown for a loop when I said I wanted to go home that day—one day early. Doctor after doctor came in to ask me why I wanted to go home early and I had no answer except that I needed to leave that day. The process to clear both of us took several hours. The longer it took the more annoyed and antsy I was getting. I had no idea what was going on, but I needed to do this immediately.
I was discharged late that night as they checked Rachel to make sure she was not jaundice or was struggling with anything else. We took her home where I finally felt safe…safe from what? I don’t know.
The next day my mother met her granddaughter for the second time. It was a totally different experience than with Joey. My mother and I had a wonderful day as she held her and gave me some much-needed help. Around 3:45 my mother started getting herself ready to make her trip from my house in the Bronx back to hers in Queens but before she left, she tried making a phone call, but something was weird. She was unable to get through. My mother thought nothing of it and started on her way.
Ten minutes after her leaving, everything turned off. Sam was not home to see if maybe something happened with our fuse box. I tried calling him but the phone line was acting weird. It was no big deal; the electricity would be on soon…I hoped. But it was only a matter of time before my landlord came upstairs to ask us if we had electricity. We looked outside and the electricity went out all over the block. It wasn’t long before Sam came home from work. The blackout wasn’t just on the block but was all the way back where the church was. The whole neighborhood was without.
We later found out that this was the nationwide blackout of 2003. This is what I was feeling when I was in the hospital. Sam and I would have been leaving the hospital the same time as the blackout and Sam told me that it was crazy out there. The stoplights were out, nothing was working, people were trapped in elevators and traveling at the very beginning of a blackout would have been dangerous with a newborn in the car.
By the end of the day I found myself walking out of the room because Rachel’s crying was too much for me. We were in the dark and the heat was getting more and more unbearable. I couldn’t take her outside because she was too young. I tried feeding her, cooling her down, nothing would stop her. Sam eventually went in to try and sooth her, but he was unsuccessful. I just needed a minute as Sam was wondering what we should do. I cried and then all of a sudden the Lord said, “She is thirsty. Put some water in a bottle and give it to her.” I did just that and immediately she took the bottle and was comforted for the night. That was it…that was all she wanted.
Tears ran down my face as she drank desperately; I needed God. I can’t explain how much I felt so unqualified to raise this beautiful child. Could I be as strong as my mother? Could I be a blueprint that she would want to follow? Would she be willing to erase my shortcomings and focus on my love, compassion and victories?
Oh 2003 Marsha, I could never express to you how much your daughter loved and loves you. You will be her role model, her friend, her support, her everything. You succeeded in doing things so different than your mother did even though you make mistakes. Rachel will be forgiving and patient with you as you continue to stay one step ahead of her in life lessons. You two will learn together and you will successfully break patterns and show her real strength by showing her weakness.
- 3 years ago
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Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs to do; having a life depend on your every waking move is scarier than can be expressed. My insecurities in the beginning years of my journey were sometimes the most debilitating experience ever. How I got through is a miracle in it of itself. I was a dysfunctional functioning mother to say the least. The following entry is a flashback of my early years of motherhood. Can you relate to me?
My dear friends, fear and anxiety, came along side me after I tucked Joey into bed and started looking into our empty fridge. We had breakfast for him but barely anything for lunch and nothing for dinner. By the time I was entering into my second year of motherhood, fear and I were well acquainted with each other. Fear told me the truth and prepared me for my failures instead of that nonsense of believing in God. It was a great concept for other people but with the kind of demons I was fighting, fear was what I needed to keep me from getting too comfortable. Comfort meant vulnerability which leads to unexpected defeat. Not me…I knew better. Every day was a battle and looking at my demons, I knew who was going to win before even taking my first swing. I mean in two years of motherhood; Sam and I were one dollar away from being completely homeless.
How in the world did we get here? During this time, Sam was a youth pastor at his home church for about two years; having faith in God was what he and I taught our teenagers. After finally getting a grip of this mothering thing, we discovered that we were a part of a huge real-estate scam. Our home, as well as several other houses, were not sold legally and at the young age of 24 we were smack in the center of losing everything. I will never forget walking into the doors of the church to teach Wednesday night Teen Bible Study; hours after we found out that our house was no longer ours. Our home was foreclosed, and we were forced to leave after much investigations by the district attorney’s office.
Even though we left the house, we were saddled with so many expenses that our car was repossessed right in front of Sam’s job…at the church. What was more embarrassing was they tried to repo someone else’s car by accident. Our financial issues were exposed for all to see. I had failed and continued to fail while others watched it all happen.
Hard times was not a first for my family. My mother’s mom faced poverty at its worst. In Jamaica my grandmother did not have enough food for herself, my mother and her siblings. Sadly, my grandmother died due to health issues from lack of nutrition; leaving behind four extremely young children. She did without so that my mother and her siblings could have, and it costed her, her life. It was devastating for my mother to lose her mom when she was only three years old, but it was even harder for my mother to lose her baby brother—who was only one year old when he passed. Poverty held its grip.
My mother defied the odds in so many ways as a child, but she started seeing the patterns of poverty when my older brother was born. My mother and father struggled a lot to make ends meet. This hold was tighter than my mother expected, and she found herself facing the same challenges. Around the time my older brother was one or two my mother looked in her fridge and there was no food anywhere. My older brother was so hungry but sadly, all she could do was give him warm water in his bottle that night. His intense hunger pains and frustration caused him to cry himself to sleep. Those moments will never leave my mother’s memory and she promised herself that that would never happen again. She was going to fight this no matter what it cost, so she made the leap to leave our small island of Jamaica and come to the country where dreams were made…America.
After all the sacrifices that she made to get me in a better place than her, here I was. Now it’s my turn to break the cycle and with tears in my eyes I am slapped with the reality that I am no different than the women before me. Oh, did I forget to tell you, I was pregnant…again. Nothing in me was happy for the news of the new life growing in me. My job was to pretend that I never peed on that stupid stick. Fear crept up on me and grabbed my face and whispered the truth…my dysfunctional truth. “Marsha, God is never going to get you out of this. You will never be able to take care of Joey and now a new baby; you are screwed now. You lost your house, lost your car and just a few weeks ago you were begging the electricity company to stay on in the middle of December. Is this the life that you wanted for Joey and now another new life is going to depend on you?” I slammed the kitchen fridge door shut and started feeling the tears well up in my eyes more and more.
