Cracked Roots & Roses 6: Intermission

This series has been pretty intense thus far. I want to give you a breather from “Dark New World” that was rough. I also want to apologize for my life. I know an apology is not necessary, and many of you may not want it, but those of you who weren’t expecting such raw material really should have it. I don’t know how to write any other way.. I’m very authentic and transparent. This was actually the series I started with before “Untangled”, but I couldn’t get through certain parts because it was too painful to recall. Even now I’m just not sure if this was the greatest idea.. I’ve thought more about Gino than I ever have and have. Unfortunately, I couldn’t let this series go.

I couldn’t not say it.

I couldn’t hide this chapter anymore.

Also, when you start writing, it’s hard to stop—it’s therapeutic. I’m telling my story, but I’m healing in the process.

I didn’t want to ever talk about my childhood or my teenage years because I realize not everyone had that experience. I glossed over many things and left out over half to spare you any secondhand trauma and to spare myself insensitive comments and unnecessary embarrassment.

For the most part, people have a normal life. Nothing life-altering or extraordinary happens, so it’s hard to grasp when you hear actual first hand tales from the hood. I’m writing this entry because I don’t want anyone to think this is a parent-bashing session—it’s not.. they suffered too. I’m writing from my perspective. My testimonies are meant to help someone, so I won’t hold it any longer.

Here are a couple of things you may have read wrong:

I wasn’t over Gino’s house every weekend—it was every other weekend. My mother didn’t even know I had a boyfriend until my sister spilled the beans much later. My mother was walking through abuse from my father as well. I did talk to her later in life about these abuses because I wanted to know why she allowed so much. She said she thought she was the only one being affected. That amazed me. She thought because we were kids, we wouldn’t realize it or remember it. To an extent, I can see that.

My sister speaks kinda highly of my father at family gatherings because she has blocked out many things and chalk them up to “tough love”. I don’t agree.. I felt the tough, not the love. My mother and I are noticeably uncomfortable when she does this but won’t argue with what she created in her mind to cope.

My sister and I both would leave on the weekends when we could to go to cousins’ or friends’ houses to get a hot bath and escape my father’s tirades. My mom understood that. This was also easier for them—not having two more mouths to feed.

I also decided to forgive my father when I learned that he was barely 17 when he was somewhat forced to marry my mother. I also heard of the some of the abuse he endured at his father’s hands and that breaks my heart. It’s unspeakable. He did what was done to him. You can’t give what you ain’t got and you can’t do what you’ve haven’t been taught.

My mother got pregnant a few months after they got together. Well… in those days, that meant they had to get married. So both of their parents signed the license, and they were married. My mother later lost that child, but they stayed married. They were thrown together in the struggle and just kind of living their own hell.

I am actually not mad at my mother or father. I came to terms with my life in my 30s. I decided to forgive them both because I seek forgiveness for my own life. I can offer grace because I was given grace. Much, if not all, of what happened came at the hands of an enemy who saw where I was headed. It was all to silence me, scar me, or remove me—but none of it worked. I was bent but not broken.

Life is ugly. This is ugly.. but in the ugly there is beauty. The beauty is that I’m still here to tell the story. The beauty is that many have been healed and have come to Jesus in the process. He gets the glory. From the depths I came from I MUST speak from.