I have struggled most of my life with facing certain truths about my family and understanding that sometimes is just more healthy to start over again.

My parents were in a co-dependent relationship for 32 years which involved physical an emotional abuse. While growing up with my sisters it was difficult to deal with a family hierarchy based on negative concepts. My parents brought us up telling us that we were worthless and the peasants of the household. There was major physical abuse which I usually took the brunt of because I wanted to protect my sisters. It was a constant battle on a daily basis to see things in a positive light while growing up in that type of environment.

My mother became a religious fanatic and totally let go of independent responsibility for her own happiness and well being. When I think back about my mother when I was younger, she had a lot of reoccurring depression. During those times, she was really lost in general. Later on in my life, I realized that religion was a kind of safe place for her and helped her become grounded again in a sense. But being a fanatic and misinterpretation of lectures led to extremes that did not help very much either.

When I was a teen, I tried to reach out and ask for help. That morning I was sent to school after my father threw furniture at me and tried to suffocate my with his hands. My mother was hitting him while my smallest sister screamed in the background for him to stop. Luckily, my father was not successful at choking me to death that day. I was attending an assembly to receive recognition for being on the honor roll that morning in the school auditorium. It took everything for me to try to hold back the tears and not breakdown in front of my peers as I went up to accept my certificate. But, as soon as I was presented the certificate and tears just started streaming down my face. My teacher and the school librarian took my to a room in the library across from the auditorium and gave me a box of tissues. They understood that something was wrong and wanted to help so they went to find a school counselor to speak to me. But, the school counselor was out that day so they asked me if I wanted them to call child services. At that point, my thought was that I just wanted someone to help. It actually made things worse. A case worker came to my house, which threw my father into a flaming rage and mother just stayed quiet the whole time. Child services did not end up taking me that day because when I found out that I would not see my sisters again, I started to close down and just say anything in response to what I was being asked. I knew that if I was not there to protect them, no one would.

A few years past, and my parents got into an argument about something. To be honest, I do not even remember what it was about. The arguments usually started from something insignificant. Then escalated within minutes into a screaming match. Then the physical fight would begin. But this particular day was different. My father flew into a rage and chased my mother into the bathroom with a butcher knife in his hand. I grabbed my sisters, ran into a room with them and locked the door while calling 911. I was not really sure what was going to happen because my father had threatened to killed my mother several times before….but since it was always a verbal threat I did not think he would actually put it into action. The police and rescue showed up at my house pretty fast, diffused the situation because my father threatened the cops…so they cuffed him and the state pressed charges against him. After the police and fire rescue left, I tried to tell my mom that things would get better since we have a chance to start over. But since my mother was dependent on my father, she could not see a positive possibility or a different way of living in the future. My grandmother on my father’s side called to persuaded my mother to pick up a western union wire for the bond to get father out of jail. My mother bailed my father out, his really good lawyer minimized the state’s course of action somehow and things went back to the way they were once again.

I developed PTSD and anxiety in my mid to late teens. I did not want any of my friends to know about my life at home so I stopped inviting my friends over. As a way of surviving I started picking up hobbies like drawing and reading. I read as much as I could about psychology and philosophy of the greats. I drew portraits and comics and kept a circle of artist friends. Even though, I was able to make friends at school…I lost interest in school since I had to work to buy basic things for myself that my parents did not. The periodic major physical abuse episodes at home were still reoccurring and since I did not want anyone to know about it…I dropped out of high school.

The year that would have been my graduation year, I took the state test for my high school diploma and graduated. I moved away on my own and later found myself wanting to come back to my home state to go to college. Tuition in my home state at that time was much cheaper than where I was living. I desperately tried to go to school at that time, but could not afford it even while working two full time jobs. I was barely making ends meet. So, I came back and started college. My mother told me that father settled down and life was much more peaceful at home. I bought into it and thought that maybe things different so I moved back home. Things were not really that different. The only thing that changed is that my mother became more verbally abusive towards me and my little sister. She constantly blamed me for things that I did not even have the slightest idea about. She looked at me as if I was the worst person in the world. She got along with my father most during that time. I realized I became the outlet and a place to misappropriate whatever she was upset about. Unfortunately, even now that has not changed.

I created many works of art at that time while I was in college. Whenever I had free time from other course assignments, I would spend as much time as I could in the art studio. As you can imagine, I put a massive amount of work into those pieces. Unfortunately, I did not have a place to store my artwork. My professor at the time told us we could not keep our artwork there because of limited space. I loved my pieces like they were children, so I was afraid of taking them home. I really had no choice so I brought them home. When I came back home, I did not really have my own room or space to store things. So, I placed them in a spot where I thought they would be safe. A few weeks later, I came home from class on a rainy day and noticed that my mother was acting angrily at everyone in the house. I knew that she had a tendency to break things that do not belong to her or throw something away of someone else’s belongings. I immediately went to look for my art pieces, and they all were gone. So, I asked her what happened to them and her response was that there was no room for them in the house so she put them outside. All of my artwork was destroyed that day.

After that day, I did not even bother pick up a drawing pencil or a paint brush for years. I felt that all of my hard work had been completely obliterated and there was no reason for me to produce anything else. It burned me so bad to the extent that I almost wanted to have nothing to do with art. So, I completely changed my major and decided to place my focus elsewhere.

About a year later from that day I graduated with my A.A. Degree, with honors and special recognition since I was very involved with student activities. I received many opportunities to go to a four year college out of state with full paid tuition. But, I kept holding on to the concept of family even as broken as mine was ….and still is. I was afraid of losing contact with my sisters, especially with my little sister. So, I did not leave.

My campus was far from home, and I had to maintain a reliable source of transportation to get there so there was no way that I could afford being unemployed. So, I had to work. The college that I attended did not have a very flexible schedule for my major and my employment was not willing to work with my courses. That in addition to the usual home stuff I had really tough time dealing with my anxiety and PTSD. Panic attacks were a usual occurrence. I was so afraid that I was going to have a panic attack in class that I stopped going to some of them. I wanted to get help, but could not afford insurance to see a psychiatrist. So, I dropped out in my junior year.

I picked up new hobbies and started to try to find ways to manage my anxiety. Once I was able to stabilize myself and find ways to cope with the PTSD and anxiety, I slowly started to draw again and find confidence in my abilities. I had become too comfortable with a job that I knew would not promote my creativity and inner desire to help others. So, I took steps to move on to better employment over the course of five years. Now, I am working in a place where I have the opportunity to help others who I can relate to.

Over the course of those 5 years, I have experience major setbacks. I accept them all as learning experiences and things that have helped me grow. There were times that I thought things might not ever get better, but they do. It just takes time and determination on your part. Even now I am still working on myself, understanding that my past is a huge key to creating my future. I am planning to go back to school soon, but also taking steps to do so in moderation. Everything is built from a solid foundation. And it is never too late to start over and give yourself a chance at a new life / fresh start.

The reason that I posted this is because there was a segment of a specific part of a cultural sensitivity training that asked 5 questions based on earliest memories of things that have influenced you in life. Each of us at the table had to respond. I was mortified and really did not want to answer any of the questions from the PowerPoint presentation because my life has been really tough and things from my childhood were not that great.

But, there were two things that were brought to my attention as each person answered.

1) Take time to understand. You really have no idea what the person across from you has been through. That person can be one of your bosses, friend, neighbor, or even a cashier at the grocery store. So really make an effort to respect and love each other.
2) We are all survivors.