Browsing Date

July 2012

Childcare Horrors, Your Stories

My Niece Attacked My Child

July 31, 2012 • By

Childcare Horror

I used to have my always, last minute prepared, gem of a baby sitter watch my children.  Our regular sitter was sick so my sister Denise helped me out again because I had to go to work.  Denise called me at work to tell me that my son would not quiet down and wanted some suggestions on how to calm him down.  That was a first.  Denise dealt with screaming kids all day at her in home daycare.  I asked to speak with my son C.J.  He was only 3 years-old and not too happy about leaving me or my husband Jim’s side anyway.  Denise put my son on the phone and he did quiet down enough for me tell him I would take him for ice cream if he was a good boy.  It did not work.  C.J. started crying again as soon as my sister took back the phone.  Feeling a little anxious about my baby, I decided to leave work early. 

I got to my sister’s house, C.J. ran up to meet me with his arms held out, and I extended my arms out to pick him up.  I got all my children in the car and strapped C.J. in his car seat.  My son was so happy to see me that nothing else really mattered.  I really needed to get C.J. and the girls home.  Denise came out to meet me and reported that C.J. did eventually calm down and spent the rest of the afternoon in her arms.  I thought that was strange and later found out why.

          On the drive home, I was pondering what I would make for dinner.  As soon as I got in the door, I handed the baby off to Jim who made it home before I did.  He went to change C.J.’s diaper.  I put on my flats and went to the kitchen.  I had barely started retrieving food from the refrigerator when I heard my husband shouting my name, “Trudy!”  I ran to the baby’s room and was horrified at the sight.  The tears just streamed as I saw my son’s thighs red, black and blue.  He had obviously been spanked.  But this was not a regular spanking.  C.J. had been beaten.  My husband demanded an explanation that I couldn’t give.

(Continue reading in the book When Family Does You Wrong).

Forgiveness & Healing, Unresolved, Your Stories

Between Mothers and Daughters

July 20, 2012 • By

Between Mothers and Daughters

Mothers and Daughters
Cross posted from The BWE Bloggersphere™ 
It’s difficult to say when the love/hate relationship began; but it appeared too soon for my liking. From the time I felt you shutter within me until the day we moved to the same city of your birth father, my love for you seemed flawless. Family Night Fridays, Girls-In-Action, and watching Louisiana cooking shows, life seemed so simple. Your silly laugh and awesome jokes made us gut-laugh. Who could have predicted our paths would come to such a crossroad of heightened emotions and estrangement.
I could sense a change in our relationship as adolescence morphed into teen years. You pressed for more freedom; and I held on tighter wanting to protect your innocence from the cruelty I knew awaiting fresh souls. The more I held on the more you pushed. The more I pushed, the more you resisted. That is symptomatic of the relationship between mothers and daughters.

Sitting in the family room watching Jerry Lewis movies and enjoying the sounds of laughter between a mother and daughter. The joy and carefree spirits of girls who didn’t have a worry in the world. However, as a mother I knew that time would soon pass; but for the moment, innocence belonged to us. Very few arguments, disagreements, or power struggles–just freedom to live a life without worry.

Now, our relationship has changed and in a way that is not becoming of a mother and daughter. Past maternal relationships did not provide answers to struggles of new motherhood. Motherhood was by default without plans. Each day was a struggle to figure out the correct direction to happiness. Many times the plans were horrendously wrong and recovery sluggishly slowed.

Sometimes falling upon unwilling ears with humming sounds, motherly advice drowned out. The smacking of lips and the rolling of eyes, youthful responses interpreted as defiance. Neither party willing to compromise–motherhood trumped the maturing of youth.

The tug of war between mothers and daughters can be exhausting,sometimes leaving bitterness and regret. Mothers have no time to be their daughters’ best friends when working hard to teach them how to survive in a cruel and unconcerned world. Friendship follows emotional and psychological maturity.

