I keep forgetting to let everyone who reads my blog know that I have a Facebook page. Please feel free to check it out. It's mostly just a page to let people know when I have posted a new blog entry. So please check it out and share with your friends.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Addicts-Child/129218913905529
Taya
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
I just want to be pretty inside and out.
"No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they're pretty, even if they aren't." - Marilyn Monroe.
As a child I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm sure all children have this same thought about their mothers. Even when my mother was at her worst in her addiction I thought she was beautiful. I'm sure to an outsider my mother was not ugly but could have been prettier. My mother had her own style which was never in style. She wore her hair in the same feathered mullet fashion from the '80's for most of my childhood. She wore tank tops and sleeveless shirts to show off her tattoos. She favored black eyeliner and Aquanet. Her favorite jacket was leather with fringe all over it. Looking back I guess you could say my mother was a fashion victim but as a child I thought she was gorgeous and I knew I could never be as beautiful as she was. And she made sure that I knew I wasn't beautiful or even pretty. In fact according to my mother I was ugly.
I have no memory of my mother complimenting me on anything. She often made fun of my blonde hair and blue eyes saying I belonged more with Barbie and Ken than with her. I was always told that no one would want some one as ugly as myself. I never understood why she would say these things. It wasn't like I was calling her ugly or anything like that. I longed to be pretty like her. I hated my blonde hair and wished it was the beautiful red that her's was. Even my blue eyes bothered me. My mother has blue eyes as well but says I got mine from my father. There was nothing redeemable about me in my mother's eyes. Because of all the comments about my looks from her I believed it.
I did get compliments from her friends. My mother mostly hung out with men who had a history of drug/alcohol abuse and had been in and out for prison. Most of these men were very racist. Whenever they were over we were not allowed to watch a tv show that had anyone who was not white. These same men praised my blonde hair and blue eyes, calling me the perfect Aryan daughter. Telling me if I ever dated a man that was not white both of us would be killed. My mother tended to agree with them. It was about the only time I remember my mother being happy about the way I looked. I still didn't find solace in this. As a child of a meth addict I felt I already had a sign above my head that told the world what was going on at home. Add to the fact that these men and my mother were using my hair and eye color to make them feel good about their race made it worse. It didn't help that one of her many boyfriends loved calling me beautiful. He used to say I was his California girl. I hated this man. His comments made me uncomfortable. It was only a matter of time before his comments went from innocent to sinister. He was always trying to get me to sit on his lap and told me that wearing pajama pants to bed would hurt my female parts. Needless to say I was molested my this man. After being molested I truly started to feel ugly. I hated the way I looked and felt that it was because of my looks that I was molested. If I didn't have this blonde hair maybe he wouldn't have found me appealing. If I wasn't so slim or if I wasn't so weak this wouldn't have happened.
Even after being removed from my mother's care I struggled with they way I looked. While I was no longer being told I was ugly I was still feeling the effects of those words. I was 12 years old when my mother sent us away. I was about to enter middle school and I was terrified. Having had to grow up at an early age and what not I already longed for a boyfriend. But whenever I saw a cute boy at school my mother's voice rang through my head. And it got worse as the years went on. I got glasses and braces in 7th grade which pretty much sealed my boyfriendless fate. I knew I didn't want to be one of the "popular" girls so I dressed as uniquely as possible. I was loud and rude. I figured if people thought I was ugly I might as well act the part. I did have a few boys in middle school ask me out but I was just as shallow as all the other kids in my school and said no because they didn't look right.
As I entered high school things got a bit better. My freshman year I got my first boyfriend. He was a junior and liked me. Looking back I can see what attracted me to him: he told me I was beautiful. Oh the joy of hearing those words from a boy!!! I was on top of the world. Well at least until my adopted parents found out and promptly disapproved of him. This of course added fuel to my fire. I did everything I could to keep this boyfriend. As an adult I often look back at that relationship and laugh. I can't believe I spent so much time on someone who I didn't really even want to be with and that treated me like a toy. When he broke up with me for not having sex(of course that is not the excuse he gave me) I started thinking again that my mother was right.
