Recently, I have begun to heal from my broken past. As part of that healing, I am sharing my story. I share my story in the hopes of encouraging others to share their story so they can also heal.
I came from a broken home, ended up being a broken child, had an up and down adolescence, became lost as a young adult, but ultimately became healed by my Heavenly Father.
My parents divorced when I was around three years old. I don't remember a lot about the divorce, just bits and pieces. I remember being moved to the other side of the State. I remember my mom's new boyfriend. I remember not feeling comfortable around my mom's boyfriend. I remember my home that I was taken from. I remember my pink bedroom and my doll in my childhood home. I remember missing my dad.
My mom remarried when I was five. She didn't marry the man she dated after my dad...thankfully. When I was six, my step-father adopted me. I don't remember much about the adoption. All I do remember is being confused and missing my dad. I remember feeling guilty for missing my dad. I was forced to hide my feelings. I became more and more broken every year.
I was an insecure little girl. I was the smallest in my class and I got picked on a lot. I was mostly picked on for the way I looked and the way I dressed. Because of this, I didn't like school. I didn't want to meet new people. I was always trying to just blend in to the wall and not bring attention to myself.
Of all of my siblings, I only have one brother that I share the same parents with. He is two years older than me. When he was ten years old, he went through a sex education class at school. Now, as a mother, I am amazed even more that at ten years of age (back then...now it is younger) children are learning about sex in school. While he was going through this class and learning all those things that a ten year old should not have been learning, he would then come home and experiment on me. I was only eight years old. I had no idea what was happening. The only thing I knew was that he was my brother. He was one of the closest people in my life. He was supposed to be my protector. I was confused. I was sad. I was ashamed. I never told anyone.
One of the main reasons I did not tell anyone was because I didn't think that anyone would believe me. I also thought I would get in trouble. For years I was crippled by the guilt and shame of what had happened. I never told my mother because I thought she would have called me a liar. Should she ever read this, I think she may still call me a liar.
When I was around ten or so, I was struggling with missing my dad. My adoptive father sat me down and decided to tell me his version of how the adoption came about. He told me that he called my dad and told him that he wanted to adopt my brother and I. He said that he told my dad to take all the time he needed to think about it. He then told me it didn't take long for my dad to call him back and tell him it was okay for him to adopt us. He told me that my dad didn't want me. He told me how quickly my dad gave me up. I cried. I was broken. I felt abandoned.
Whenever I would miss my dad, and my mom or adoptive father found out about it, I would be manipulated into feeling guilty. I wasn't allowed to show my feelings. I wasn't allowed to miss him. It was horrible. I still get knots in my stomach thinking back to those days. My mom and adoptive father were very good at controlling me and manipulating me. I don't remember a time when they weren't. Still to this day I get knots in my stomach when I think about them. It is an unpleasant feeling that I don't ever want my children to experience.
My Story - Part 2 - Up and Down Adolescence
My Story - Part 3 - Lost Young Adult
My Story - Part 4 - Lost to Found
My Story - Part 5 - Our New Family