Mothers learn from their mothers or motherly figures. Some mothers never talked about their childhoods or their relationships with husbands or the fathers of their children. When daughters witness their mothers’ bitterness and disdain for life resulting in those mothers striking out at their children, an indelible emotional mark is left. For this reason, reminding daughters of their resemblance of their fathers leaves them recipients of frequent beatings. Nonetheless, some daughters will love their mothers because both need love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There would be no lessons on love or how to properly vet men. Men showed up either unannounced or spontaneously interjected into children’s lives. Some were nice; but many were not. Affection wasn’t part of her personality—no hugging, kissing, lying of the head on her lap. Some mothers seem emotionally frozen. Children sensed something was amiss; but as children knowledge and understanding was limited. They could feel their mother’s internal darkness and pain and wanted to shoulder it, which would happen in due time. So, when some children become mothers they vow to be a more affectionate, caring, and tolerant. In the eyes of their daughters, it appears mothers have failed miserably.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sympathy isn’t on the menu. Investigating the causes of the rift between mothers and daughters is the key to this mystery. Watching other mothers and daughters getting along so well—close and seemingly best friends makes it much harder not to feel guilty. Why can those mothers and daughters love each other unconditionally when the love between some mothers and seem so cold and distant? Where did they go wrong? When did the spiral into disdain begin?

Mothers & Doughter

Most mothers desire the best for their daughters—to be more successful, beautiful, and married to awesome men. Most mothers pray fervently that their daughters will be blessed with excellent health, great and trustworthy friends, and long life. Most mothers would sacrifice their lives for their daughters to have the love of a man who would walk on hot coals or die in battle. If the sun and moon never shown again, most mothers would bear the pain of labor just to relive the placing of their newborn daughters upon their breasts. I am such a mother.

Mothers and Doughters

Sadness weighs heavy upon many mothers, especially when witnessing their daughter’s tragic relationships. It doesn’t matter how old a daughter gets she will remain her mother’s baby girl. When her daughter is hurt, the mother lion will seek and destroy whatever or whoever is the perpetrator. However, the more mothers fight for the right to love their daughters; there are some daughters who resist that protection at every turn. It is deemed meddling or an attempt to control their daughters’ lives. From a mother’s point of view, it is the deepest love we have and the costs we are willing to pay to ensure our daughters have a better life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The journey into adulthood is never easy. Life can beat and abuse the strongest person. No motherly protection will make a difference when life has other plans for her daughters. Yet, the path on which mothers and daughters take can be taken either in tandem or in solo. It’s up to the attitude of the individuals whether they want to walk life alone or share the burdens.

Mother DoughterMother and daughter relationships can be repaired in time; but it’s a partnership. It only takes one to cross the line of reconciliation. Again, it’s a partnership. It’s okay to step back and heal one’s self. However, to allow too much time to pass increases the opportunity for the wedge to grow wider and deeper leaving the opportunity for years of lost love.

There is a rivalry between mothers and daughters; and many are in denial. Sometimes the daughter wants what the mother has and vice versa. This is normal. It’s only abnormal when this competition causes deep pain and suffering. It’s time to investigate and resolve issues hindering relationships between mothers and daughters.

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Girls TakingIt’s a fickle thought how some daughters accept advice from another daughter’s mother; yet, complain about the advice of their own mother. All daughters experience this period of exploring the wisdom beyond their own mothers. Mothers offer wisdom to other daughters who are more receptive, praying secretly their daughters have overheard their advice. What a crazy game played between mothers and daughters. So difficult. So time consuming.

Many daughters cringe when people tell them how much they look like their mothers. Many daughters cringe when people tell them what a wonderful mother they have. Many daughters get irritated when told their mother is gorgeous. Many daughters profess to never want to be anything like their mothers. Unfortunately, the mirror reminds daughters their mother is within them no matter how hard they pray to look, talk, and walk differently. Mirrors never lie.