Over the years I have had numerous boyfriends. I have put myself in situations where I am dating more than one guy because it made me feel good to be desired by men. For me it was validation that I was pretty and wanted. Of course I never believed them when they would say I was beautiful. I remember one boyfriend would get so mad when I would roll my eyes after he said he thought I was beautiful.
It took a long time but I finally am at a place where I know that my looks don't define who I am. I have an amazing husband who thinks I am beautiful even when I was hugging the toilet during morning sickness. My husband tells me every day that I am beautiful. And while I may not be Hollywood beautiful I am finally ok with that. I tell my daughter everyday that she is beautiful. She has no idea what it means yet but I don't want her to doubt herself the way I did. I want her to grow up being proud of who she is on the inside and outside. I think that's what every little girl needs, just to be told she is beautiful inside and out.
Taya
As a child I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm sure all children have this same thought about their mothers. Even when my mother was at her worst in her addiction I thought she was beautiful. I'm sure to an outsider my mother was not ugly but could have been prettier. My mother had her own style which was never in style. She wore her hair in the same feathered mullet fashion from the '80's for most of my childhood. She wore tank tops and sleeveless shirts to show off her tattoos. She favored black eyeliner and Aquanet. Her favorite jacket was leather with fringe all over it. Looking back I guess you could say my mother was a fashion victim but as a child I thought she was gorgeous and I knew I could never be as beautiful as she was. And she made sure that I knew I wasn't beautiful or even pretty. In fact according to my mother I was ugly.
I have no memory of my mother complimenting me on anything. She often made fun of my blonde hair and blue eyes saying I belonged more with Barbie and Ken than with her. I was always told that no one would want some one as ugly as myself. I never understood why she would say these things. It wasn't like I was calling her ugly or anything like that. I longed to be pretty like her. I hated my blonde hair and wished it was the beautiful red that her's was. Even my blue eyes bothered me. My mother has blue eyes as well but says I got mine from my father. There was nothing redeemable about me in my mother's eyes. Because of all the comments about my looks from her I believed it.
I did get compliments from her friends. My mother mostly hung out with men who had a history of drug/alcohol abuse and had been in and out for prison. Most of these men were very racist. Whenever they were over we were not allowed to watch a tv show that had anyone who was not white. These same men praised my blonde hair and blue eyes, calling me the perfect Aryan daughter. Telling me if I ever dated a man that was not white both of us would be killed. My mother tended to agree with them. It was about the only time I remember my mother being happy about the way I looked. I still didn't find solace in this. As a child of a meth addict I felt I already had a sign above my head that told the world what was going on at home. Add to the fact that these men and my mother were using my hair and eye color to make them feel good about their race made it worse. It didn't help that one of her many boyfriends loved calling me beautiful. He used to say I was his California girl. I hated this man. His comments made me uncomfortable. It was only a matter of time before his comments went from innocent to sinister. He was always trying to get me to sit on his lap and told me that wearing pajama pants to bed would hurt my female parts. Needless to say I was molested my this man. After being molested I truly started to feel ugly. I hated the way I looked and felt that it was because of my looks that I was molested. If I didn't have this blonde hair maybe he wouldn't have found me appealing. If I wasn't so slim or if I wasn't so weak this wouldn't have happened.
Even after being removed from my mother's care I struggled with they way I looked. While I was no longer being told I was ugly I was still feeling the effects of those words. I was 12 years old when my mother sent us away. I was about to enter middle school and I was terrified. Having had to grow up at an early age and what not I already longed for a boyfriend. But whenever I saw a cute boy at school my mother's voice rang through my head. And it got worse as the years went on. I got glasses and braces in 7th grade which pretty much sealed my boyfriendless fate. I knew I didn't want to be one of the "popular" girls so I dressed as uniquely as possible. I was loud and rude. I figured if people thought I was ugly I might as well act the part. I did have a few boys in middle school ask me out but I was just as shallow as all the other kids in my school and said no because they didn't look right.