“Sam we have nothing for Joey to eat.” We went back and forth on what we could do and then Sam said, “Listen we are going to trust God. We’ll have food for breakfast and see what God is going to do. He’s never failed us.” Ha…that’s what we are supposed to say, I thought I was done…in so many ways. Joey still slept in our room but in his own bed. I laid in bed and looked at him sleep. He was my everything. I was his world and he was mine. I could never think of him in need of anything and not being able to give it to him. Despite all the hard moments we had, he loved his home and has never ever asked for anything more.
Tears continued to run down the bridge of my nose as I felt trapped. I was trapped between holding on to the promises God spoke over me—that seemed like a joke—and the destructive future that seemed more realistic than my breath in the coldest winter. God told me he was going to bless me in the city, in the field, my comings and my goings, the fruit of my womb and my barn store house.
Most of all he had called Sam and I to be society breakers. What did that even mean? Almost four years in of marriage and we were doing life as society predicted, horrible. We were in smack dab in the heart of the inner cities—the Bronx was our home, but few lived differently than we did. Depending on where you went, there was feces on the kiddie swings, broken bottles on the floor and foul language written on the slides. Hearing the reports of shootings, gang violence and other criminal activity was never a shock. Homelessness and poverty were never really that far from anyone. Few people marry and expect failure; most sane people marry for a better life and we were just struggling together. When was I going to return back to being childlike and believing the stories in the Bible?
Fear tucked me in that Saturday night, but it was hope that nudged me awake that Sunday morning. It could be morning sickness, but even though there was the same amount of food in the fridge, I felt an excitement that God was with me and things were going to be okay. I got ready for church with Joey and Sam. I worshipped God with tears in my eyes and desperation on my lips. There were a few Sundays that I made my way to the altar to cry my dysfunction away but there was so much dysfunction that I always found out I had more left. That day though I stayed in my seat and let the tears roll down my eyes as I let my imagination run wild.
After the worship portion of service was over, we were surprised when one of the council members of our church called all the pastors and their wives to come up to the pulpit. We all stood in front of the congregation as the council member spoke kind words about all 5 pastors and their wives. It was pastor’s appreciation day. After the kind words, we were handed a check. Sam and I were floored when we opened the envelop and it was $1500. That check was exactly what we needed but who can cash a check on a Sunday morning? God instructed Sam to go to a McDonald’s where he knew someone, and it is there that God provided for us that night.
That night as the three of us ate our plain cheeseburgers, God spoke to me and said, “I will never leave you or forsake you. You must trust me. Breaking the chains that have gripped your family for so long will not happen overnight, but it will happen. Believe me over fear and trust me.” I want to say that fear had no hold on me from that day forward, but I would be lying. Fear lost this round but would wait for a more opportune time.
Wow, if I could only sit with myself, I would have reassured her that God is not a man that he would lie. However, I don’t think I could have explained where God was going to take our family. If I thought I would have listened I would tell myself that God has a life for me that would blow my mind. Poverty, fear and anxiety is not your destiny, nor are they my friends. They are just distractions that are trying to detour you from the blessings that is destined for you. The blessings that God has in store for you exceeds ten generations, just push through!
- 3 years ago
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Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs to do; having a life depend on your every waking move is scarier than can be expressed. My insecurities in the beginning years of my journey were sometimes the most debilitating experience ever. How I got through is a miracle in it of itself. I was a dysfunctional functioning mother to say the least. The following entry is a flashback of my early years of motherhood. Can you relate to me?
Could I silence the destiny that was calling me? Being a mother was the scariest thing I ever did to date. What comes naturally for some, was a challenge for me because I experienced so much physical, emotional and mental abuse. I had a tremendous amount of fear that would repeat itself throughout my family. My father was a very cruel man—letting his anger out on us without warning, using crude language, beating us mercilessly when we did not live up to unrealistic expectations while showing the world a pleasant side of himself that his kids did not see often—he was, surprisingly, not as bad as his mother. His mother (my grandmother) had several children and she was brutal, both with her mouth and her hand. She would physically abuse to her kids, especially my father. When you looked closely at his head there were still scars from being beaten in with pots and pans. There were a few times she left gashes in his head, and because they were poor and lived in the country part of Jamaica, he did not get the medical attention he should have gotten. After many beatings he finally dropped out of school, ran away and lived with strangers, all at the age of 14. The deeper you looked into his childhood, it would no surprise as to why he was the kind of father he was. He never wanted to be the way he was, but it was like trying to fight the wind. His anger always overtook him no matter how hard he tried.
It was for this reason that I was faithfully going to therapy with the pastor of counseling at our church, days after 9/11 happened. I was trying to be very transparent to him about my inner demons along with the chains that were keeping me from enjoying my newborn son. I was feeling the same wind of anger rush over me more and more. I struggled with anger before—which is why I got into so many fights with people. I had so much bent up aggression and I didn’t care who it was against. The last thing I wanted was to consume my own child with that rage.
As a baby, Joey was hard for me to handle. He did not give me time to myself and his cries and determination to not be comforted by anyone but me, was causing me to lose myself. We could not leave him with babysitters, the nursery at church or even his own grandmother. He barely allowed Sam to hold him, so I found myself rushing my showers, scarfing down my meals, and never being able to have me time.
I remember one day, when I realized that this was not going to be an easy fight, I went to Louie’s (my counselor) and was completely honest with my battle. I sat in his office still shaking a little bit. My heart was racing and I did not know if I could trust him enough to expose what I almost did. Would he look at me differently? Would he think I was a danger to others? Would he report me? “What happened Marsha?”
“I struggle with so much anger Louie. Joey cries the moment I am inches away from him. I was so overwhelmed today that I almost hurt him.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I can barely do anything in the house. Joey screams and cries for hours the moment I am away from him. He doesn’t cry himself to sleep, he doesn’t calm down after a while and it is all day.
