It was Friedrich Nietzschehas who said, “What doesn’t kill you makes, you stronger”. I like to call these moments in a person’s life, “defining moments”. Additionally, I like most people, have had a few of these “defining moments”; probably more than one person should. Growing up, I had a hard time accepting one of my “won’t kill you-make you stronger” moments. It was a moment of betrayal and deceit, inflicted upon by a person I trusted fully and completely, with my life. My mother. My mother had it rough growing up. Forced to be out of the house nearly by dawn and only to return by nightfall, she was ignored and turned away by her mother. All throughout her childhood, and most of her young adult life until she ran away, my mother was pushed onto other family members. When my grandmother ran out of family members, she would leave my mom with foster parents for months of a time. She wasn’t a bad kid; she didn’t misbehave. She just wanted someone to want her around, someone to love her. Regrettably, the reason my grandmother went to such lengths to get rid of her own daughter, was for a man. Moreover, it wasn’t just one man it was every man. When grandmother was single mom was allowed in the house and was treated quite nicely, as a daughter should be treated by her mother. However, it was sayonara for my mom when grandmother was seeing a man. Given her upbringing, my mother always swore that we, my sister and I, were the most important things in her life and we always came first. If I could trust anything, I could trust this. My mother and father divorced when I was too little to remember. He got heavily involved into drugs and we never saw him again. I have no memoires of him, just a few pictures. Shortly after the divorce mom... ... middle of paper ... ... I finally gave up on trying to protect my mother, when it was so apparent that she didn’t want to be saved. I took my son and myself out of the equation and pressed charges against him. Not surprisingly, my mother bailed him out of jail. It took only a few more years until my mother got rid of him. Once she did, she began seeing a counselor and working on mending her wrongs with Jelly and I. My sister is clean and sober and my mom is actually seeing a good guy. I have moved on from this whole experience, but I will never forget. I will never forget the betrayal, the disloyalty, the humiliation, and the utter deceit I experienced by the hands of someone who promised never to hurt me. My defining moment has taught me understanding, patience, and that I can’t be mad at someone for who they are; I can only accept them for who they are or not accept them at all.
If there was a problem my mother had with my father and she tried to address it, the problem was turned around on her. My dad would blame his mishaps on her, he would insult her indirectly. My mother’s only mistake is putting up with that behavior, and for the simple reason of it’s just how he is. Boys will be boys, and boys will be cruel and disgusting as much as they please, but when a woman is just the same she’s demonized and called “a crazy bitch.” It’s a woman’s fault if she’s with an abusive man, it’s a woman’s fault if she has his child, and suffers in silence because he’s crushed her spirit. That’s a comment my father posted “it was her fault for being with a man like that” well maybe men shouldn’t be like that in the first place. In “A Trifling Media,” Shakira Smiler describes something similar to this when making the comparison towards how women and men give one another gifts. Women put thought into what they give their significant other, while men give unthoughtful gifts, and expect the same gratitude in return. In my home, my father preaches about how women are, as if he’s a guru on how they work. He takes no consideration on how my mother and I feel about that subject, and won’t let us speak on the subject. He tells us that we’re wrong in our opinion about women as if we aren’t a woman, and he holds that double standard of not
Mawmaw’s adulthood wasn't as ideal as she had expected although it took years into her adulthood to find happiness. After her first marriage, which unfortunately ended in divorce, she was left with two children that were 11 months apart, the oldest being a girl, my mother, and the second a boy, to fully take care of. She never gave up them or her situation, and worked hard to provide good living situations and love for them as they grew up. According to Mawmaw she was determined to not use the same parenting style as her parents. She said that she didn’t use a particular parenting style and in her words, “I just used moderate spanking, a lot of understanding, a lot of love, with a dash of grounding”. While she was still in her first marriage and her two children were still young. She went to school for cosmetology and obtained her cosmetology license. She was married a second time and in this marriage she was blessed with her final child, being a girl. This marriage was also less than ideal and came with a lot of hardships resulting in yet one more divorce. After this marriage ended she was left to take care of her daughter who had an 18 year age difference from her last child. She raised her daughter alone basically and gave her a good life while she ran a salon she opened before her marriage to her
...h conclusion about my struggles with my mother. Mothers (and fathers) do what they can with what they know. That is all. They believe that they are doing the right thing, and we as children must learn to appreciate that.
