Good day to all bloggers, peepers and sometimers. Our dear Prosperity has sent in a lovely post which has opened up the subject of abuse and it’s after effects. I am so proud of you all for sharing your life, opening up yourselves for the greater good of others who may read your stories and be uplifted or realize that they are not alone in their struggles. It is important for us all to know that we are not alone. To know that there are solutions to any problems (there truly is, unless God says no), and also support from people you have never even met. No man is an island, and iron sharpeneth iron and the countenance of one brightens the other. Christian psalms (133) says, ” How good and pleasant it is for brethrens to dwell together in unity”, this is what we do here on Embracingspirituality. There were times in my life, on becoming awake, when I needed support, love, a kind word, a hug even. I needed to feel safe and be told that all will be well. I never got it. It was harsh, but I came through unscathed, and I have decided to share my life experiences, knowledge, love, support and care for all who are able to find this site. I now give the hugs I did not get, I give the kinds words, sincerely, I now support, care and share, I make sure to inject humor in my posts, laughter is therapy, this I know for sure, I am naturally funny as is my father. I now defend all who are not able to help themselves. I pray God is pleased with me, this is my contribution to humanity. I get nothing ( as in money, I have turned all advertisements offers down, not wanting them to distract my readers) from this blog, except satisfaction at our interactions or private email of someone saying “thank you.” We will set a date for us all to be online to discuss the topic of abuse, of any kind. It is a worldwide problem, and dialogue needs to be. MTH thank you for your own contribution.
All ah oonuh dead beat dads waan some [email protected] lick, wid Miss Lou flat board, ole germz oonuh!
Firstly, I would like to thank Obara for this outlet, as I write I am not only tearing up, mi practically a bawl. Thank you so much for this. As I write I can feel the therapeutic release of not only my words on paper, but indeed a burden lifted from my soul. I am what they call a fatherless daughter. My mother raised me on her own. Three of us, in fact she had six other children but did not raise them. Her story is a difficult one, she has shared with me the sexual abuse she experienced from both men and women, as a little girl growing up in rural Jamaica and how her past still haunts her. She says the things that she has told me, she’s never shared with anyone. I feel very proud and honoured that she felt she could trust me with her pain. Mommy I love you. Anyway I am not here to tell her story.
My early life has been marred by disappointments in relation to my father. He has never been there for me in anyway shape or form. My first disappointment came one summer. I was around 8. My brother and I were set to go to Westmoreland to stay with my father’s mother. All the children in the community had plans for that summer, (who never did ah guh board the big white bird in the sky did ah guh country ah some relative). Anyway my brother and I were all packed and ready to go. I remember sitting on the bed in my best outfit. My white four sister dress with frills all over. I wore my white patent Mary janes (you remember the ones where if sun ketch it, it bun out yuh wats it not) and my white socks also with frills. We waited and we waited, but only in vain like Bob Marley (cause all nung di man nuh come). I cried so hard, as the promise of a good summer in the country seemed elusive. If memory served me correctly we went the following summer. It was ok, apart from the abuse I also experienced. I had to share a bed with a girl and another child, she had a child I remember. Maybe she was in her late teens early 20’s. I woke up one night to find her hand in my panties. I said nothing, but I remember the following night I protested with regards to sleeping next to her and it didn’t happen again. When my mother recounted her story of being abused by a woman, it shocked me, as women are not often seen as the perpetrators of sexual abuse.
Let us get back to the story at hand. My father continued to prove that he was one who broke promises, a father you couldn’t depend on, just awful. I remember when I started high school, I asked him to help one year with the school fees. After hearing the cost, he told me to boycott the school, as the fees were too high. My mother had to pay these fees, buy books, uniforms and provide lunch money and she never suggested that I should not go to school due to the fees being too high. My father began to see this woman who had a daughter who attended Ardenne high. He came to me boasting how he attended this girl parent teachers meeting (who does that). He’s never been interested in my education, but he represented someone’s daughter as a parent. I began to hate him and consequently began to hate all men. Men are evil, men are only after one thing, you can’t depend on men, they will leave you to do everything on your own. These were some of the things I believed and perhaps though I know that the world is full of wonderful men, deep down because of the entrenched disappointments, a part of me is still cussing men today. I believe that this has influenced my choices, this has caused me to attract men who are incapable of bringing true love to my life.
I am by no means easy to love. I can give my body away (not suggesting that me a free fi all), but not so much my heart. I can be very dismissive of men. I hide my vulnerability and I do not bear my soul. I don’t trust men at all. Therefore, I believe if I were to give my heart, I will only get disappointment and heart ache in return. I have also noticed a pattern with me. I am the first to break off a relationship, even for simple things. Through reflection I realise I am very immature with regards to matters of the heart. Another pattern is that I have been going for men who already have significant others, despite claiming to want a stable long lasting relationship. I have never dated a married man, which essentially is the same thing, but I guess that is an attempt to hold on to what is left of my moral compass in that regard. I believe these patterns are indeed a defence mechanism. Because I have created an image of men being disappointing, men not being there I have started to go for men who can’t be there for me in actuality, as I can’t be the priority if I am not your girlfriend. I can’t be disappointed, as you can’t promise me a future, that will never manifest, as I’m not your girlfriend. You can’t hurt me with your lies, as I am not your girlfriend. I don’t care what you want to do, as I’m not your girlfriend. I usually end relationships during or after Christmas, when I realise that I’m not their girlfriend (ah joke dis).
I can remember two things that my mother appeared to enjoy. She didn’t live a very fun or happy life. In fact, she was always screw face, but I remember on occasion she would love a Red Stripe, not often, but when she indulged she liked it well cold. She also loved the song by Foreigner ‘I want to know what love is’. As a child I didn’t quite get its meaning, but now I know she never knew love, despite the many boyfriends and the two failed marriages (Yes she was married to my father, mi nuh get it either). My question is though my mother and I would want to know what love is, are we able to get past our past and let love in? I really don’t know, but I’m still hopeful, even if it is in my 90’s. As they say, better late than never.
‘This mountain I must climb, feels like the world upon my shoulder,
Through the clouds I see love shine,
It keeps me warm as life grows colder.
In my life, there’s been heart ache and pain,
I don’t know if I can face it again,
Can’t stop now, I’ve travelled so far,
To change this lonely life’