He wants no one but me. He doesn’t want Sam or my brother and I never get a break. I couldn’t take it, so I put him in his crib, not for him but for me. He just screamed louder and more desperate.
“With no exaggeration I felt like I lost a bit myself as I felt myself getting hot all over. After 30-40 minutes of desperate crying, anger was trying to consume me. I went into his room and wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. It was as if something was coming over me. This would never pass I thought to myself. I heard a voice whisper to me. ‘Just do it. Pick him up, hold him over your head and smash him on the floor.’ My heart started racing as the idea made more and more sense.
“I picked him up, held him away from me and wanted to shake him till he stopped crying.” I could see Louie was secretly holding his breath as he was wondering what happened next. I reassured him that I did nothing to him even though, unbeknownst to me, the demons that drove my grandmother were squeezing me from the outside in.
At 14 years old my dad ran away from home but when I was 14 years old I was attending my father’s funeral. My father died of a massive brain aneurism. After my father’s death they examined him and said that the vain in which the eruption happened looked as if it had been there for a long time. The doctor said he had to have gotten a blow to the head that was so hard it caused a thinning in the vein. My mother deducted that the blow to the head the doctors were talking about must have happened when his mother beat him in the head with the pan.
That day when I was with Louie, I needed to break this cycle, so I looked at Joey with those eyes in that small body; even though my heart was racing, and my anger was fueling me, love silenced the enemy. After about ten seconds, I brought Joey closer to me than I ever had before. He nestled his head and allowed his tears to run down my neck. Nothing brought him more comfort then my touch. I cried because I just don’t know if I could always win this kind of battle. Sam came home shortly after I went into the room and he could feel the tension in the room. He held both of us unbeknownst to him what almost happened.
I am blessed that Louie did not shame me—making me feel worse than I already felt. He reassured me that I did great and that I needed to rely on Sam more when I am experiencing that anger. My next few months of counseling with him would help me to see how much I needed God in order to break from the chains that was trying to keep me on this toxic road.
What would I have said to myself if I could go back 19 years back seeing myself holding Joey? I would have said, “Be the first person from your father’s side to not to allow your emotions to rob what God has for you. It may feel like you are fighting the wind but remember you aren’t doing it alone. You have the God of this universe who can silence any storm that may rage in your life. This little baby will never stop loving you, never abandon his emotions towards you. You will continue to be the air in his lungs and one of the twinkles in his eyes. Don’t allow anger to rob you of that.” I had no idea the trials I was going to face because fear was still making his home and it would be seen soon.
- 3 years ago
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Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs to do; having a life depend on your every waking move is scarier than can be expressed. My insecurities in the beginning years of my journey were sometimes the most debilitating experience ever. How I got through is a miracle in it of itself. I was a dysfunctional functioning mother to say the least. The following entry is a flashback of the early years of motherhood. Can you relate to me?
Every mother wants to shield their children from the boogie man, big foot and the monster under the bed. Every child that comes from her body holds a part of her heart and their wellbeing is on the top of her list whether the enemy is visible or invisible. I will be honest, there were times where I forgot that my role was mother and not God Almighty. I fell into the lie that I was the one to protect Joey from every disease, predator, or falling object but there came a day when I realized that if I took on the role of God, I was going to fail. My dysfunction could never shield him from what was coming.
Being a mother for the last five months, had me missing some things that I used to do, like going to work and going out with my co-workers during lunch. I remembered my last week at work before taking maternity leave when I would make regular trips early in the morning before work to get a freshly made egg bagel lightly toasted with melted butter and a cold banana and strawberry smoothie. As I got in the bed with Sam and settled Joey next to us…I know I’m not supposed to sleep with my new baby, but I was desperate and that is not the focus right now.
“I want to bring Joey to the office again. I miss everyone.”
“But you just went.” He said.
“I know but he was a newborn. Look at him. He is five months now and I never got to see my boss Michael and I miss Allison.”
“Okay.” He said reluctantly. “When do you want to go?”
“I don’t know if I will go tomorrow. I want to surprise them, but I want to make sure they are there when I do go. I’ll call them in the morning.”
Early the next morning the phone rang about 7:30 and it was my older brother. He was on California time, but I didn’t care. As we were ending the call my younger brother, who lived with us, was calling my name.
“Stacy!” I’m was getting off the phone in a few minutes he can wait, I thought. “Stacy!!” I tried to rush my older brother off the phone as I heard the desperation, but my younger brother could not wait; he came into my room grabbed my remote, turned on the news where my heart stopped. “A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center.”
“Why is Manhattan on fire?” I said with pure shock.
My younger brother went into the living room to listen to the newscasters who were just as eager as we were to find out why a plane had hit into one of the largest buildings in the city. Before the newscaster could finish their sentence, millions of people watched with their own eyes as a second plane hit into the second building. I thought I was going to faint. Everything was spinning. I went numb. I ran to the phone to call my co-workers…why? I don’t know. When you feel helpless you do anything to feel like you have some control.
Did I forget to tell you that my previous job was directly across the street from the World Trade Center? I worked on the 16th floor at the Chubb institute as an administrative assistant and that delicious bagel and smoothie breakfast I talked about was bought in the underground mall located beneath one of the towers.
Everyone knows what happened that day where thousands lost their lives. Joey started crying and all I wanted to do was hold him forever. If I could put him back inside me so he could stay safe for the rest of his life I would have. This was not the kind of world I wanted him to live in! Since when does America get attacked? This is a day we read about in history not witness and make history. This is bigger than molesters, murders and thieves. There is a group of people that hate all of America so much that they are willing to risk their lives to destroy thousands of civilians. They don’t play by the rules and they don’t care how old you are.
That day life still needed to go on. I dressed him and got him ready to go to the doctor’s office where I had to walk about a half a mile with him. I took that walk shortly after hearing that there was a third plane that crashed in a remote area. When I opened my front door, I felt a wave of anxiety fill me as fear consumed me from the inside out. I felt like I couldn’t breathe as I thought about the walk I needed to make. Was there going to be another plane crash. Were we going to lose our lives today? I wanted someone to walk with me and give me reassurance that we were danger-free. That did not happen.
