I knew when I posted my last blog post a few weeks ago I would be dropping a few bombshells by opening up. I knew what I was sharing would shock, surprise and even anger those that know me. Honestly, as I hovered over the share button with my mouse I was having a panic attack because writing down and sharing all of that stuff I've held in for almost my entire life was going against everything I had ever done. I had always pretended everything was fine and dandy with my old family life and such. However, when I clicked that share button it felt like a big weight got lifted off of me. I don't regret what I wrote and I don't regret sharing it on Facebook. In fact it felt good having a voice and standing up for myself instead of doing what I was "supposed" to do. Yes, I got some backlash from it BUT I also know that what I shared helped others and they were grateful for what I wrote. Like I said in the post, I had been wanting to write and share that blog post for YEARS...it wasn't though until I had not only my Rockstar of a husband behind me but also my therapist and my family that has taken me in behind me as well encouraging me to put what I had been through out there as one of the first steps to move on. It took me a good 2 weeks or more to write that post because there were things that still hurt so badly when I think back about them that I had to stop and take a few days to feel okay again.
I'm writing this post to not only let those that weren't very happy with me with what I shared know that I don't regret anything and I meant everything that I said...I would change nothing about what I did. But I also want to help raise awareness about emotional abuse. I've been researching a lot about emotional abuse for a while now and I know that that's what I went through to some degree. Let me clarify right now, my parents always provided the essential living needs of food and shelter for me and my siblings and they were never physically abusive. I recognize that they, as people, are wonderful, nice and have always tried to do the right thing for those around them. I want to point out though that I was emotionally abused. Be it intentional or unintentional it doesn't matter, it still happened.
One definition of emotional abuse found at healthyplace.com is "any act including confinement, isolation, verbal assault, humiliation, intimidation, infantilization, or any other treatment which may diminish the sense of identity, dignity, and self-worth". Along with that some signs of emotional abuse are: low self-esteem, show personality changes (ie becoming withdrawn), can become depressed, suicidal, or anxious. (Again the signs were found at healthyplace.com).
Yes, I experienced all of the things listed above while growing up from my family. Are they bad people? No (minus one) but to be open and honest I became all the signs listed because of how I was treated. I'm working on trying to get myself to a place to forgive my old family and I know that needs to happen so that I can truly be free of this particular burden. Please note that this emotional abuse I went through is just a piece of the depression and anxiety that I'm trying to work through.
So why am I talking about this? Because emotional abuse is very difficult to recognize. I reached out for help a few times and it felt like nobody believed me. This discouraged me more and just seemed to reaffirm in my mind that I was really a mistake and outcast in my family so why stick around? There were times that I wanted to run away for good and I constantly dreamed about what it would be like to be in a family where I felt loved and wanted. I've already explained this in my other post but you get the idea. I'm sure my family loves me, growing up though and into most of my young adulthood I was never sure. Even now with my new family that has taken me in I still struggle with actually believing that I'm wanted and loved and I constantly have to be reassured by my adopted parents that I am (thanks mom and dad :D). Emotional abuse leaves invisible scars, but they're still scars nonetheless. It doesn't mean it's not real or that it didn't happen or that you don't have the right to feel the way you do. Emotional abuse is real, it does happen and those that experience it do have a right to feel the way they do.
It's time to be open about this. The image of the perfect Mormon family has got to stop or whatever religion that the family may be. It's time to listen to those that show signs of emotional abuse that I listed above and see if that's what's going on. Remember, just because there may be no physical signs doesn't mean there's not something going on. If you have gone through emotional abuse or are going through it don't be afraid to seek help. And if you don't get the help you need the first time keep trying. I'm very, very, very slowly learning that I am worthy of love from a family, and I was always worthy of it. I still don't believe it fully but there is a tiny spot in my brain that is beginning to believe it. Again, I don't regret writing this post and sharing it because if it helps even just one person then it will have done it's job.
Monday, August 27, 2018
Monday, August 6, 2018
Why can't I feel the way I feel about my story?
I've heard a few times that "your past shapes you into who you are today". I believe that to be true however, the few times I've shared my whole story and not just the highlights I've always been left feeling like I shouldn't feel the way I do about my childhood and teen years and my favorites of "no parent is perfect" or "it's hard being a parent" or "every family has its quirks" always follows afterwards as well. Of course no parent is perfect, I sure as hell know it's hard being a parent and of course every family has its quirks...I have honestly known all of this for as long as I can remember. Almost every time without fail (with the exception of a couple of people) when I've opened up a little and told my story I'm told one of these things and it hurts and I get a bit annoyed because when I was a teen it felt like nobody believed me and as an adult I still feel like people don't believe me but also like I'm wrong to feel the way I do. I learned to just not tell my story but just the highlights so that I wasn't hurt. However, after certain events, I've decided to tell my story...the whole story. I've wanted to write this post for years now and have debated the past week or so whether or not to write this but I think and hope I'll feel better putting this out there and let people know what its been like for me for the past 21 years.
As most everyone knows I am the youngest of 6 and was born in Yorba Linda California. The year I was born was the year that my parents turned 40 years old and there is 15 1/2 years between me and my oldest sibling. We lived in a house that was named "The Grandview House" but when I was 3 years old my dad got forced out of his successful real estate business and we moved to Glenwood Utah. I have no memory of California and my first memories are of always following my dad around and helping him because I was a daddy's girl. I literally went everywhere with him and always "helped" him with everything. One of my favorite things to do was haul hay with my brothers and dad. The most I could do to help at that time was push the hay down from the top when we stacked it under the shed but I loved it, loved it when I grew into a teen and still love it now. Another job I loved to "help" with was to move pipe in the hay fields. My dad and I would go out and I would stand at one end while he drained the pipe of the water and I'd tell him when it was all drained out. Then I would grab the end of the pipe and help move it then flip the little latch down to hook it on. Again, I loved that kind of work as a teen and still do as an adult. Those are some of my first memories and I do hold them dear to me because it's when I felt loved and wanted.
Fast forward to when I was 8 years old. The green houses that my family owned had failed and my dad had to start working in Northern Utah during the week. Not a big deal, I mean lots of families had dad's that went away for work during the week and such. My dad would come home on the weekends and I still followed him everywhere, but it eventually started to get different. My dad started to get more closed off and wouldn't wait for me to get home from school to help him on projects that I really wanted to help him with. He started studying more scripture stuff and just seemed to start closing off into his own little world. At the time I thought he just didn't want me around anymore and was tired of me tagging along with him. So I stopped. We grew apart and it tore me apart on the inside when I was a child and as a teen I wanted a protective, teasing, loving dad that cared about me and what I was doing...and that never changed even growing into adulthood. Looking back now I guess it wasn't my fault that my dad pulled away, however I don't know the whole story of how he felt or what my mom or others were telling him after the green houses went under. I still feel a lot of that pain though looking back on what we could of maybe had and what I craved, wanted and needed from my dad but had to learn to be without a present father figure.
