Rejection as a Child
June 9, 2022
Good morning God. I feel great this morning. Yesterday’s writings were intense. I read my Dear God letters to Terri. And I could not stop crying. I had to breathe in and out and pause for a few minutes to center myself. Because my emotions were all over the place, I felt sadness in my heart for my parents. I know my mother was an atheist or agnostic. She didn’t believe in you. She died without watching her children grow up except Sunflower and Crystal. She did not know much about me. My mother decided to allow the adoption to go through with a foster mother named Peggy. I think I was fifteen years old. Of course, it broke my heart that my own mother gave me a way to strangers. My father also signed the documents to be adopted I felt rejection. I felt like a lost girl, Peggy was a friendly and loving woman, and she was willing to adopt me. I didn’t like that idea. Department of Youth Services placed me in Peggie’s home.
The courts had another idea they didn’t want me with my mother or father. The courts were protecting me from any more trauma. They knew my mother was an alcoholic who physically hurt us. And my dad placed scars on my head and heart when he started to abuse me when I was a little girl sexually. I was six years old. I numbed myself when my father would have me rub his penis. I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to look at him. He took my hand and made me touch him. I didn’t feel safe anymore. I started to hate my father for touching my vagina. I began to disassociate from all the abuse.
Today I know none of the abuse was my fault. My mother would say, “I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”. I was terrified of my mother and was grateful that I wasn’t going home to my ma (mom). She was vindictive, and she told me that she was going to tie my tubes up. Years later, I realized she didn’t want me to have children. My mother always found a way to hurt me.
Well, this was an intense morning. But I need my thoughts to go somewhere. I certainly don’t stay stuck in the past, but now I have my voice. “A Voice of her own” is the title of my memoirs. I started writing back in two-thousand-and 2001. That year my father died. I was by his bedside feeding him tomato soup, and through the Grace of God, I forgave my father. So that’s why I write to you, sweet Jesus. To tell you everything about me because I can trust you and I love you, sweet Jesus.
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