I went to the appointment, and like everyone else, we all watched in horror as our nation tried to make sense of what just took place. After our appointment, Sam picked me up because he didn’t want me on the streets and took me to my new job at our church. When I walked through those doors the smell of the church could not have been more nostalgic. That slightly woody, mildly moldy smell made me feel so safe somehow. Oh my gosh, I can’t even explain that moment. Seeing my church family brought me to tears. “Everything was going to be okay now.” I thought. All the people I love and cared for are okay. We all greeted each other like we were all stranded on an island and this was our first reunion. There were some who I hugged and while we embraced we just cried.
No work really got done that day. My boss, who was also the pastor of counseling, talked with the staff to see how we were doing. For some reason our meeting was bringing more grief to my soul than comfort. What felt like safety before was soon turning into something else. I sat on the chair near the entrance of the classroom feeling completely paralyzed. Tears were running down my face even though I thought my thoughts were on something else. My boss finished the meeting and walked by. He looked at me and asked if I was okay. “No…I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t stop crying.” He told me to come with him to his office.
Louie handed me a tissue and took a minute to look me over as he could see the turmoil that was erupting in me. “Stacy can I ask you a question?” I nodded. “Have you ever been molested or raped.” That was an extremely weird question that came out of left field.
I looked at him for a minute and answered, “Yes I have. How did you know?”
He said something to me that I would not easily forget, “When you are raped or molested a person has come into your space and violated you. This terrorist attack was a violation and your brain does not know the difference between the two.” What he said made so much sense. It was mind blowing as he asked me about reoccurring dreams and behaviors that I thought were normal but were results of my past.
As he continued to ask me questions and found out a little more about me, he said, “I would have never thought that you experienced this kind of trauma. You break all the rules when it comes identifying those who have been through trauma like this. You function so well.
Louie would soon know how messed up I really was as we arranged counseling sessions for the next six months. He would see how dysfunctional I was in my thinking, my behavior and my self-talk. I didn’t understand why he was so surprised about all I spoke with him about as he wondered how I defied all odds and functioned on such a high level despite my emotional, spiritual and mental challenges, which we’ll talk about some other time. In his desire to write a book in the future, he graciously asked if I could be one of his topics.
Back to that day though. Fear knocked on the door of my heart and I entertained it for a few hours, it wasn’t a visitor but a resident. Fear moved in to live with me and would be with me longer than expected. I became used to feeling it as a normal sense of security. I didn’t know what was to come, so I feared every turn and every corner of life. This is how I felt safe and in control, but it also would wear away at my marriage with my husband.
Man, I wish I could hold myself on September 11th 2001. I see young me in my mind and there was no amount of church attendance, knee callousing prayers or diligent Bible reading that could have changed the amount of fear she had. Oh Marsha, I understand you. I don’t agree with the power you gave to fear, but it makes sense, your world was invaded and you didn’t feel safe anymore but you will one day. God is crying with you not condemning you. Even though you allowed fear to move in, perfect love did not abandon you. God will never leave you; he will just love you till you see that fear has no place in your heart.
- 3 years ago
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Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs to do; having a life depend on your every waking move is scarier than can be expressed. My insecurities in the beginning years of my journey was sometimes the most debilitating experience ever. How I got through is a miracle in it of itself. I was a dysfunctional functioning mother to say the least. The following entry is a flashback of my early years of motherhood. Can you relate to me?
Pain ripped through my body as I carefully undressed to finally take a shower. I ached all over as I felt like my insides were going to fall to the ground and my legs were barely working. My body was working hard to recover from my intense delivery with my son. It caused rips in my body and the recovery had a new set of agony for me. I became sleep deprived, emotionally spent and postpartum depression began to settle in. Depression was the last thing I needed with everything else I was going through.
I turned on the shower and felt sadness flood over me, for what reason, I don’t know. Hearing the water running, seeing the steam, and being by myself gave me such an over exaggerated feeling of loneliness. I stepped into the hot steaming shower and a new familiar sound came; it was Joey, my baby son, crying…again. Sam has it, I said to myself. He has to have it. He’s the father, right? He has to be able to sooth his own son for 10 minutes. I started crying along with Joey when Sam knocked on the bathroom door letting me know that he was crying. Why would he have to tell me that? Anyone who was in a one-mile radius could hear that he was crying.
Where is this child’s parents? That is all I kept wondering as it went into a week of me being a mom of this very clingy newborn. I know that statistic’s claim that a newborn can’t form bonds with a parent until later on, but Joey did not know that. Oh my goodness, he wouldn’t stop crying if I was not holding him or at least somewhere near him. I couldn’t take a shower, eat, sleep, go to the bathroom without him crying. He found comfort in my voice, my touch and he knew the difference, you couldn’t fool him, and he was not satisfied till he got what he wanted, me. It was slowly settling in that I was not babysitting someone else’s child. He depended on me for everything and even though someone else had what he needed; he did not want it from them.
My mom was coming over to help me and there was a sense of relief in my heart. That relief turned to annoyance as her time being with me was to educate me on how to physically take care of Joey. She had her whole lesson plan on educating me on how to change his diapers—yet I had been doing it for a week. She had plans on teaching me how to swaddle him even though he clearly was sweating through the blankets and how to properly nurse him. Under what moon and stars did she think I did not know how to do these things…nursing was new—I’ll give her that. I was forced to care for my newborn brother when I was at the age of seven years old.
My mother and father were immigrants to America from Jamaica West Indies. My father joined my mother when I was five years old and it was a struggle to find work and a place to live. My mom landed a job as a nanny in the richest part of Manhattan, so after giving birth to my younger brother, she had to get back to work as soon as possible. Her long tiresome day started at 5, maybe 4 in the morning to get ready, which also included making my lunch and having my brother’s baby bag ready for the day. After getting ready, instead of leaving him with my father to take care of, she placed my younger brother in the bed with me for me to watch over until my father woke up. My responsibilities continued when I got home after school, where I changed a good amount of diapers, fed and soothed my newborn brother. I was not the best at it. Sometimes the diaper was crooked, sometimes his bib was soaked because I didn’t realize the bottle was leaking and yes there was a time when I dropped him on the floor—he was a pretty big baby.