Now, if you've made it this far, I'm sure you're wondering "why didn't you just turn to your mom?" or what not. Well for as long as I can remember, my mom and I have never been super close. I was (and still not) a girly girl and loved playing in the ditch more than with dolls. I used to help her in the kitchen making cookies or frosting cookies/cupcakes but honestly I didn't really enjoy the baking and it seemed like I couldn't do anything right ever while helping her. Eventually I quit helping in the kitchen and as I got older I would bee line straight through the kitchen so that any request for helping could be avoided...not that any ever came. I also vaguely remember trying to help my mom around the house with cleaning duties but it seemed like I could never do anything right there either or it wasn't done well enough. So again I just quit helping and did my own thing and kept to myself. Plus it seemed like any kind of problem that made our family look "bad" or what not or wasn't convient at the time for her seemed to turn into a crisis where she over reacted. I never had that mother/daughter relationship even as a young child and especially not when I was a teen and still to this day with my mom I'm very cautious and almost afraid of her because I don't want to set her off. It's hard and again knowing what I could have had and wanted, craved and needed is hard to think about and brings up all kinds of emotions in me.
It was sometime during the year that I turned 8 is when I started to get depression, self-image problems and self confidence was non-existant. I remember telling myself that I'm not good at anything so why try? I started to goof off some in class and also started comparing how I looked with the girls around me. I remember feeling fat and self conscious of how my clothes fit me. This wasn't helped by the fact that EVERY TIME my mom took me shopping she'd point out very clearly to me that I was now in the bigger size of clothes and would literally make me look at every clothing option whether I liked it or not and made me try it on. I remember feeling humiliated, agitated, depressed, and self conscious clothes shopping. I still hate going shopping for clothes. I remember telling her over and over and over again that I had found the clothes I wanted and was ready to leave but no we had to look at everything and comment on if I had to wear a bigger size. So between that, having absolutely no self confidence, and my mom also being very critical of her body and always telling me about how she hated how she looked I started going down hill.
Between ages 8-10 I remember being a pretty quiet kid for the most part, besides the occasional goofing off, but after 10 I started to get more depressed and self conscious of how I looked and started to act up a lot more. Nothing too crazy because I knew that there was a line that shouldn't be crossed but I was a troublemaker for sure. I think I became a troublemaker mainly because I was trying to call for help in how I was feeling (and partly because that is my personality). My dad was closed off and I'm 99% sure my mom had depression and anxiety. The inside of my home growing up felt very cold and at times hostile. I remember feeling scared to go to my parents with any kind of major problem because it seemed to turn into a crisis with my mom overreacting and my dad getting upset because my mom was overreacting...it was not a good combination. My siblings and I learned to keep to ourselves and try to work out problems on our own which for a kid is hard to do when it's a big problem to a kid then they don't know how to fix it. I couldn't go to my siblings either because I'm sure they were trying to cope with their problems too but I was so much younger than them that if I bothered them they got annoyed with me the majority of the time. I literally had nobody and I knew that I had to keep the image of the "perfect Mormon family" going that I didn't dare go to anybody else. So I started causing trouble when I had these depression feelings and self-image feelings that I didn't know how to deal with trying to reach out for help. But I was just labeled a trouble maker and I just went with it.
During my childhood years I remember I really enjoyed dancing (I know that this is a huge shocker to those that know me). I know when I was tiny I was in clogging and ballet but I stopped because I didn't like the ballet part because it was too girly haha. However when I was like 10 I did a drill team dance camp that summer and I really liked it. It wasn't super girly and I really got into it and enjoyed it. I quit though because I felt fat, was super self conscious of how I looked, didn't think I was any good, and didn't have any support from my mom or dad. I've heard my mom say since then that the drill team type dancing is dumb and that she doesn't like it. She may have told me that when I was 10...I'm not really sure but I just wish I would of had the self-confidence to continue because I really did enjoy doing it. I did try other things like swimming, singing, and softball. I didn't enjoy swimming all that much so I didn't continue. I stayed in the singing group I was in for a few years because it seemed like my mom "approved" of it but honestly singing is one of my least favorite things to do. I did stick with softball all throughout city league years (up until 8th grade) but never got on the High School team because of lack of self confidence and nobody to practice with. I did learn to play the piano some because my mom used to teach piano lessons and would teach us and again it felt like this was something she "approved" of but with my mom teaching me and my love of being outside doing things meant that this didn't last either. I felt like I couldn't like the things that I wanted to do and didn't feel supported if it wasn't "approved" of by my mom...and like I said my dad didn't really care either way. As long as my mom wasn't flying off the handle at him for something then he didn't worry about much else. So, besides softball and later animals, I never really stuck with anything. If I could go back though I would have stuck with the dancing and been brave enough to do what I loved doing no matter what. Along with the dancing I would have tried out for softball again after working hard to get better along with trying out a few rodeos. Unfortunately all I can do is try and let the past go and encourage my own children to find what they love and love it with them.
I also remember at about 9 years old I would be in my room reading or something and my mom would come in and ask me if I was getting hair under my armpits or pubic area. It was really uncomfortable and she wouldn't tell me why and I remember her telling me to raise my arms so she could look at my arm pits to see for herself. It was super awkward and uncomfortable and I hated it. She also told me if I ever started to bleed (my period) to come and tell her, I asked why and I don't know if she answered. I honestly was in the dark about all of that and felt somewhat violated too. This also made me more cautious around my mom and made me not want to tell her anything at all.