Someday some daughters will become mothers, too. The cycle will begin again with the lying of her baby upon her breast. Hopefully, through love and understanding the bond will remain beyond death.


Read more from Clarissa BurtonQueen Of The Pen™

Severing Ties or Severely Limiting Contact, The Unthinkable

Ultimate Betrayal of Love and Trust

July 20, 2012 • By

CrossGirl With Curly Hair posted from Robyn Murray’s gohomeubb ~ life in Oz blog.

My adoptive family was a quirky, mixed bunch from various backgrounds – four adopted kids with working class parents and one much older, natural daughter to my mother. We went through a series of foster kids, pets, renovations, above ground pools and complete re-purposing of everything in the backyard with the exception of dad’s shed in our early years. My mum had such a generous heart; she was capable, gregarious and very often found to be the life of the party. When she was angry, boy, did we cop it! My mum was passionate and she cared. My dad was a motor mechanic and he drank Carlton Draught; we used to stack the empty beer bottles by the side of the red-brick housing commission place we called home for the first 15 years of my life. I don’t know where mum and dad lived before that, but they moved into our house around about the time they got me from the adoption agency.

Apparently I was only nine days old when they took me home from the hospital and as lazy as I was I never put any effort into making sure I was fed or changed, rarely crying out to get attention. Apparently, I just lay there peacefully, waiting.

The most delightful thing I remember from my early years was my nana on my mother’s side. I thought she was the best thing since sliced bread! She lived with us for a few years and she was blind as a result of diabetes. Once I actually saw her getting her insulin shot – put me off needles for life. Anyway, I learnt to read just as soon as my sister went off to school. I would listen in as she practised her ABC’s, plus my favourite pre-school TV show was University Challenge (which must have scared my mum a bit) and it didn’t take me long to figure out how it all worked. You see, I was determined to learn to read as soon as possible so that I could read the paper to my nana. Years ago, when she was younger she ran a boarding house for jockeys and she still loved to bet on the horses.

My favourite memories of nana involve me sitting on her lap reading the form guide out loud, she would place her bets over the telephone just minutes before we listened to the races being called on the radio; sometimes cheering, sometimes disappointed. The thing is, she had this bee in her bonnet about Harry White – who turned out to be a great jockey – but my nana, oh she had it in for him. Every time I found myself looking at the name H. White on the form guide for the next race, I would giggle and squirm and eventually get myself under control and announce, “And the jockey is….H. White!” At this point my nana would put on a very high-pitched voice and say “that bloody Harry White he couldn’t lie straight in his bed!” Too funny. It was like pressing a button – it played out pretty much the same way every time.

For many years I held this bizarre image in my mind of this small man in brightly coloured riding silks who couldn’t straighten out his crooked body because he spent too much time riding horses. The memories became so much more heart-warming after I finally figured out what she was really saying about him :-) What a funny lady!

My nana was my protector and for the most part I loved and respected her deeply. Although, occasionally I would try out something quite naughty and I can remember just how ashamed I was at those times to have disappointed her; how afraid I was that we might not end up being close anymore. Eventually though, her health was failing and we were getting too many kids for the house, so she moved to the Blind Institute. We used to go there and visit on the odd weekend. My little brother and I were intrigued by the pedestrian crossing with the tick- tick-tick sound to alert the blind people as to when it was safe to cross the street. The last time we visited nana she told mum that she could actually see us, she looked at each of us and made a personal comment and she was so happy and shining that I am glad to remember her that way. My nana passed away a very short time after that last visit. My mum was devastated. I still miss her.

Around this time, my mum and I had to spend a lot of time together due to the demands of my dance training. My older sister was focussed on swimming so my dad would take her along to training. Whenever possible, mum would arrange to spend time with my sister and I would attempt to help dad with whatever he was doing; such as servicing cars at the workshop, cleaning banks, reading the paper (I never could get it through my head that the newspaper wasn’t mine), watching the motor racing on TV, etc.