I learned the hard way how to do all the things she wanted to teach me now, and my anger was adding to all the other emotions that came along with having a crying newborn. I wanted her to hug me, to hold me and just help me to know that even though I felt inferior, she believed in me. I wanted her to tell me what she was feeling when she had my older brother. Did she feel this insecure? Did she have the answers? How did she get through? I really needed her support, not an instructor.
What I got instead was , “Hold his head”, “You need to feed him, he’s hungry”, “I think he has colic”, “You didn’t change his diaper right”, “Let me show you how to bath him”, “You can’t do it like that…” blah blah blah…
“AHHHHHHH!!!”, I finally screamed. “I don’t need you!” Did I really say that to her? Where did that come from? But how dare her tell me how to be a mother when she wasn’t there to show me? How could she talk to me about how to take care of a newborn when I helped raise one when I was 7 years old? She didn’t give birth to my son; she gave birth to my brother. Even though I knew that in her heart of hearts she was trying to be there for me in the way she thought she needed to be, I needed her there the way I needed her to be. She tried to take on a place in my life—now that she was a grandmother—but this new role just mirrored my own dysfunction. It mirrored what I did not have and what I wish happened differently. I spent so much time focusing on my father’s abuse that I never attended to my hidden resentment towards my mom. For the first time, in my anger, I realized my mother caused wounds in me that were left unattended.
“You’re telling me how to change a diaper when I was forced to learn at a young age. I don’t need you like that.” I hang my head in shame as I wondered how I could have told my mother that I didn’t need her. I looked over and saw Joey sleeping and the thought of this little guy saying he didn’t need me gave me a painful reality that he would not stay this small forever.
“I’m sorry Stacy. I just wanted to help. Being a mother is what I know. You don’t know what it’s like when your children don’t need you anymore. You don’t know what it’s like when I don’t have that anymore.” My heart hurt for her. I was starting a journey that she was finished with. She made mistakes. I’m going to make mistakes. How arrogant I was.
I looked at Joey and completely humbled, I said, “I do need you mom…but not the way you think I do. Your job is not over but it just looks different. You may not have done things perfect as a mother, but you now have the chance to be a wonderful grandmother.”
Nineteen years later I write this with pure remorse for my arrogance and unforgiveness. I made mistakes, big ones. I would like to say that I got it right, but I am actually writing this with puffy moist eyes because I got it wrong during this 19-year trip. I can say with confidence that even though I made a lot of mistakes, I would have made bigger ones if my mom did not love her grandchildren the way she did. If I could talk to myself during this time, I would tell myself that my mother will be the single most important person in my life. There will be things that I will be able to do effortlessly but the most important things that needed to be accomplished would take my mother partnering with me in prayer and perseverance. The power of a praying grandmother supersedes the tired, skewed, tunnel vision that comes along with being a new mom. But a grandmother who has walked the road you’ve walked can pray you through the traps, pitfalls and dark moments that you can’t see.
Little did I, and all of America, know that the most darkest moment was about happen in our country. How was I going to get through this scary moment as a dysfunctional functional mother?
- 3 years ago
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Motherhood is one of the hardest jobs to do. Having a young life dependent on your every waking move is scarier than any other responsibility. My insecurities during the early years of my journey as a mother, were sometimes the most debilitating experiences ever. After all I had been through as a child, how could I now be a mother? How I made it through is a miracle in it of itself. I was a dysfunctional functioning mother to say the least. The following entry is a look into my early years of motherhood. Can you relate to me?
How does someone successfully begin the journey of motherhood after they were severely sexually and physically abused as a child? There was no way I could, love, protect and emotionally connect to a new life like this. Who was my example of motherhood that I could successfully aim for? My mother, though loving, was not around much because she worked all the time. She was the bread winner of the home and was unable to prevent or help rescue me from my most painful moments growing up. During the worst parts of my childhood she was gone, and in some cases for days, because of her job as a live in nanny. She was unable to grasp that she was my everything and that with her around I felt safe. I didn’t know what to do to protect my child?
I felt vulnerable, exposed and unsafe more moments, during my childhood years, than any other time in my life. I was only three years old when my mother made the decision to move from Jamaica to America. When a three year old leaves, not only her home, but her family (my brother and father), as well as her country, it makes her feel uneasy, uncertain and scared. Everything was new and my mom was the one constant I had, until she began her new job. We connected with family members in America and I stayed with them while my mother worked to start a new life here in our new home…without me. Her new apartment could not accommodate me, so I was now left with nothing familiar to anchor me to this new life of change.
She would come to visit me as often as she could, but now 5 years of age and the victim of severe sexual abuse at the hands of one of my family members—unknown to my mother—I was suffering with extreme separation anxiety and much more. I fought with my aunt and cousins on purpose in hopes that my mother would take me with her when her visits needed to come to an end. I screamed as if I was being tortured, well because I was. She was both the breath in my lungs and the next breath I would take at the same time.
In pure desperation I would block the door, hold on to the doorknob and when it was time to hug her good-bye, I had no plans on releasing my grip; they had to peal me off of her. If she only knew what I was going to face that night and the days to come. I know for certain if she knew what was really going on, she would have brought me with her. I was left to face my abuser in secret and the overwhelming feelings of being abandoned.
Nineteen years ago, as I hunched over, I bore my back to the anesthesiologist—so I could take my epidural before I went into labor—I thought to myself, “you’ll never be a good mother”, “You’ll never protect him”, “He will be just as broken as you are”, “How stupid were you? You think this is a game?”, “You are about to ruin a life the same way your parents ruined yours.” The needle went into my back between contractions and I felt the cold medicine go through the different parts of spine. Within a matter of minutes my body went numb but my mind was not—my protruding stomach was a reminder that life as I knew it was over. I was just setting myself up to fail like others around me.
I have to be honest during the 9 months of pregnancy, it hadn’t hit me that a human was going to come out of me. I was going to duplicate myself? UGGHH…what was I thinking? I was going to force this child to face this cruel world as I had. All this time I talked about the movement in my stomach and labeled it a baby, but it was just my growing fear and anxiety that was becoming more visible to everyone around me, so I thought. When I looked at my belly in the mirror, all I saw was the insecurity inn me that I could no longer hide.