When I was 11 or 12 years old (6th grade) is when I had my first suicidal thoughts and desires. Sixth grade was a rough year for me...as it is for all pre-teens going through those awkward stages. I didn't really have any close friends at all, felt really isolated, felt super ugly, no self-esteem at all. It was also during the first part of this school year (and the summer previous to this grade) that I was sexually abused by my brother just older than me. I don't feel ready to go into detail about that but I'll just leave it at that it happened and that I never told my parents because I was too scared to. In 6th grade I became super quiet and didn't socialize much. I felt isolated because I wasn't ever invited to stuff by the kids in my town and it always seemed to be a bother to everyone in my family of driving age to come pick me up from my friends house in Richfield so I rarely went there. I was super unhappy and wanted to die because I truly felt I didn't matter to anyone and that I was just a burden and that I was a mistake. In fact I did ask my mom when I was 10 or 11 if I was a mistake and she never gave me a straight yes or no answer so at that age I just assumed that I was. So on top of feeling like a mistake I also felt unwanted, unloved and that nobody would care if I just disappeared. Honestly, I would have gone through with trying to kill myself if I hadn't been able to get my first horse when I was 11. I helped buy her (this is Easter ps for those that are wondering) and she was my responsibility to raise and train. My dad did support me some in this and I'm grateful that he did because it did save my life. Another thing that helped save me was a year later when I was 12 I finally got a dog. I got Bailey that year. Between Bailey and Easter I no longer felt as suicidal and they were there to listen to me when I needed them. I got 3 more horses, cats, and bunnies and another dog as the years went by but Bailey and Easter was the beginning of a passion that didn't only save my life then but another time in high school.
I somehow made it through the middle school years. Sometime in my 7th grade year my best friend at the time introduced me to some of her guy friends. This group of guys welcomed me in and helped me become a little bit more like myself again. I wasn't as quiet anymore and was starting to be goofy and mischievious again (much to the teachers dismay). I was still depressed, had the self image and self confidence issues but they seemed easier to ignore when I hung out with my friends. It was also during my middle school years that I started noticing more how my friends families interacted with each other. I noticed when I was younger but I don't think I quite understood how different it seemed. I noticed that my friends siblings seemed to like having them around. Yes there was fighting and teasing and such but at the end of the day I knew that they loved each other and that they were friends. I also noticed that my friends parents also loved them and were there for them. Not saying that these parents were perfect by any means but just the simple fact that their kids KNEW that they were loved, wanted, and could go to them for anything. These relationships with the siblings and parents blew my mind and I wanted the same thing so, so badly. At my house we didn't talk, there was a cold feeling, there was tension in the air, I was convinced that a couple of my siblings hated me, and just not a friendly environment. I spent as much time as I could out of my own home and in the home of others just trying to feel a tiny bit of what it was like to be a part of a family that loved and wanted their kids around or by myself out in the hills with Bailey. I was always the outsider looking in though. I was always the outsider with the constant ache in her heart to be accepted by anyone-just to feel like what it was like to be a daughter and a sister. It's crazy to look back on now because when I was that age I wasn't expected to do anything around the house and basically kind of just ignored. I took care of the animals because they were mine but other than that I just did what I wanted. I craved parental guidance and expectations of things. I wanted to learn how to do different things and be expected to help. I wasn't though and that just made me feel more like an outcast in my own family and more unloved and unwanted.
My high school years were some of the most roughest, scariest, funnest, crazy, roller coaster and memorable years by far. Besides the normal not knowing who you are I also was following 4 of my older siblings as well. I was either Cheeks, Tyler's, Jeff's, and on the rare occasion Kristel's little sister. I didn't have a name to most people until my Junior year. I tried to embrace the comedic humor that my brother just older than me provided to the school and even got dubbed as SheCheeks by someone but that wasn't me. Hell I still don't know who I really am anyway much less in high school! So this struggle was added on and when I was around 15 my depression got really bad again so I started self harming to try and feel better. I'd scratch/cut myself with a bobby pin on my upper arms so that the sleeves of my shirt would hide them. However as time went on I moved to my wrists with the bobby pins. It was also around this time that my self image problems became so hurtful and bad that I developed eating disorders. Anorexia and Bulimia came about around this time as well. I did have a great group of friends, along with my best friend that I met in 8th grade (love you Ashley!) though but I didn't let on too much to many of them what was going on. I let on to a few of my guy friends because I think I was just looking for that big brother protectivness which I got to some degree but I think at the end of the day I wanted parents-especially a dad- that would lovingly help me out. I wanted parents that wouldn't over react but lovingly find out why I was doing this and find me help then support me as I worked to get better. Again I was just searching to try and feel that love and attention that I was craving so badly for but couldn't get.
My sophomore and junior years were probably the worst. My eating disorders had gotten so bad that my period had stopped, I was sick all the time, I could barely function, and I just was not doing well. I was down so far with depression and anxiety was starting to happen at this time too and I was still self-harming. I think the anxiety started because I had a young women's leader notice how badly I was doing along with one of my seminary teachers. I opened up to my young women's leader and she listened but I think she felt that she couldn't do much because she didn't want to step on my parents toes or anything. She was there for me as much as she could be though and I am grateful for the help that she did give me along with that she didn't tell my parents much of anything-at least not that I know of. My seminary teacher also listened but I'm not 100% sure if he believed what I told him because he knew my family. It was around this time that I became suicidal again (age 16). There were quite a few things that led to me being suicidal again. One was opening up but knowing if I told any of my leaders or teachers too much then my parents would be told and that terrified me. I had already experienced this when my mom found out about my eating disorder. Let's just say it was a really bad, bad night and I went into total survival mode until she was done being upset with me. Another thing was I would watch the drill team dance and wish I was out there with them (again I know-shocker to all who know me). As crazy as it sounds it really angered me and such that I didn't have the guts to stand up to my mom and stick with it. I still had no self-confidence and accepted I would never succeed in school and therefore just became the trouble maker again because I figured I'm not smart enough to get good grades and I'm labeled as a goof off/trouble maker. The kicker though of what really made me attempt suicide at 16 was how a different older brother treated me one night. I got home that night and he was there talking to my mom. My mom asked me a question and being how I was and constantly feeling how I felt I answered rudely. Next thing I know this brother had grabbed me and shaken me and threatened to throw me down the stairs...my mom did nothing and I don't know if my dad ever got told about this but I'm sure he wouldn't have done anything either. The fact that a brother did this and that no one seemed to care literally almost sent me over the edge. I remember going down to my room, locking the door and crying for a couple hours wondering why I was even born if nobody liked or cared about me. Wondering what I did to this brother to make him hate me like that. I sat there angry at God because why was it this family that I was born into? Why did I have to feel like I did all the time? Why couldn't I find a family that-even though I wasn't theirs-accept me as their own? And many more questions. After a while I began to think of ways to take my life. We had guns in the house growing up and the key was just kept on top of the gun safe. My hand was on the door knob to go into the room where the gun safe was because I was going to end it that night. I know it was God that stopped me and put the thought into my mind to hang on just a little longer though so that night I survived.