I would have been around seven or eight years old when he called me into the bathroom that first time and locked the doors and showed me what I had to do. It was completely surreal, I said no a lot and cried, but I was so scared of how different he was that I tried my hardest not to make him any angrier. To try and understand what he wanted so it could end quickly. But I couldn’t understand; why was he shaking so much? Why is he squeezing my hand so tightly? I seriously had no clue what was going on as he tried so many different things, then he would say “no, no good” or something like that and try some new configuration of our bodies always centred around some part of my body in contact with his penis – none of which seemed to make him happy. The tiled floor was cold and it hurt so much and I was so angry and heartbroken – I did not know why this happened. When he finally said that I could go, he pulled my arm in tight and said in a low voice “if you tell anyone about this, ever, I will kill you”.

Continue Reading

Severing Ties or Severely Limiting Contact, The Unthinkable, Unresolved, Your Stories

I Just Want My Babies

July 19, 2012 • By

Lonely womanMy name is Terrina Williams.  When I was 15, I became pregnant.  My mom was so angry when she found out at 4 weeks.  The father was a guy at school who was clueless about life.  His parents wanted me to get an abortion and be done with it.  My mother agreed with them and dragged me off to the clinic to have it done.  I begged her not to make me do it, but to no avail.  I went into that cold place with those cold people.  Nobody cared that I was crying.  I was told to get undressed and given a gown.  Mom turned on me and didn’t care that I was scared.  She just told me to take my lumps and pay for trying to ruin her life.  Ruin her life? I would not understand that comment until much later.  I endured a painful procedure and was told to get up and get dressed as if nothing had happened.  They had just killed my baby.

I couldn’t sleep and I had nightmares.  I could not talk to mom about anything which is why I went right back into the father’s arms.  In a few months, I was pregnant again.  I told my mom who proceeded to slap me near senseless.  I got a speech about how much she gave up to raise me alone and I was not doing this to her again.  I was dumbfounded and told my mom that she could not make me get another abortion.  She told me that I was getting one and that was all there was to it.  She made the appointment and I went quietly.  When we went inside the clinic this time, I cooperated until I saw the same cold doctor who killed my first baby.  I screamed and made such a scene that he ordered me out of the room and the clinic.  I was happy and relieved, but my mom had a plan for me.  Later that evening, my mom told me that I was going to stay with some people who could help me.  I didn’t know who, it didn’t make sense but I thought she had relented and accepted that I was going to have a baby.  I wanted my baby so I was happy to go anywhere.  I spent the next few months at home, but one day I had a plane ticket to Salt Lake City, Utah, waiting for me.  I had to leave school, pack some clothes and get on that plane.

(Continue reading in the book When Family Does You Wrong).

Severing Ties or Severely Limiting Contact, Your Stories

My Family Ran Off My Boyfriend

July 19, 2012 • By

Bored Young Woman Stirring CoffeeMy name is Selena G. About 20 years ago, I had a white boyfriend named Matt Z. We loved each other very much and I could see us married. My parents and brother did not like him from the start and always gave me a hard time about him. I should not have been surprised because in my home there was always hatred of white people.

 When I came home from college, I happen to run into Matt who was a classmate in high school. We were not friends or anything but we did know each other. He invited me for a quick coffee and I accepted. We started talking and I found him to be quite pleasant. All the warnings as a youngster growing up never allowed me to even consider dating a white guy. Matt was so nice that I was intrigued and found myself wanting to talk longer, but I had to go. Matt gave me his phone number and I put it in my purse. I actually forgot about it for weeks and when cleaning out my purse, I found it.


     I gave Matt a call and he sounded really excited to hear from me. He invited me out to dinner and that was the beginning of our tabooed relationship. I told Matt that my family did not care for white people but it was my life and they would just have to accept him. His family on the other hand was great. After a few dates, he took me home to meet them. His mom greeted me with a kiss and hug. His father complimented me on how pretty he thought I was. I was floored because growing up I never thought I would meet white people so kind outside of those faking it at work or school. It was easy to fall in love with Matt.