As I entered high school things got a bit better. My freshman year I got my first boyfriend. He was a junior and liked me. Looking back I can see what attracted me to him: he told me I was beautiful. Oh the joy of hearing those words from a boy!!! I was on top of the world. Well at least until my adopted parents found out and promptly disapproved of him. This of course added fuel to my fire. I did everything I could to keep this boyfriend. As an adult I often look back at that relationship and laugh. I can't believe I spent so much time on someone who I didn't really even want to be with and that treated me like a toy. When he broke up with me for not having sex(of course that is not the excuse he gave me) I started thinking again that my mother was right.
Over the years I have had numerous boyfriends. I have put myself in situations where I am dating more than one guy because it made me feel good to be desired by men. For me it was validation that I was pretty and wanted. Of course I never believed them when they would say I was beautiful. I remember one boyfriend would get so mad when I would roll my eyes after he said he thought I was beautiful.
It took a long time but I finally am at a place where I know that my looks don't define who I am. I have an amazing husband who thinks I am beautiful even when I was hugging the toilet during morning sickness. My husband tells me every day that I am beautiful. And while I may not be Hollywood beautiful I am finally ok with that. I tell my daughter everyday that she is beautiful. She has no idea what it means yet but I don't want her to doubt herself the way I did. I want her to grow up being proud of who she is on the inside and outside. I think that's what every little girl needs, just to be told she is beautiful inside and out.
Taya
Saturday, January 12, 2013
A few days ago I celebrated my 27th birthday. The whole day I wondered if I would hear from my mother. I wasn't really expecting anything from her since she disowned me on Facebook a few months back for calling my adopted mother mom in a picture. So I was surprised when I recieved a text message from my mother at about nine o'clock on the evening of my birthday. The text contained birthday wishes and also a phone number so I can call her "if I want". Those were her words. She had a phone in hand with my number and yet wanted me to call her. I did not call her and my husband and brother agreed with my decision.
I have always been the one that dragged my mother along in our relationship. I have been the one to call or text. She has never put any effort into our relationship. For a long time I was okay with the situation. However in the last few years things have gotten worse. Whenever I get her on the phone she doesn't talk to me, she talks to whoever is in the room with her. She never wants to hear how things are going with me or my family. It is all about her and the people she is with. She thinks I care about people I don't know and have no desire to know.
I have noticed that with my mother's addiction she is very selfish. She expects me to be available when she calls even if it is at midnight. She truly believes that my brother and I are completely devoted to her and will do whatever we can to get her what she wants. I think she still thinks of us as a 6 year old little boy and a 12 year old girl. She really doesn't understand that we are both adults that have our own lives.
I mentioned my mother disowning me a few months back for calling my adopted mother mom in a picture. What is really messed up is that she did it in a very public way on my Facebook page. I really tried to explain that she should only be angry at herself. She is the one that chooses to stay away and not participate in my life. While I don't address my adopted mother, "R", as mom I do call her mom when I am talking to other people about her or share things about her on Facebook. Looking back on my life R has really been a mom to me. We have fought, laughed and cried with each other. She went to my sports games, choir concerts and dance recitals. When my homecoming date senior year ditched me as soon as we got to the dance, R was on the phone the next morning ripping him a new one for making me cry. She has always been there for me when I needed her. We haven't always gotten along but we always try to make an effort to keep our relationship going. She helps me with my daughter when I am sick and watches her so I can work parttime. I will always be grateful for all that R and my adopted father S. They showed me what a family is supposed to be.
And for all these things my mother is jealous. That's the only reason I can think she would disown me and not talk to me. I think another thing is she feels guilty. She knows she should be here with her kids and yet her addiction keeps winning. I hope one day my mother is strong enough to win her battle with alcohol and drugs. I truly believe that she has the strength hidden deep inside of her and if she just tapped into that strength her addiction would not stand a chance.