After that night though I just felt worse and worse. I couldn't explain how I felt to anybody and I didn't dare tell anyone that I felt suicidal because I just figured nobody would believe me since nobody believed me about my home life or they would tell my parents which would have made things worse. As the feelings got the worse the plan formed in my mind. Toward the end of my Junior year I came up with the acronym BCD. It stood for Burn, Cut, Die. My plan was to burn myself for 2 weeks, cut myself up for 2 weeks, then end it all. I did it those first 2 things and one morning I got up, got ready for school like I always did but grabbed a knife before I headed out the door. I had no intention of going to school that day. I drove the Jeep up into a pretty secluded place in the hills and started cutting my left wrist. As I was cutting though the thought of "do I really want to do this?" came into my mind. I stopped for a minute but kept going. Again, that thought came to me and I stopped shook my head and started on my other wrist. As I was cutting though this thought of "what's going to happen to your animals if you die" came to my mind. That made me stop in my tracks and ultimately made me change my mind. I pulled the sleeves down of my hoodie and drove to Jazz band. I didn't say a word until later in the day in Seminary when one of the seminary bretheren noticed my wrists when I absent mindly scratched an itch on my arm. I don't know if my parents ever got told about my suicide attempt but it was after this that I agreed to go to therapy only if my parents didn't know about it. I went but I was still scared to talk because I knew if I said anything too concerning then it could make it back to my parents and that thought scared me. I wish my therapist would have told me that it was a safe place to talk and that he wouldn't say anything to my parents unless he deemed me being unsafe or something. So therapy didn't help and I eventually quit going because I didn't say anything. Nobody said anything more so I went on with life I guess trying to survive each day, trying to feel the love of a family that I knew wasn't there, continued causing mischief, and spent more time with my animals.
My Senior year was interesting. I believe it was during the first part of that year is when I got hauled into the Stake President's office along with my parents (the Stake President was also my seminary teacher) to have a meeting about what was going on with me. This was one of the most terrifying meetings of my life. I didn't say much and only answered questions with answers I knew my parents would approve of. Afterwards, my parents went home and I probably went and hung out with some friends and no more was said. I wish during that meeting that again I was told that it was okay to open up and that also my parents weren't even invited. I might have opened up some and maybe gotten some of the help that I desperately needed. But oh well what's done is done. I don't remember much happening during my senior year. I was still a trouble maker. Made some great memories. I still didn't go to church much. I was still struggling with self-harm, my eating disorders, and suicidal thoughts. But as graduation got closer I was somehow able to push down and ignore those problems I had and they eventually went away. I got basically 3 years worth of seminary work done in one night so I could graduate because I HAD to graduate for one reason or another from my parents and I also graduated High School. After I graduated and was an "adult" the way my parents-especially my mom-treated me changed as well...and not in a great way either.
After graduating I went on a 2 week trip called the Church History Tour. It was long, it was fun, I'm glad I went and things happened on that trip that I'm grateful for but that's for another blog post. When I got home I decided I would try and work on a better relationship with my siblings and parents...maybe I could feel like a daughter and a sister...I mean after all this was the family I was given. So I started being more present when my siblings would visit. It went pretty well but I was still so much younger than everyone and had such different interests that I still felt like an outsider and that I was just being tolerated. I started to try and help my dad more but again he was still very closed off, didn't talk much and would often complete projects while I was busy or away. I started talking to my mom more to try and start building that relationship but her depression and anxiety was so bad that every conversation was always negative and was never helpful. I tried that whole summer when I was home from my summer job but it didn't work. It was also during that summer that the brother that had shook and threatened to throw me down the stairs-got angry with me again and threw me to the ground because I laughed about something. Again I felt rejected and like a mistake. Again I wondered how I got put in with this family that seems to not even like me and barely acknowledges I'm in exsistance? Again I prayed and pleaded with God to help me find a family or situation that I could feel loved and wanted.
Summer ended and I went to college. I didn't really want to go to college but that's what was expected of me plus my parents did pay my tuition and housing. I went, picked a major I guess, studied hard, etc. etc. During that year though I did become a lifeguard and my boss was the first closest thing I had to a dad though. He loved knowing what was going on in all of his lifeguards lives and he loved giving us a hard time and teasing us. He'd get mad at us when we needed it and to this day I loved that he cared so much about all of us. I will never forget how he gave me a glimpse of what a father figure is like. The school year went on, I didn't talk much to my parents or my siblings and they didn't talk much to me either. Then spring break I met Duke and after we dated for a while I loved being with him because he made me feel wanted, cared for, and just all around important. I had started feeling suicidal again when I met him but because of him that went away. When I told him my history and such he didn't get scared and abandon me but told me that he still wanted me and loved me for who I was. I had never had anyone ever tell me that and to this day I know that I'm his number one and I could not live life without him. We got married and all of the past hurt, pain and emotions I felt from the past just seemed to go away, or just was easier to push deep down inside of me because I was finally important and wanted by someone and felt loved.
It was after Duke and I got married that I tried again to develop a relationship with my parents. I again would try and talk to my dad more but he seemed more interested in Duke which was fine so I talked to my mom more. Again though it was always negative but now I felt like I was suddenly the favorite child and none of my other siblings existed. I had been put up on a pedestal because I had gotten married young and in the temple. I HATED it. Growing up the youngest you always get told that you have it easy but then to have this happen to you is even worse. I didn't want that kind of attention I just wanted to be a family. This kind of attention got worse after I had kids. It's like we're the golden family and such. NEWFLASH: We're not! I have 5 older siblings 4 of which are also married to amazing people and 3 of which also have very adorable/beautiful children. I hate the attention and the feeling like we can do no wrong and that we're perfect because we're not! Anyway, needless to say that attempt didn't last long because I went from being basically ignored by my parents to the other end of the extreme-especially from my mom.
I did try though to develop something with my parents after McKaty was born. We had brought her home and I had just gone through an emergency C-section and such and my mom was staying with us to help us out for a week which was great. I remember sitting there holding my little 4 lb. 6 oz. baby and crying because I felt like my life was over. I didn't know about post pardum depression at the time but I opened up to my mom. I told her how I felt like my life was over, I didn't know what I was doing, and all of that stuff that new moms feel. She listened and then said that she had felt the same way too and that she had started doing service for others to try and help her feel better. Now I'm not saying that this isn't great advice because it is, but that's not what I needed to hear at that time. After that I felt like I shouldn't be feeling the way I'm feeling and that maybe I'm doing something wrong to feel like taking care of this child was to most difficult thing ever. This was added to the fact that I didn't have a bond with McKaty until 6 weeks after she was born and that I seriously considered giving her up for adoption because I felt like such an inadequate mother and that she deserved better. During that week as well I heard (and many times since) that I was so lucky to have a mom to come help out because she didn't have that (her mom died shortly after my oldest brother was born). That's really not what a new mother needs to hear and it made me feel like I couldn't ask for help because I was expected to do this on my own, which I was trying really hard to do. Add to that she also questioned everything I did and would always be there when I was attempting to breastfeed-giving me no privacy. My mom did help out by cooking, cleaning some, and watched McKaty for about an hour so that I could get out of the house that week but otherwise things were up to Duke and I. I am grateful that she came and did what she did but I look back on that time and still feel blind sided and guilty that I felt the way I did. Maybe I'm making too much of it and being oversensitive but it's just how I felt.