A few tears rolled down my eyes as my husband and I settled ourselves into the hospital for my 18th hour of labor. I finally felt the effects of the drugs and was numb as I slept as long as I could. After waking up on and off for another 18 hours I noticing that the pain was no longer going away and apparently it was time. It was time to be a mother and it was not going to be easy. There was no turning back. There was no changing my mind. I was going to either make the mistakes of my parents or go in the very opposite direction.
It was time!!! It has been said that a woman’s life is hanging on a thread when giving birth. They were not exaggerating. I was on my back trying to bare the pain of my body being ripped apart from the inside out. I was rushed to the delivery room and as the labor pains were tearing me apart, I pushed through my fears, pain, and brokenness and eventually laid my eyes on the human who would change my life forever. The nurses were tending to him and it hit me, with him now here I was given the title of mother and no one could take it away. But as tears distorted my vision, I was able to look across the room as his arms were flaring and his small voice was being heard for the first time. I was experiencing separation anxiety for the first time but in the reverse. I wanted him near me, I wanted him with me, he needed me.
Real fear hit me two days later where I gained a new definition of “helpless”. I was being wheeled out of the hospital with my baby in my arms as the sun shone on my face. The world seemed bigger and more dangerous than I remembered. Panic filled my chest as I realized that I needed to put him in this cold car seat; I needed to sit next to him in the backseat. As my husband got on the road, cars were speeding by, not caring about what I was feeling or about how precious our cargo was. Joseph, that’s what we named him, started crying and the anxiety within me rose even higher. He was oblivious to this new world, the sounds and all he saw.
When our rinky dink car finally made it to the driveway, I scooped him up quickly just to silence the desperation in his poor soul and my own breaking heart; I could not explain how insecure, scared, and unqualified I felt in those few moments. I know, I know, every mother feels that way when it’s their first child, but I was embarking on one of the most important roles of my life with no idea of what to do. God help me.
Nineteen years later, I look back at myself and understand my fears but I question my doubt. I knew the Lord and saw how He delivered me from my past so why did I doubt Him in this? If I could talk to myself, I would say, “You, alone, will never be enough for him. As long as you just keep relying on who you are and what you have to offer, you will fail him every time. Put him in God’s hands, trust Him with yours son as you trusted Him with you. Let God show you how he parents his children. He’s never abandoned them, none of his children have ever been in need, begging for bread. He is going to show you exactly how to function even in your own dysfunction.”
Unfortunately I did not have my older self to tell me all this. I carried all kinds of fear and doubt with me in the days that followed, believing that I would fail as a mom. This is only the beginning, so come back again as we go further into my journey as a dysfunctional functional mom.
- 3 years ago
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Click here to read letter fourteen.
Entry-15 Will I Ever Get Better?
Dear Marsha,
You asked me are there things that satisfy me? I’m desperate for satisfaction. Nothing seems to truly change. Desperation crushes my soul. It doesn’t matter when good moments happen, it’s all temporary. Work equals nothing for me. There’s always another depression episode. Another panic attack. Another sleepless night. One more trigger. My tolerance meter is completely drained. My hope is being extinguished.
Is there any chance I will get better? I’m being teased and toyed with, I try my best to think better, hope more, and pray more… this all seems like a waste. I’m at a point where I’m crawling on my hands & knees bleeding and wondering if this is even worth it. Is all this pain for something? I’m constantly questioning this path of full on loneliness God has put on me. And don’t give me this cliché that I’m not alone; that people understand. I am alone physically, mentally. It’s like a full-on torture chamber where light is constantly getting sucked out. When does this end? I long for someone to interrupt me. Someone that sees me and breaks my thoughts. If that’s asking a lot, I’m truly done.
-Miss Misery
Dear Miss Misery,
We have talked for quite some time about how your father has played a part in your insecurity. We talked about how you feel like you can’t distinguish the good voices from the bad. You shared the negative conversations you’ve had with yourself along with the struggle you have with finding really good relationships. In our more recent letters, you mentioned suicide and how it would seem like a way out but not an out for a Christian. In this letter you ask if there is a chance that you will get better. I don’t think I could keep writing you if there was no hope.
Over the last year or so of writing I have learned a lot. You have showed me that serving God does not eliminate suffering but gives us hope during the suffering. I know that it is hard to see it when you are drowning in pain but I saw how God God’s desire is to never allow our pain to define our destiny. Depression, anxiety and fear have voices that keep speaking when we continue to engage with it. I think of the main things I learned from you is that depression and other mental disorders want to rob from us.
Hope, I know, is dangerous because it keeps you believing for better when there is no evidence of any change. I believe, with everything in me, that there is better for you but better won’t come overnight. I know you want happiness now, but at your current state of mind, would you recognize it if it was in front of you or would your misery make you totally blind to it? Even worse would you grab for it or look at it and see it as a reminder of what you don’t have? If better came would you explain it away and not take that step of faith because of fear of disappointment? I wonder, does better first have to look like defeat so you can first embrace it? Many have accepted defeat in everything because it is what they are used to. Few allow for God to change defeat into an opportunity for better?
You also asked, is all this pain for something. I think only you can answer that. In every book of the New Testament, we are promised trouble. We are promised hardships and pain, but it is what we do with it, that takes the edge off the sting of pain.
Romans 5: 2b – 5
… And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.
These verses describe what we must turn our suffering into. You see it doesn’t say anything about some people suffering, broken people suffering, those with mental disorder suffering…we all suffer. The problem at times is that we think that others don’t look like they are suffering so we feel their trials are obsolete or not as complicated as ours. We give them super hero characteristics or think that their lives are easier because that has to be the reason why they are able to get through life so well. We look at their resources and equate that to their success.
Once you are convinced that suffering is going to happen, whether we are with Christ or not, you must learn how to use suffering to make you into a better person. This verse tells us it is suffering + perseverance + character + hope= victory. God will not allow us to experience shame. So, in all, only you can interrupt hope for yourself. Only you can show the true fruit of desperation and that is perseverance and character along with hope. Anyone can suffer but not anyone can interrupt their own suffering by developing character and hope from it.