Taya
I have always been the one that dragged my mother along in our relationship. I have been the one to call or text. She has never put any effort into our relationship. For a long time I was okay with the situation. However in the last few years things have gotten worse. Whenever I get her on the phone she doesn't talk to me, she talks to whoever is in the room with her. She never wants to hear how things are going with me or my family. It is all about her and the people she is with. She thinks I care about people I don't know and have no desire to know.
I have noticed that with my mother's addiction she is very selfish. She expects me to be available when she calls even if it is at midnight. She truly believes that my brother and I are completely devoted to her and will do whatever we can to get her what she wants. I think she still thinks of us as a 6 year old little boy and a 12 year old girl. She really doesn't understand that we are both adults that have our own lives.
I mentioned my mother disowning me a few months back for calling my adopted mother mom in a picture. What is really messed up is that she did it in a very public way on my Facebook page. I really tried to explain that she should only be angry at herself. She is the one that chooses to stay away and not participate in my life. While I don't address my adopted mother, "R", as mom I do call her mom when I am talking to other people about her or share things about her on Facebook. Looking back on my life R has really been a mom to me. We have fought, laughed and cried with each other. She went to my sports games, choir concerts and dance recitals. When my homecoming date senior year ditched me as soon as we got to the dance, R was on the phone the next morning ripping him a new one for making me cry. She has always been there for me when I needed her. We haven't always gotten along but we always try to make an effort to keep our relationship going. She helps me with my daughter when I am sick and watches her so I can work parttime. I will always be grateful for all that R and my adopted father S. They showed me what a family is supposed to be.
And for all these things my mother is jealous. That's the only reason I can think she would disown me and not talk to me. I think another thing is she feels guilty. She knows she should be here with her kids and yet her addiction keeps winning. I hope one day my mother is strong enough to win her battle with alcohol and drugs. I truly believe that she has the strength hidden deep inside of her and if she just tapped into that strength her addiction would not stand a chance.
Taya
Saturday, January 5, 2013
The Monster Strikes
A year ago today my daughter and I were in a grocery store parking lot when the U.S. Marshals showed up to catch a fugitive. The young man they were after decided to use his car as a battering ram so the Marshals were forced to open fire on his vehicle. When all was said and done the young man was dead and I had a bullet hole in my car that could have easily hit my daughter if it had hit the car 12 inches to the right. My inlaws came to pick up the baby while my husband and I stayed behind to give our statements. I was a wreck. I could not stop sobbing and shaking. I was baffled at the reactions of those around me. I felt I was the only who was freaking out. I asked my husband what was wrong with me, was I just overly sensitive to things like that? As he took me in his arms he gently reminded me that because of the violence I lived with as a child I tend to have stronger reactions to it. For days after the shooting I didn't want to leave the house. If a car door slammed I jumped a foot in the air. I was having nightmares so I had trouble sleeping. After about a week I started to calm down. It was then that I realized my husband's words to me were true.
As I have said before when my mother is clean and sober she is a wonderful person. Sadly, most of my life my mother has not been clean and sober. When she is using drugs and alcohol she is a monster. She is violent and uses her words as weapons. No one is safe with her under the influence, not even her children.