When Kenna was born we had just moved into a house next to my parents. My post partum depression became really bad with her and I remember being really frustrated one morning trying to get out the door to teach a lesson. My mom had come over to watch the girls and Kenna was being difficult and I lost my temper and my mom was shocked that I would be like that toward a baby which annoyed me even more. It was shortly after that Duke took me in to get help from the doctor (I love that man <3) and I started taking anti-depressants which was really hard for me. I told my mom about it and she told me she hated them too...that she tried them once and they made her super shaky and jumpy so she stopped and never tried again. Exactly what I wanted and needed to hear (add sarcasm to that). It was soon after that, that I just accepted I would never have a mom, dad or family that I needed and craved. I pushed all those wants and desires down deep and pretended I was fine and didn't cause any trouble. I kept to myself, took care of my kids, and did what I needed to do to keep my parents happy. I tried not to complain much-accept to Duke when I really felt bad-and just accepted that I had been a child with no family and now an adult with no family.
I kept everything inside of me and lived this way until this past December. All those years of hurt, anger, pain, emotions, etc. came spilling out and well things just happened that I'm not ready to share about yet. However, as traumatic as that was I was given a chance to be part of a family. A local family has taken me in as their daughter. So along with learning and developing a relationship with these new parents I also get to learn and develop relationships with their kids and get to feel like a sister. I know that this will take time but already I've felt that gigantic hole being filled in. I love having a close relationship with my new dad and I'm already loving the relationship I'm working on with my new mom along with my new siblings. I'm grateful that I'm able to have this in this lifetime and that I've been accepted. I'm most grateful though for the days where I feel content and at peace because I'm part of a family, married to an amazing guy, and get to raise my beautiful children. It's hard to accept most days that what I have is real and there's a big wall that has been put up that is going to be hard to break down. But I know between Duke, my kids, and my new family that I have a chance for peace and true happiness.
As most everyone knows I am the youngest of 6 and was born in Yorba Linda California. The year I was born was the year that my parents turned 40 years old and there is 15 1/2 years between me and my oldest sibling. We lived in a house that was named "The Grandview House" but when I was 3 years old my dad got forced out of his successful real estate business and we moved to Glenwood Utah. I have no memory of California and my first memories are of always following my dad around and helping him because I was a daddy's girl. I literally went everywhere with him and always "helped" him with everything. One of my favorite things to do was haul hay with my brothers and dad. The most I could do to help at that time was push the hay down from the top when we stacked it under the shed but I loved it, loved it when I grew into a teen and still love it now. Another job I loved to "help" with was to move pipe in the hay fields. My dad and I would go out and I would stand at one end while he drained the pipe of the water and I'd tell him when it was all drained out. Then I would grab the end of the pipe and help move it then flip the little latch down to hook it on. Again, I loved that kind of work as a teen and still do as an adult. Those are some of my first memories and I do hold them dear to me because it's when I felt loved and wanted.
Fast forward to when I was 8 years old. The green houses that my family owned had failed and my dad had to start working in Northern Utah during the week. Not a big deal, I mean lots of families had dad's that went away for work during the week and such. My dad would come home on the weekends and I still followed him everywhere, but it eventually started to get different. My dad started to get more closed off and wouldn't wait for me to get home from school to help him on projects that I really wanted to help him with. He started studying more scripture stuff and just seemed to start closing off into his own little world. At the time I thought he just didn't want me around anymore and was tired of me tagging along with him. So I stopped. We grew apart and it tore me apart on the inside when I was a child and as a teen I wanted a protective, teasing, loving dad that cared about me and what I was doing...and that never changed even growing into adulthood. Looking back now I guess it wasn't my fault that my dad pulled away, however I don't know the whole story of how he felt or what my mom or others were telling him after the green houses went under. I still feel a lot of that pain though looking back on what we could of maybe had and what I craved, wanted and needed from my dad but had to learn to be without a present father figure.
Now, if you've made it this far, I'm sure you're wondering "why didn't you just turn to your mom?" or what not. Well for as long as I can remember, my mom and I have never been super close. I was (and still not) a girly girl and loved playing in the ditch more than with dolls. I used to help her in the kitchen making cookies or frosting cookies/cupcakes but honestly I didn't really enjoy the baking and it seemed like I couldn't do anything right ever while helping her. Eventually I quit helping in the kitchen and as I got older I would bee line straight through the kitchen so that any request for helping could be avoided...not that any ever came. I also vaguely remember trying to help my mom around the house with cleaning duties but it seemed like I could never do anything right there either or it wasn't done well enough. So again I just quit helping and did my own thing and kept to myself. Plus it seemed like any kind of problem that made our family look "bad" or what not or wasn't convient at the time for her seemed to turn into a crisis where she over reacted. I never had that mother/daughter relationship even as a young child and especially not when I was a teen and still to this day with my mom I'm very cautious and almost afraid of her because I don't want to set her off. It's hard and again knowing what I could have had and wanted, craved and needed is hard to think about and brings up all kinds of emotions in me.
It was sometime during the year that I turned 8 is when I started to get depression, self-image problems and self confidence was non-existant. I remember telling myself that I'm not good at anything so why try? I started to goof off some in class and also started comparing how I looked with the girls around me. I remember feeling fat and self conscious of how my clothes fit me. This wasn't helped by the fact that EVERY TIME my mom took me shopping she'd point out very clearly to me that I was now in the bigger size of clothes and would literally make me look at every clothing option whether I liked it or not and made me try it on. I remember feeling humiliated, agitated, depressed, and self conscious clothes shopping. I still hate going shopping for clothes. I remember telling her over and over and over again that I had found the clothes I wanted and was ready to leave but no we had to look at everything and comment on if I had to wear a bigger size. So between that, having absolutely no self confidence, and my mom also being very critical of her body and always telling me about how she hated how she looked I started going down hill.