     I had to eventually take Matt home to meet my folks. They wanted to meet the man responsible for my constant smiles and who was taking all my spare time. I had shared with my sister, but did not tell my father, mother or brother that Matt was white. All I could do was pray that they would be on their best behavior. When Matt showed up for dinner, I greeted him at the door. My family stood there in shock for a minute when he came in. And then my father snapped “Oh Hell No!” I thought I had prepared Matt, but even I was taken aback by his reaction. I pleaded with him to understand that Matt was good to me and that I really loved him. My brother jumped up and got into Matt’s face. I had to step in between them. My brother yelled all kinds of obscenities and my father joined in with him. They didn’t care that my four and five year-old nieces heard every word before my sister could scurry them out. My mother was upset with me, but she did try to calm my father and brother down and get control.

     In tears, I apologized and suggested that Matt just leave. Matt was in mid-sentence attempting to tell my folks how much he really loved me and out of nowhere, my brother just decked him. Matt fell backwards with a bloody nose. After threatening to call the police on my brother, I gave Matt a towel and helped him to his car. All the while, we could hear them talking about that white boy in our house. I apologized again to Matt and sent him on his way. He told me it was okay and that he would call me later. Matt did not want to pursue charges against my brother, so I let him drive off. When I got back into the house, everything I could muster from my 22-year-old mouth came out. It was a shouting match to the finish and I went toe to toe with my father. He applauded my brother for being a coward when he punched Matt. I refused to say another word to my brother in protest. In the end, my dad won as he planted a guilt trip on me that I found myself buying. I cried the entire night.

     Matt and I went out again, and I thought I could redeem my family. But it was not to be. He actually proposed marriage and wanted to take me away. Matt was not used to that kind of violent reaction from anyone. I told him that I couldn’t cut my family out of my life like that. So, we ended our relationship right there. That was a decision I would regret for the rest of my life.

     I went home to languish in my misery. My father and brother would bring up that white boy from time to time and remind me that I was never to even think about getting with one. I remained silent for years. Even after graduating and moving out, I allowed that control to guide my relationships. I went out with all kinds of black men. Some were educated, some were not. Some were good and some were bad. Some had good jobs, some didn’t work at all. My folks didn’t care as long as he was black. By then, my sister confided that she made the mistake of having two babies with black men who were both losers and would have gladly traded places with me and Matt. She listened to my parents and chose bad black men, but she was so young and didn’t understand that she could have had a future with a good man and was now stuck as a single mom with neither of her children’s fathers involved.  My parents don’t even care that my sister did not get married; they just didn’t want us with anyone but a black man. Who cares if he didn’t have goals, or a means to support his children? He just better be black – good guy, bad guy or indifferent. My sister told me I should have fought for Matt and if that meant never speaking to my parents and brother again then so be it.

     Over the years, I stopped dating completely and except for my sister, I started seeing my family less and less. I wanted to be alone but not lonely. I was still hurting from my decision to choose my hateful family over someone who was the love of my life. A few years ago, I saw Matt at the mall. I went up to him and said hello. He gave me a big hug and introduced me to his lovely black wife and beautiful children. They looked so happy. For the longest time I thought, “That could have been me!” I was again filled with regret. I should have married him and left my family behind for the benefit of my future happiness. There is just no other way around it. Matt loved me and I could have been married with my own family today.

     It took years, but after a few sessions with a relationship coach, I slowly came around. My confidence level is higher now and at 43, I can still look forward to finding love with a man who loves me; and maybe even having a family. I now know it is never too late to find a good man and be happy. I don’t know what race my husband will be, but if he is not black, I am totally prepared to leave my family in the dust as they have not changed. I allowed them to rob me once; they will not do it again.

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