My brother and I lived in a constant state of fear. We never knew what would set our mother off. One night I was in the kitchen preparing to make dinner for all of us. I had the skillet on the burner as it heated up for hamburger. I'm not sure exactly what happened but the next thing I knew my mother was screaming at me. I tried to figure out what was going on while at the same time trying to make sure my mother's attention stayed on me. She kept screaming and yelling at me for things I had no control over or that I didn't do. Out of nowhere she started hitting me. I learned early on never to try to fight back or defend myself too much. That would just spur her on. So I just took the beating. At some point she grabbed the skillet off the stove and threw it at the wall opposite the stove. It hit the wall then the floor landing right side up. As my mother continued to rage I tried to calm her down. At this point she grabbed me by the hair and threw me across the room. I hit the wall and when I landed on the floor my hand came down inside the skillet. It was still hot from the stove and immediatly gave me blisters on my palm. As I grabbed my hand I cried to my mother I was burnt. She kept screaming she didn't care and that I did it to myself. I kept asking her to stop and to help me but my mother had been replaced by a monster. She screamed at me to get out. To leave and she didn't care where I went. All the while my little brother was sitting on the couch in the living room. He was quiet through the whole thing. Probably hoping the monster in the kitchen would run out of steam before she noticed him there. As I tried to get the pain in my hand under control my mother kept screaming at me to get out. That she didn't want me anymore and that she never did. The only thing to do was leave. If I stayed she might have killed me. So I went to the one place I knew I could go, the neighbors. Their daughter was my best friend and they knew what happened in our house. I ran over there to find my best friend's grandma home alone. She let me in and asked what happened. I told her I burned myself but I needed to get my brother. She put some burn creme on my hand and that was when I hear more screaming from my house. It was my mother again only this time the screaming was directed at my brother. As I got out the front door I saw my little brother running down the street away from me with no shoes on. He had no idea where I was so he made for his dad's house down the street. I managed to grab him and take him to the neighbors with me. The grandma would not let me go check on my mother no matter how much I begged. Even at the age of 11 years old I already knew that there was a difference between my mother and the monster that threw us out of the house. I knew that drugs and alcohol made my mother crazy.
A few hours later my friend came home with her parents. When they heard what happened they decided we were staying the night and sent their oldest son next door to make sure my mother was at least alive. He found her laying in the hallway passed out. He moved her to bed and let her know where her children were. The next morning she came to get us. Naturally my brother and I were iffy on going near her but when I looked into her eyes I saw no trace of the monster from last night. My mother seemed remorseful about what happened the previous night. She cried when she saw my hand and apologized. She hugged and kissed my brother and I. Just like that things were back to what they were. The monster was sleeping again.
This is just one story of many. The monster showed up at least once a week, sometimes more. I never felt safe with my mother because she fed the monster. It is because of these acts of violence against myself and my brother I react the way I do to it. I still suffer flashback nightmares of the things my mother has done to me or my brother. When I was in my early twenties I decided to get some help and talk to someone about all this. I was told I suffer from mild PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This is the same things soldiers suffer from when they come home from war. I never thought that it was something I could have. I've never been to war or saw anything overly traumatic. However it was explained to me that my childhood is considered traumatic and therefore it is not surprising I would still feel the affects into adulthood. Since I was told about PTSD I have done my best to try to control it. I did not want it to rule my life.
I can proudly say that I don't have nightmares every night. Not even once a month anymore. Last year's shooting caused nightmares for a while but that was the exception and not the norm. This is the reason I am telling my story. I want people to know just how far addiction reaches. I have not seen my mother in 12 years and haven't been under her care in 15. Yet I still have to live with the aftermath of the first 12 years of my life. I may not be able to change that period of time in my life but I can change how it affects me. I want people to know that children of addicts need just as much help as the addict themselves. Just as much love and support in the many years it takes to heal.
Taya
As I have said before when my mother is clean and sober she is a wonderful person. Sadly, most of my life my mother has not been clean and sober. When she is using drugs and alcohol she is a monster. She is violent and uses her words as weapons. No one is safe with her under the influence, not even her children.