Between ages 8-10 I remember being a pretty quiet kid for the most part, besides the occasional goofing off, but after 10 I started to get more depressed and self conscious of how I looked and started to act up a lot more. Nothing too crazy because I knew that there was a line that shouldn't be crossed but I was a troublemaker for sure. I think I became a troublemaker mainly because I was trying to call for help in how I was feeling (and partly because that is my personality). My dad was closed off and I'm 99% sure my mom had depression and anxiety. The inside of my home growing up felt very cold and at times hostile. I remember feeling scared to go to my parents with any kind of major problem because it seemed to turn into a crisis with my mom overreacting and my dad getting upset because my mom was overreacting...it was not a good combination. My siblings and I learned to keep to ourselves and try to work out problems on our own which for a kid is hard to do when it's a big problem to a kid then they don't know how to fix it. I couldn't go to my siblings either because I'm sure they were trying to cope with their problems too but I was so much younger than them that if I bothered them they got annoyed with me the majority of the time. I literally had nobody and I knew that I had to keep the image of the "perfect Mormon family" going that I didn't dare go to anybody else. So I started causing trouble when I had these depression feelings and self-image feelings that I didn't know how to deal with trying to reach out for help. But I was just labeled a trouble maker and I just went with it.
During my childhood years I remember I really enjoyed dancing (I know that this is a huge shocker to those that know me). I know when I was tiny I was in clogging and ballet but I stopped because I didn't like the ballet part because it was too girly haha. However when I was like 10 I did a drill team dance camp that summer and I really liked it. It wasn't super girly and I really got into it and enjoyed it. I quit though because I felt fat, was super self conscious of how I looked, didn't think I was any good, and didn't have any support from my mom or dad. I've heard my mom say since then that the drill team type dancing is dumb and that she doesn't like it. She may have told me that when I was 10...I'm not really sure but I just wish I would of had the self-confidence to continue because I really did enjoy doing it. I did try other things like swimming, singing, and softball. I didn't enjoy swimming all that much so I didn't continue. I stayed in the singing group I was in for a few years because it seemed like my mom "approved" of it but honestly singing is one of my least favorite things to do. I did stick with softball all throughout city league years (up until 8th grade) but never got on the High School team because of lack of self confidence and nobody to practice with. I did learn to play the piano some because my mom used to teach piano lessons and would teach us and again it felt like this was something she "approved" of but with my mom teaching me and my love of being outside doing things meant that this didn't last either. I felt like I couldn't like the things that I wanted to do and didn't feel supported if it wasn't "approved" of by my mom...and like I said my dad didn't really care either way. As long as my mom wasn't flying off the handle at him for something then he didn't worry about much else. So, besides softball and later animals, I never really stuck with anything. If I could go back though I would have stuck with the dancing and been brave enough to do what I loved doing no matter what. Along with the dancing I would have tried out for softball again after working hard to get better along with trying out a few rodeos. Unfortunately all I can do is try and let the past go and encourage my own children to find what they love and love it with them.
I also remember at about 9 years old I would be in my room reading or something and my mom would come in and ask me if I was getting hair under my armpits or pubic area. It was really uncomfortable and she wouldn't tell me why and I remember her telling me to raise my arms so she could look at my arm pits to see for herself. It was super awkward and uncomfortable and I hated it. She also told me if I ever started to bleed (my period) to come and tell her, I asked why and I don't know if she answered. I honestly was in the dark about all of that and felt somewhat violated too. This also made me more cautious around my mom and made me not want to tell her anything at all.
When I was 11 or 12 years old (6th grade) is when I had my first suicidal thoughts and desires. Sixth grade was a rough year for me...as it is for all pre-teens going through those awkward stages. I didn't really have any close friends at all, felt really isolated, felt super ugly, no self-esteem at all. It was also during the first part of this school year (and the summer previous to this grade) that I was sexually abused by my brother just older than me. I don't feel ready to go into detail about that but I'll just leave it at that it happened and that I never told my parents because I was too scared to. In 6th grade I became super quiet and didn't socialize much. I felt isolated because I wasn't ever invited to stuff by the kids in my town and it always seemed to be a bother to everyone in my family of driving age to come pick me up from my friends house in Richfield so I rarely went there. I was super unhappy and wanted to die because I truly felt I didn't matter to anyone and that I was just a burden and that I was a mistake. In fact I did ask my mom when I was 10 or 11 if I was a mistake and she never gave me a straight yes or no answer so at that age I just assumed that I was. So on top of feeling like a mistake I also felt unwanted, unloved and that nobody would care if I just disappeared. Honestly, I would have gone through with trying to kill myself if I hadn't been able to get my first horse when I was 11. I helped buy her (this is Easter ps for those that are wondering) and she was my responsibility to raise and train. My dad did support me some in this and I'm grateful that he did because it did save my life. Another thing that helped save me was a year later when I was 12 I finally got a dog. I got Bailey that year. Between Bailey and Easter I no longer felt as suicidal and they were there to listen to me when I needed them. I got 3 more horses, cats, and bunnies and another dog as the years went by but Bailey and Easter was the beginning of a passion that didn't only save my life then but another time in high school.
I somehow made it through the middle school years. Sometime in my 7th grade year my best friend at the time introduced me to some of her guy friends. This group of guys welcomed me in and helped me become a little bit more like myself again. I wasn't as quiet anymore and was starting to be goofy and mischievious again (much to the teachers dismay). I was still depressed, had the self image and self confidence issues but they seemed easier to ignore when I hung out with my friends. It was also during my middle school years that I started noticing more how my friends families interacted with each other. I noticed when I was younger but I don't think I quite understood how different it seemed. I noticed that my friends siblings seemed to like having them around. Yes there was fighting and teasing and such but at the end of the day I knew that they loved each other and that they were friends. I also noticed that my friends parents also loved them and were there for them. Not saying that these parents were perfect by any means but just the simple fact that their kids KNEW that they were loved, wanted, and could go to them for anything. These relationships with the siblings and parents blew my mind and I wanted the same thing so, so badly. At my house we didn't talk, there was a cold feeling, there was tension in the air, I was convinced that a couple of my siblings hated me, and just not a friendly environment. I spent as much time as I could out of my own home and in the home of others just trying to feel a tiny bit of what it was like to be a part of a family that loved and wanted their kids around or by myself out in the hills with Bailey. I was always the outsider looking in though. I was always the outsider with the constant ache in her heart to be accepted by anyone-just to feel like what it was like to be a daughter and a sister. It's crazy to look back on now because when I was that age I wasn't expected to do anything around the house and basically kind of just ignored. I took care of the animals because they were mine but other than that I just did what I wanted. I craved parental guidance and expectations of things. I wanted to learn how to do different things and be expected to help. I wasn't though and that just made me feel more like an outcast in my own family and more unloved and unwanted.