Miss Misery, thank you for being so candid. I know this was not easy and I know there are others that have found your story eye opening and thought provoking. Many related to what you were going through. Thank you again for trusting me and the website with a part of you that was extremely vulnerable. May God bless you.
-Marsha
For those reading I am happy to say that Miss Misery is not in this place anymore. God opened up doors and taught her things that got her through much of her struggles. She is in a much better place. God is capable of doing anything as long as you stay open and obedient.
- 3 years ago
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Click here to read letter thirteen.
Entry 14-No One Even Notices
Dear Marsha,
You asked what giving up looks like. Giving up is the hardest and easiest thing to do. When you’re a Christian, suicide can’t be the way out. Hell, and fire await the ones who decide to play God. But when you’ve tried everything to just get better and nothing changes, it doesn’t seem that horrible. To just, turn it all off. Think about it, who is really going to miss you? I don’t have many friends. Hey, half of the time I’m having a mental breakdown, no one notices. It could be that people notice and just won’t give a damn. They’re just tired of my issues. They are probably tired of me. It doesn’t matter if I’m trying to be a good friend, I have mental illness. It draws the line from me having a meaningful friendship. No one wants me in their life like that. They just want to know you exist, do their good deed for you and that’s it. Being alone is the best option at this point. Why? You won’t be continually hurt by the people around you. Isolation is a safety net. Cause if I ever decided I had to end it….no one would really be affected by it. They will mourn and move on. There burden will be lifted, and they will no longer have to deal with me.
-Miss Misery
A Recipe For Disaster
Dear Miss Misery,
My heart breaks for you because I know that this was not easy to admit. What Christian wants to talk about suicide and the thoughts of feeling unwanted? I know that you can’t just turn your thoughts off but there is one thing that I have not spoken about but is worth talking about. We spend a lot of time talking about God but don’t talk about the enemy. The enemy spends as much time as he can trying to get us to doubt ourselves and our self-worth. Yes I know that we think things but when you get to a place where you feel like you can’t turn it off, then you have to remember that Satan comes on the scene.
I was a teenager when I thought seriously about committing suicide. I looked over a very icy lake at a retreat center and grief, hopelessness and anger came over me like never before. I didn’t think there was any way I could escape from what I was going through. There was something that God said to me that I will say to you, “If you will trust God through this journey, do everything he asks of you, he will get you out of this pit.” When God said that to me, I was not free the next day. I had to take everything one day at a time and before I knew it, I was miles away from where I was at that retreat center.
Now being so far from that moment in time I can see that Satan was trying to keep me from my potential and the blessings God has for me. Twenty-two plus years and four children later, I can say that God had something so great for me that Satan knew that suicide was his only hope. The enemy also knows that God has so much for you and he is trying to keep you from it.
Isolation is a recipe for disaster. The more you separate yourself from people the more overthinking could happen. When you are alone there is no one to snap you out of your funk or keep you distracted from your thoughts
Are there things that bring you any joy or give you satisfaction?
Marsha
- 3 years ago
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Click here to read letter twelve.
Entry13-I Feel Useless
Dear Marsha,
When someone tells you that “God made you and that he values you” and “You have depression”, you don’t see any of what is really happening. Because you’re wondering if God made me and values me, why doesn’t my brain work right? I feel like a computer. Sleek, shiny and new with all the bells and whistles and yet I was given a malfunctioning chip so I’m useless. How can I value myself if my brain isn’t a normal brain? How come everyone is blessed with things that I don’t have? It’s pretty much because I have a dysfunctional brain. So, God keeps things from me because I have a stupid brain. It’s so useless, and I’m the lucky one to have it. No matter how much I try, or wish, or pray, I just can’t think differently. I just want to be happy……. but I don’t think God has destined me for great things. I’m sorry. That’s just how I feel.
-Miss Misery
Stop and Really Look
Dear Miss. Misery
I can understand that it is hard to see your value when depression tries to rob it from you. First, I want to say to you, just because you allowed me to publish this…depression is not always something that passes over time. There are times, where prayer can relieve us of from this debilitating disorder, and then there are times when we need help in the natural as well and we have to turn to the medical field for help. You, I know, have been diagnosed with depression, and have been given medical aid to help you. In your case this is not just a feeling you are having but a condition you are fighting with.
Secondly, you are not useless. I know that you reading this today, may not help your tomorrow, but it needs to be said. You said, “everyone is blessed with things that I don’t have…”. Why do you think that God would give someone else something that you could never attain? One of the things that I said before is, maybe you and I, have blessings that we are not able to see. Can we see the love that surrounds us? Can we see the relationships at our fingertips? Do we see the talents we possess? Do we see the riches we have obtained? Do we see the progress we make? Do we even see God’s hand on our lives, his protection, his grace and mercy? I can say with assurance that since we spend more time comparing ourselves to others—instead of celebrating others—we just see what we don’t have, not what we are blessed with at times. I know if I were to sit with you, you could tell me many things that I have that you don’t, but I can easily point out things that you have I wish I had. The absence of what you desire is not because you think differently than others, but I believe that it is because of your thinking that causes you to overlook your blessings. I also believe it is why you may not have taken advantage of blessings you have.
So, I want you to think, “Is God really keeping things from you or are you walking over them because they don’t look like what you want?” How you think of God mirrors how you interpret your hard moments. If you believe that you are struggling to get what rightly belongs to you, means that you don’t think he is as loving as you think. Would any loving parent hold back something you need?
Maybe I am wrong but it sounds like you want to give up. If I am right, what does giving up look like for you?
-Marsha
- 3 years ago
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Check out entry seventh. Miss Misery have talked about her negative thoughts but in entry seven she talks about what have played apart in solidifying the toxic thoughts she has with herself.
Entry 8-No One Stays
Hello Marsha,
Last time we spoke you asked me to you tell you what are some of the things I say to myself when others don’t text me, call me, or ask to hang out?