My brother and I lived in a constant state of fear. We never knew what would set our mother off. One night I was in the kitchen preparing to make dinner for all of us. I had the skillet on the burner as it heated up for hamburger. I'm not sure exactly what happened but the next thing I knew my mother was screaming at me. I tried to figure out what was going on while at the same time trying to make sure my mother's attention stayed on me. She kept screaming and yelling at me for things I had no control over or that I didn't do. Out of nowhere she started hitting me. I learned early on never to try to fight back or defend myself too much. That would just spur her on. So I just took the beating. At some point she grabbed the skillet off the stove and threw it at the wall opposite the stove. It hit the wall then the floor landing right side up. As my mother continued to rage I tried to calm her down. At this point she grabbed me by the hair and threw me across the room. I hit the wall and when I landed on the floor my hand came down inside the skillet. It was still hot from the stove and immediatly gave me blisters on my palm. As I grabbed my hand I cried to my mother I was burnt. She kept screaming she didn't care and that I did it to myself. I kept asking her to stop and to help me but my mother had been replaced by a monster. She screamed at me to get out. To leave and she didn't care where I went. All the while my little brother was sitting on the couch in the living room. He was quiet through the whole thing. Probably hoping the monster in the kitchen would run out of steam before she noticed him there. As I tried to get the pain in my hand under control my mother kept screaming at me to get out. That she didn't want me anymore and that she never did. The only thing to do was leave. If I stayed she might have killed me. So I went to the one place I knew I could go, the neighbors. Their daughter was my best friend and they knew what happened in our house. I ran over there to find my best friend's grandma home alone. She let me in and asked what happened. I told her I burned myself but I needed to get my brother. She put some burn creme on my hand and that was when I hear more screaming from my house. It was my mother again only this time the screaming was directed at my brother. As I got out the front door I saw my little brother running down the street away from me with no shoes on. He had no idea where I was so he made for his dad's house down the street. I managed to grab him and take him to the neighbors with me. The grandma would not let me go check on my mother no matter how much I begged. Even at the age of 11 years old I already knew that there was a difference between my mother and the monster that threw us out of the house. I knew that drugs and alcohol made my mother crazy.
A few hours later my friend came home with her parents. When they heard what happened they decided we were staying the night and sent their oldest son next door to make sure my mother was at least alive. He found her laying in the hallway passed out. He moved her to bed and let her know where her children were. The next morning she came to get us. Naturally my brother and I were iffy on going near her but when I looked into her eyes I saw no trace of the monster from last night. My mother seemed remorseful about what happened the previous night. She cried when she saw my hand and apologized. She hugged and kissed my brother and I. Just like that things were back to what they were. The monster was sleeping again.
This is just one story of many. The monster showed up at least once a week, sometimes more. I never felt safe with my mother because she fed the monster. It is because of these acts of violence against myself and my brother I react the way I do to it. I still suffer flashback nightmares of the things my mother has done to me or my brother. When I was in my early twenties I decided to get some help and talk to someone about all this. I was told I suffer from mild PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This is the same things soldiers suffer from when they come home from war. I never thought that it was something I could have. I've never been to war or saw anything overly traumatic. However it was explained to me that my childhood is considered traumatic and therefore it is not surprising I would still feel the affects into adulthood. Since I was told about PTSD I have done my best to try to control it. I did not want it to rule my life.
I can proudly say that I don't have nightmares every night. Not even once a month anymore. Last year's shooting caused nightmares for a while but that was the exception and not the norm. This is the reason I am telling my story. I want people to know just how far addiction reaches. I have not seen my mother in 12 years and haven't been under her care in 15. Yet I still have to live with the aftermath of the first 12 years of my life. I may not be able to change that period of time in my life but I can change how it affects me. I want people to know that children of addicts need just as much help as the addict themselves. Just as much love and support in the many years it takes to heal.
Taya
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Upcoming Posts!!!!
I'm sorry but I won't really be posting much the next few days. I will be working on a post. I'm spending the time I would be blogging doing research. This idea has been stewing in my mind the last few days and I really want to do it justice. It is a subject that I feel is often overlooked when dealing with a child of an addict. I'm very excited about sharing this information with you all!!!
Have a wonderful few days!!!!! See you soon!!!!!
Taya
Have a wonderful few days!!!!! See you soon!!!!!
Taya
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
My Mother in Me
My almost 18 month old daughter loves to brush my hair. She's not very good at it yet and tends to smack me in the head more than actually brushing. She gets so excited when she does get it right and manages to brush my hair. She is all giggles, smiles and kisses. Whenever I am getting ready for the day I put the baby gate in the bathroom doorway and she hangs out while I do my hair and make up. I teasure those times with her because they are the same things I loved doing with my mother.