My high school years were some of the most roughest, scariest, funnest, crazy, roller coaster and memorable years by far. Besides the normal not knowing who you are I also was following 4 of my older siblings as well. I was either Cheeks, Tyler's, Jeff's, and on the rare occasion Kristel's little sister. I didn't have a name to most people until my Junior year. I tried to embrace the comedic humor that my brother just older than me provided to the school and even got dubbed as SheCheeks by someone but that wasn't me. Hell I still don't know who I really am anyway much less in high school! So this struggle was added on and when I was around 15 my depression got really bad again so I started self harming to try and feel better. I'd scratch/cut myself with a bobby pin on my upper arms so that the sleeves of my shirt would hide them. However as time went on I moved to my wrists with the bobby pins. It was also around this time that my self image problems became so hurtful and bad that I developed eating disorders. Anorexia and Bulimia came about around this time as well. I did have a great group of friends, along with my best friend that I met in 8th grade (love you Ashley!) though but I didn't let on too much to many of them what was going on. I let on to a few of my guy friends because I think I was just looking for that big brother protectivness which I got to some degree but I think at the end of the day I wanted parents-especially a dad- that would lovingly help me out. I wanted parents that wouldn't over react but lovingly find out why I was doing this and find me help then support me as I worked to get better. Again I was just searching to try and feel that love and attention that I was craving so badly for but couldn't get.
My sophomore and junior years were probably the worst. My eating disorders had gotten so bad that my period had stopped, I was sick all the time, I could barely function, and I just was not doing well. I was down so far with depression and anxiety was starting to happen at this time too and I was still self-harming. I think the anxiety started because I had a young women's leader notice how badly I was doing along with one of my seminary teachers. I opened up to my young women's leader and she listened but I think she felt that she couldn't do much because she didn't want to step on my parents toes or anything. She was there for me as much as she could be though and I am grateful for the help that she did give me along with that she didn't tell my parents much of anything-at least not that I know of. My seminary teacher also listened but I'm not 100% sure if he believed what I told him because he knew my family. It was around this time that I became suicidal again (age 16). There were quite a few things that led to me being suicidal again. One was opening up but knowing if I told any of my leaders or teachers too much then my parents would be told and that terrified me. I had already experienced this when my mom found out about my eating disorder. Let's just say it was a really bad, bad night and I went into total survival mode until she was done being upset with me. Another thing was I would watch the drill team dance and wish I was out there with them (again I know-shocker to all who know me). As crazy as it sounds it really angered me and such that I didn't have the guts to stand up to my mom and stick with it. I still had no self-confidence and accepted I would never succeed in school and therefore just became the trouble maker again because I figured I'm not smart enough to get good grades and I'm labeled as a goof off/trouble maker. The kicker though of what really made me attempt suicide at 16 was how a different older brother treated me one night. I got home that night and he was there talking to my mom. My mom asked me a question and being how I was and constantly feeling how I felt I answered rudely. Next thing I know this brother had grabbed me and shaken me and threatened to throw me down the stairs...my mom did nothing and I don't know if my dad ever got told about this but I'm sure he wouldn't have done anything either. The fact that a brother did this and that no one seemed to care literally almost sent me over the edge. I remember going down to my room, locking the door and crying for a couple hours wondering why I was even born if nobody liked or cared about me. Wondering what I did to this brother to make him hate me like that. I sat there angry at God because why was it this family that I was born into? Why did I have to feel like I did all the time? Why couldn't I find a family that-even though I wasn't theirs-accept me as their own? And many more questions. After a while I began to think of ways to take my life. We had guns in the house growing up and the key was just kept on top of the gun safe. My hand was on the door knob to go into the room where the gun safe was because I was going to end it that night. I know it was God that stopped me and put the thought into my mind to hang on just a little longer though so that night I survived.
After that night though I just felt worse and worse. I couldn't explain how I felt to anybody and I didn't dare tell anyone that I felt suicidal because I just figured nobody would believe me since nobody believed me about my home life or they would tell my parents which would have made things worse. As the feelings got the worse the plan formed in my mind. Toward the end of my Junior year I came up with the acronym BCD. It stood for Burn, Cut, Die. My plan was to burn myself for 2 weeks, cut myself up for 2 weeks, then end it all. I did it those first 2 things and one morning I got up, got ready for school like I always did but grabbed a knife before I headed out the door. I had no intention of going to school that day. I drove the Jeep up into a pretty secluded place in the hills and started cutting my left wrist. As I was cutting though the thought of "do I really want to do this?" came into my mind. I stopped for a minute but kept going. Again, that thought came to me and I stopped shook my head and started on my other wrist. As I was cutting though this thought of "what's going to happen to your animals if you die" came to my mind. That made me stop in my tracks and ultimately made me change my mind. I pulled the sleeves down of my hoodie and drove to Jazz band. I didn't say a word until later in the day in Seminary when one of the seminary bretheren noticed my wrists when I absent mindly scratched an itch on my arm. I don't know if my parents ever got told about my suicide attempt but it was after this that I agreed to go to therapy only if my parents didn't know about it. I went but I was still scared to talk because I knew if I said anything too concerning then it could make it back to my parents and that thought scared me. I wish my therapist would have told me that it was a safe place to talk and that he wouldn't say anything to my parents unless he deemed me being unsafe or something. So therapy didn't help and I eventually quit going because I didn't say anything. Nobody said anything more so I went on with life I guess trying to survive each day, trying to feel the love of a family that I knew wasn't there, continued causing mischief, and spent more time with my animals.
My Senior year was interesting. I believe it was during the first part of that year is when I got hauled into the Stake President's office along with my parents (the Stake President was also my seminary teacher) to have a meeting about what was going on with me. This was one of the most terrifying meetings of my life. I didn't say much and only answered questions with answers I knew my parents would approve of. Afterwards, my parents went home and I probably went and hung out with some friends and no more was said. I wish during that meeting that again I was told that it was okay to open up and that also my parents weren't even invited. I might have opened up some and maybe gotten some of the help that I desperately needed. But oh well what's done is done. I don't remember much happening during my senior year. I was still a trouble maker. Made some great memories. I still didn't go to church much. I was still struggling with self-harm, my eating disorders, and suicidal thoughts. But as graduation got closer I was somehow able to push down and ignore those problems I had and they eventually went away. I got basically 3 years worth of seminary work done in one night so I could graduate because I HAD to graduate for one reason or another from my parents and I also graduated High School. After I graduated and was an "adult" the way my parents-especially my mom-treated me changed as well...and not in a great way either.