It’s pretty inevitable that people will just not understand you. It doesn’t matter how much they love you or try to understand, they will never get what goes on in your head. There will be times in your life that will feel amazing, improving, and like you’re conquering everything. But soon enough, the thoughts start again and the bad in you comes out. You can’t have a normal conversation without bad thoughts. You can’t think clearly without bad thoughts. You can’t tell anyone when you have bad thoughts because the moment that they know what is going on in your head, they will be mad at you. They won’t trust you even when you have your good moments. No one will like you. Everyone will give up on you. Cause let’s be honest, who wants to deal with you like that? NO ONE! ABSOLUTELY NO ONE! It’s just better to keep your mouth shut about anything you think about. Let the bad thoughts pass before saying anything. You will regret anything that comes out of your mouth during your bad thoughts. And trust me, you’ll just make someone mad. So just shut up. You’ll be liked longer.
-Ms. Misery
Everyone? There is one.
Hello Ms. Misery,
When you are so use to those thoughts—convincing yourself that you are not good enough—when you do have a good day, it doesn’t really sound like a good day because your thoughts rob you of joy. Your thoughts bringing out the bad in you, can be annoying because it won’t allow you to enjoy the moments as it keeps reminding you of those who won’t text you, call you or hang with you.
There is one thing that you said that was very interesting… “Everyone will give up on you.” You know what’s interesting, in my eyes, it seems like everyone has given up on you but more importantly, it sounded like you gave up on you. No one is exempt from the word “everyone”. You see the first person to give you that chance, that love, that time of day should always be you first. Yes, we know that God loves us, but after his love, we must always be the next in the list. When we are constantly looking at how people may have failed us, we miss the truth that we failed ourselves first. Therefore everyone else’s mistake, lack of understanding, impatience, frustration or voice of hurt from the conversation, is just the distraction from what we have done first. The question, that really isn’t for you to answer in this letter is, “are you one of them that doesn’t want to deal with you?” You see, man can never give you the acceptance if you can’t accept you. Since I do know you, I know that you are so awesome but when you get in your own way, you miss relationships with people that do love you and forgive your bad days.
Is there anyone in the Bible that you relate to?
-Marsha
- 3 years ago
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Check out entry sixth where Miss Misery talked about the negative thoughts she had with herself.
Entry7-Why Am I Just an Afterthought
Dear Marsha
Thank you for your response last month. You asked me to tell you what are some things that have helped me to dislike myself. I’m starting to have the tough realization that these thoughts that I spoke about last month are going to be a lifelong battle. It doesn’t matter how many pills I take or how good my day is. Nothing seems to be changing this part of my life. And it doesn’t matter how positive my attitude is. The thoughts creep in when I’m tired, exhausted or just lack a social life. I’m in grad school now, so I know there is a reason for all this. But nothing makes you feel worse than feeling left out; being an afterthought. Instagram and Facebook are my worst enemies. Social media feeds my bad thoughts like a tick on skin. It sucks out whatever joy I’m hanging on to. Nothing feels worse than seeing pictures of people you know having fun together. I wonder if I’m worthy of experiencing that joy? Like feeling like I can conquer anything with the people I’m with. I feel like I can fight all these bad thoughts. A support system of true friendship. Constantly checking in on each other, having each other’s back and no second guessing the friendship……I desire that so much. But social media just reminds me I don’t have that. No one really wants to talk to me. I remember couple years ago, all the friends that would text me to hangout or come over. Probably one of the best feelings in the world. People wanting you. But I don’t get that anymore ever since I moved. I’m just an afterthought If you are me, you’re pretty useless. No one really benefits from having you around. If that wasn’t the case, I would have strong, close friendships by now. But no, it’s not for me. It’s not in the plan, I guess. Just going to accept that at this point. Thank you for listening
-Miss Misery
Someone Else Thinks of You
Dear Misery,
I think that what you said is similar to a lot of people. Maybe not you, but others, look at social media for self-worth. “Likes”, “clicks”, “views” and “shares” can make a person define how wanted or unwanted they are. One of the things we talked about was that your love for yourself is the first place you have to find worth. As you said so honestly, you hate yourself. When someone truly hates themselves–without knowing it–they spend more time trying to prove that they are deserving of rejection than looking for proof of the opposite. When you hate someone, you want to make them suffer or prove that the person is unworthy of trust or happiness.
Before I go any deeper I have to say that there are tons of people use social media as a way to present themselves as something they are not. They do all that they can to reinvent themselves and redefine who they really are. I do the same thing because I don’t take a picture of my kids not listening to me, or my house when clothes are everywhere or when my yard has random toys scattered around. There is a friend of mine that is crippled in her legs and in all the 500 pictures that she takes of herself, she never takes herself in her crippled form. She makes sure to take pictures in such a way that removes the things she dislikes. I even know of a friend that post old pictures of trips that she went on years before just so it continued to make people think they were on another trip. There are people in relationships that post the trips, the kids laughing, the gifts, the times of snuggling but they don’t post pics of the fights, the tears after hurtful words are exchanged. No one truly wants to memorialize the true realities of life as life really is.
When you, or someone else, struggling with their self-images, self-worth and self-esteem comes across their friends picture of the perfect trip, another new baby on the way, the successful relationship, the amazing view going to work, the relentless visits to the beach, the endless amount of hangouts…it causes you to think you are worthless, friendless, rejected and unsuccessful. You are not the only one that does this but sadly yourself worth was removed by a person, which was your father and now you are making the same mistake to place the feelings of self-worth in the hands of people again. You allow others to make you feel wanted, valued, and special, but I know that there are others that are surrounded by people and can still feel alone.
I know this is a journey for you. I know that you’re writing this during a time when you are at your lowest moment but we can all benefit to hear that our worth should never be found in anything but Jesus. NOTHING but God is constant. He has never changed his view of us. He never stops seeing us as the apple of his eye. It is something for you to think about that maybe God allowed your move to another location to surface your over dependance on others. We all need relationships but in this raw moment that you were having, it is clear that, like you have said in the past, God’s voice is hard to hear. So your move may have been designed to help you see that before you were drowning out some real issues with the voices of others.
For the sake of others that are struggling the way you have, can you tell us what are some of the things you say to yourself when others don’t text you, call you, ask you to hang out?