While there are a lot of negative memories and feelings associated with my mother there are a few good memories I hold onto. I loved when my mother would hold still and let me play with her hair. That's how I learned to braid. I would love fixing her hair into whatever crazy hairstyle I could think up. What I really loved was the fact that she was sitting there just for me. That she wanted me to be by her and to love on her. When she used to do her make up and hair I would sit on the edge of the tub and watch. I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole world and when she got dolled up no Hollywood starlet looked better in my eyes. These are some of my favorite memories because they are peaceful. And they are one of the few memories of my mother and I spending mother/daughter time together. Most of the time, due to my mother's addiction, I was acting as the parent or the best friend. I love the memories of my mother letting me be a daughter most. They are few.
I love that I now get to experience the mother/daughter relationship in a new way. I get to be the mother this time and I am cherishing every minute of it. My daughter brings a smile to my face every day. She is growing so fast. Even at such a young age my daughter has developed a beautiful personality. I can't wait to see the type of woman she grows up to be. I know that I won't be a perfect parent because there is no perfect parent. I will however do my very best to be the best parent I can be. And when mistakes are made they will be my own and not my mother's.
Taya
While there are a lot of negative memories and feelings associated with my mother there are a few good memories I hold onto. I loved when my mother would hold still and let me play with her hair. That's how I learned to braid. I would love fixing her hair into whatever crazy hairstyle I could think up. What I really loved was the fact that she was sitting there just for me. That she wanted me to be by her and to love on her. When she used to do her make up and hair I would sit on the edge of the tub and watch. I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole world and when she got dolled up no Hollywood starlet looked better in my eyes. These are some of my favorite memories because they are peaceful. And they are one of the few memories of my mother and I spending mother/daughter time together. Most of the time, due to my mother's addiction, I was acting as the parent or the best friend. I love the memories of my mother letting me be a daughter most. They are few.
I love that I now get to experience the mother/daughter relationship in a new way. I get to be the mother this time and I am cherishing every minute of it. My daughter brings a smile to my face every day. She is growing so fast. Even at such a young age my daughter has developed a beautiful personality. I can't wait to see the type of woman she grows up to be. I know that I won't be a perfect parent because there is no perfect parent. I will however do my very best to be the best parent I can be. And when mistakes are made they will be my own and not my mother's.
Taya
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Another Year and Still no Mother
Today is the start of another year. A chance to start over and achieve your goals. This year I have resolved to get more organized in my home and to get my family finances under control. While I'm making these goals I wonder if my mother made any resolutions this year and what they are. The more I think on it the more I wonder when was the last time my mother set a goal for herself.
I don't want to come off as a goal oriented person. I tended to set the bar really low for myself just so I don't have to feel the sting of failure. Growing up with my mother I learned how to get by on the bare minimum. She did not graduate from high school and did not encourage my education. I pretty much dropped out of school halfway through fifth grade. I felt the need to stay home with my brother to make sure he was ok. I remember a truant officer was looking for me and my mother enouraged me to not answer the door or phone just in case. She collected welfare and did not have any ambition to get an actual job. Why work when the state will pay enough to keep us alive? I did not learn anything about goal setting or wanting to acheive anything greater in my life. I knew I did not want to turn out like my mom but that was it. I thought I would be considered a success if I didn't get pregnant in high school and I stayed drug free. I managed only the former.
It wasn't until after my brother and I were removed from our mother's care did I learn to set and achieve goals. My adopted parents challenged me to be more than I was. They wouldn't let me get away with the bare minimum because they knew I could achieve more than that. At the time I thought it was harsh to expect me to get mostly A's and B's in school. Looking back though if I had just taken some pride in what I was doing and applied myself it would have been easy. My adopted parents set goals for me not to see me fail but challenge me to be better than I was and to set goals for myself. I have achieved only one goal I have set for myself: graduate from high school without a baby. I haven't set any goals for myself beyond that. I have worked jobs I hated just because they were entry level and paid my bills. I have dated men that I knew I had no future with but justified it as love. I have been in unhealthy relationships simply because I had no desire for anything more. I have spent my whole life surviving on the bare minimum. That will be changing.