After graduating I went on a 2 week trip called the Church History Tour. It was long, it was fun, I'm glad I went and things happened on that trip that I'm grateful for but that's for another blog post. When I got home I decided I would try and work on a better relationship with my siblings and parents...maybe I could feel like a daughter and a sister...I mean after all this was the family I was given. So I started being more present when my siblings would visit. It went pretty well but I was still so much younger than everyone and had such different interests that I still felt like an outsider and that I was just being tolerated. I started to try and help my dad more but again he was still very closed off, didn't talk much and would often complete projects while I was busy or away. I started talking to my mom more to try and start building that relationship but her depression and anxiety was so bad that every conversation was always negative and was never helpful. I tried that whole summer when I was home from my summer job but it didn't work. It was also during that summer that the brother that had shook and threatened to throw me down the stairs-got angry with me again and threw me to the ground because I laughed about something. Again I felt rejected and like a mistake. Again I wondered how I got put in with this family that seems to not even like me and barely acknowledges I'm in exsistance? Again I prayed and pleaded with God to help me find a family or situation that I could feel loved and wanted.
Summer ended and I went to college. I didn't really want to go to college but that's what was expected of me plus my parents did pay my tuition and housing. I went, picked a major I guess, studied hard, etc. etc. During that year though I did become a lifeguard and my boss was the first closest thing I had to a dad though. He loved knowing what was going on in all of his lifeguards lives and he loved giving us a hard time and teasing us. He'd get mad at us when we needed it and to this day I loved that he cared so much about all of us. I will never forget how he gave me a glimpse of what a father figure is like. The school year went on, I didn't talk much to my parents or my siblings and they didn't talk much to me either. Then spring break I met Duke and after we dated for a while I loved being with him because he made me feel wanted, cared for, and just all around important. I had started feeling suicidal again when I met him but because of him that went away. When I told him my history and such he didn't get scared and abandon me but told me that he still wanted me and loved me for who I was. I had never had anyone ever tell me that and to this day I know that I'm his number one and I could not live life without him. We got married and all of the past hurt, pain and emotions I felt from the past just seemed to go away, or just was easier to push deep down inside of me because I was finally important and wanted by someone and felt loved.
It was after Duke and I got married that I tried again to develop a relationship with my parents. I again would try and talk to my dad more but he seemed more interested in Duke which was fine so I talked to my mom more. Again though it was always negative but now I felt like I was suddenly the favorite child and none of my other siblings existed. I had been put up on a pedestal because I had gotten married young and in the temple. I HATED it. Growing up the youngest you always get told that you have it easy but then to have this happen to you is even worse. I didn't want that kind of attention I just wanted to be a family. This kind of attention got worse after I had kids. It's like we're the golden family and such. NEWFLASH: We're not! I have 5 older siblings 4 of which are also married to amazing people and 3 of which also have very adorable/beautiful children. I hate the attention and the feeling like we can do no wrong and that we're perfect because we're not! Anyway, needless to say that attempt didn't last long because I went from being basically ignored by my parents to the other end of the extreme-especially from my mom.
I did try though to develop something with my parents after McKaty was born. We had brought her home and I had just gone through an emergency C-section and such and my mom was staying with us to help us out for a week which was great. I remember sitting there holding my little 4 lb. 6 oz. baby and crying because I felt like my life was over. I didn't know about post pardum depression at the time but I opened up to my mom. I told her how I felt like my life was over, I didn't know what I was doing, and all of that stuff that new moms feel. She listened and then said that she had felt the same way too and that she had started doing service for others to try and help her feel better. Now I'm not saying that this isn't great advice because it is, but that's not what I needed to hear at that time. After that I felt like I shouldn't be feeling the way I'm feeling and that maybe I'm doing something wrong to feel like taking care of this child was to most difficult thing ever. This was added to the fact that I didn't have a bond with McKaty until 6 weeks after she was born and that I seriously considered giving her up for adoption because I felt like such an inadequate mother and that she deserved better. During that week as well I heard (and many times since) that I was so lucky to have a mom to come help out because she didn't have that (her mom died shortly after my oldest brother was born). That's really not what a new mother needs to hear and it made me feel like I couldn't ask for help because I was expected to do this on my own, which I was trying really hard to do. Add to that she also questioned everything I did and would always be there when I was attempting to breastfeed-giving me no privacy. My mom did help out by cooking, cleaning some, and watched McKaty for about an hour so that I could get out of the house that week but otherwise things were up to Duke and I. I am grateful that she came and did what she did but I look back on that time and still feel blind sided and guilty that I felt the way I did. Maybe I'm making too much of it and being oversensitive but it's just how I felt.
When Kenna was born we had just moved into a house next to my parents. My post partum depression became really bad with her and I remember being really frustrated one morning trying to get out the door to teach a lesson. My mom had come over to watch the girls and Kenna was being difficult and I lost my temper and my mom was shocked that I would be like that toward a baby which annoyed me even more. It was shortly after that Duke took me in to get help from the doctor (I love that man <3) and I started taking anti-depressants which was really hard for me. I told my mom about it and she told me she hated them too...that she tried them once and they made her super shaky and jumpy so she stopped and never tried again. Exactly what I wanted and needed to hear (add sarcasm to that). It was soon after that, that I just accepted I would never have a mom, dad or family that I needed and craved. I pushed all those wants and desires down deep and pretended I was fine and didn't cause any trouble. I kept to myself, took care of my kids, and did what I needed to do to keep my parents happy. I tried not to complain much-accept to Duke when I really felt bad-and just accepted that I had been a child with no family and now an adult with no family.
I kept everything inside of me and lived this way until this past December. All those years of hurt, anger, pain, emotions, etc. came spilling out and well things just happened that I'm not ready to share about yet. However, as traumatic as that was I was given a chance to be part of a family. A local family has taken me in as their daughter. So along with learning and developing a relationship with these new parents I also get to learn and develop relationships with their kids and get to feel like a sister. I know that this will take time but already I've felt that gigantic hole being filled in. I love having a close relationship with my new dad and I'm already loving the relationship I'm working on with my new mom along with my new siblings. I'm grateful that I'm able to have this in this lifetime and that I've been accepted. I'm most grateful though for the days where I feel content and at peace because I'm part of a family, married to an amazing guy, and get to raise my beautiful children. It's hard to accept most days that what I have is real and there's a big wall that has been put up that is going to be hard to break down. But I know between Duke, my kids, and my new family that I have a chance for peace and true happiness.
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