I am choosing this year to no longer allow myself to be hindered by fear of success. I will better my living situation and my families by going back to school and take it seriously. I will get my home under my control and spend more time outside the home as a family. My mom did not instill in me the qualities I want my daughter to have. It will be hard for me to change how I choose to live but I am determined. I want my daughter to achieve her dreams whatever they may be. I will encourage her in everything she does. I never got any encouragement from my mother. She has told me a few times she is proud of my achievements but she never made a point to be there to witness them. I wish she would have been there at my graduation. Or at the birth of my first child. Or when I married the man I had been waiting my whole life for. She knew about these things well in advance and still made no effort to be a part of them other than telling me she was proud.
One final goal I am choosing to set this year is to change the view I have on the relationship with my mother. So often I dwell on what she missed in my life. The years that we have not seen each other. This year I want to focus on the time we have left. My mother is at a point in her addiction I can see it killing her. I hope and pray that she will get help before then and we can work on repairing our relationship. There are many things I know I can still learn from her but that will not happen while she is still a practicing addict. So this year I look forward to the future in hopes of seeing my mother healthy again. I know it's a long shot and I won't get my hopes too high. I just want to take this moment in the ephoria of the new year to dream of what could be.
Happy New Year to all of you. Hope the new year brings much love and joy your way.
Taya
I don't want to come off as a goal oriented person. I tended to set the bar really low for myself just so I don't have to feel the sting of failure. Growing up with my mother I learned how to get by on the bare minimum. She did not graduate from high school and did not encourage my education. I pretty much dropped out of school halfway through fifth grade. I felt the need to stay home with my brother to make sure he was ok. I remember a truant officer was looking for me and my mother enouraged me to not answer the door or phone just in case. She collected welfare and did not have any ambition to get an actual job. Why work when the state will pay enough to keep us alive? I did not learn anything about goal setting or wanting to acheive anything greater in my life. I knew I did not want to turn out like my mom but that was it. I thought I would be considered a success if I didn't get pregnant in high school and I stayed drug free. I managed only the former.
It wasn't until after my brother and I were removed from our mother's care did I learn to set and achieve goals. My adopted parents challenged me to be more than I was. They wouldn't let me get away with the bare minimum because they knew I could achieve more than that. At the time I thought it was harsh to expect me to get mostly A's and B's in school. Looking back though if I had just taken some pride in what I was doing and applied myself it would have been easy. My adopted parents set goals for me not to see me fail but challenge me to be better than I was and to set goals for myself. I have achieved only one goal I have set for myself: graduate from high school without a baby. I haven't set any goals for myself beyond that. I have worked jobs I hated just because they were entry level and paid my bills. I have dated men that I knew I had no future with but justified it as love. I have been in unhealthy relationships simply because I had no desire for anything more. I have spent my whole life surviving on the bare minimum. That will be changing.
I am choosing this year to no longer allow myself to be hindered by fear of success. I will better my living situation and my families by going back to school and take it seriously. I will get my home under my control and spend more time outside the home as a family. My mom did not instill in me the qualities I want my daughter to have. It will be hard for me to change how I choose to live but I am determined. I want my daughter to achieve her dreams whatever they may be. I will encourage her in everything she does. I never got any encouragement from my mother. She has told me a few times she is proud of my achievements but she never made a point to be there to witness them. I wish she would have been there at my graduation. Or at the birth of my first child. Or when I married the man I had been waiting my whole life for. She knew about these things well in advance and still made no effort to be a part of them other than telling me she was proud.
One final goal I am choosing to set this year is to change the view I have on the relationship with my mother. So often I dwell on what she missed in my life. The years that we have not seen each other. This year I want to focus on the time we have left. My mother is at a point in her addiction I can see it killing her. I hope and pray that she will get help before then and we can work on repairing our relationship. There are many things I know I can still learn from her but that will not happen while she is still a practicing addict. So this year I look forward to the future in hopes of seeing my mother healthy again. I know it's a long shot and I won't get my hopes too high. I just want to take this moment in the ephoria of the new year to dream of what could be.
Happy New Year to all of you. Hope the new year brings much love and joy your way.
Taya
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