When I was born, my mother breast fed me for two weeks, I stayed in the hospital room with her instead of going to the nursery, and she was home with me for the first five years of my life. My father worked and my mother tended to the home, with the help of her mother and grandmother. I ate Gerber baby jarred food and my mother read to me every night. My family did not adhere to many other cultural norms however. It was culturally expected that a husband and wife would have a home, with stable jobs and an established relationship before having children. My father was eight years my mother’s senior, and my mother was only 18 when I was born. My mother never earned her high school diploma. My parents were married the month before I was born. My father worked in construction and had a criminal record. Every single one of these descriptions violates the cultural norms of where I grew up in North Carolina. Although my story starts to sound a lot like a Lifetime movie, my mother defied all odds to provide a safe and secure haven for me. “When they sense that a parent is consistent and dependable, they develop a sense of basic trust in the parent” (Crain, 283). I could rely on my parents and trust that they would be there to take care of me which lead to my development of “the core ego strength of this period: hope” which emerges from the child developing a favorable balance of trust over mistrust. “Hope is the expectation that despite frustrations, rages, and disappointments, good things will happen in the future” (Crain, 285). My mother is the living embodiment of that sentiment. As early as I can remember, I can remember her insistence that as long as we were together, we were
"Tell Theresa you're sick," she would advise. And generally I did. But I didn't seem blessed with her lack of conscience. On many painful occasions Theresa would find out that I really went to Sue's house without her. These occasions taught me that it is more painful to be caught in a lie than it is to tell the truth in the first place. I wondered how it was possible that my mother had never learned that lesson.
My mother’s adolescent years were problematic to say the least. She grew up the baby of ten children and did not get much of anything. When she was five, she was taken away from her family for neglect and placed in foster care. Her father was later able to get her back and a few of her other siblings but not all of them. The emotional hell that was her life would have given anyone a reason to be a horrendous person. My mother has always been a fighter for doing the right thing. She decided this early on in her life that doing that right thing always pays off.
My motivation to research, discover, and stimulate social change is rooted in my childhood experiences. As a young child I grew up in a household filled with domestic violence, which ultimately ended with the suicide of my father. I subsequently came to know a variation of the typical American nuclear family: a single parent household. As I began to study family dynamics further, I was able to see my life experiences in a broader context. In hindsight, I now realize the impact and weight my own mother had on my personal development. It was through her strength, determination, and optimism that I was able to find the spark within myself to set goals and dreams for my future. She encouraged me never to accept anything at face value, including the way our society attempts to define my womanhood. As a result of this, I now question American culture’s classification of a ‘successful’ family and the factors that determine a ‘stable’ family.
Throughout most of my teenage years, memories of my dad are ones that I wish I could yank out of my mind or just simply wish they never happened. My mom married my dad at the age of fifteen, after the marriage they emigrated from Mexico to the United States due to the lack of opportunities in their country. His money went to alcohol, therefore
Every so often we come face to face with life events that have lasting effects. When faced with
My parents divorced from each other for the second and final time when I was just 8 years old. This led to my younger sisters and I being raised by our mother who, over the span of the rest of our childhood, was in and out of abusive relationships with several men before eventually remarrying the a man who showed little to no regard for the physical or emotional well-being of either my mother or my sisters and I as children. There were countless nights I stayed awake attempting to comfort my little sisters who were crying hysterically upstairs huddled together in a closet with me while our new step father physically beat our mother downstairs while berating her with verbal insults and threats that would make any grown adult
When thinking of a defining moment, most people think of happiness or a once in a lifetime type of scenery. My defining moment transpired August 2, 2007, this is the day my grandmother made her transition to her heavenly home. Many days I would relive this day and the moments leading up to her life transition. Although I wanted my grandmother to remain at her earthly home in my presence, God had an assignment for her in his heavenly home. So, I’m left with memories of her beautiful face, sweet voice, and everyday values that she instilled in me during my adolescent’s years.
Something that I really struggled with was the passing of my Grandmother. She was a strong woman and an inspiration to everybody in my family. I think that I struggled with it because she was a great human being, I kind of looked up to her a bit, and of course she was part of my family. I think that along with her passing, I struggled with the fact that she died when I thought that she did nothing wrong in her entire life and did not deserve to die. Mainly the fact that she was a really good person and she just died like that.
In my formative years, I am sad to admit that I was the most critical of my mother. We suffered from what experts would identify as ‘mutual incomprehensibility’, and I believe at times we still do; however, as I grow more and more into woman hood and our bond has been strengthened with experience, I have had the amazing opportunity to gain a true sense of my mother and have come to admire her in many ways ( though she probably doesn 't believe me). For whatever reason, I once found solace in reducing all my problems as some fault of my mother’s inability to prepare me for adulthood. Instead of seeking advice and wisdom, I rebelled! Looking back, I now realize she only wanted to protect me, to help me, but as a teen that felt like control
It 's ludicrously ironic now, but as child her logic made perfect sense, and I reasoned myself out of blaming her. She was right. I was wrong. She only mocked me subjected me to strange accusations and verbal cruelty, and we had always done something, anything wrong. After years of constant uncertainty, belittling, and the mounting awareness that my mother was losing her grip on ordinary behavior, I was beginning to realize that I had been afraid. Without a trusted adult telling me in a multitude of ways that everything I did was suspect and somehow bad, I regained a shred of emotional security. I fully realize how strange it is that it took me so long to realize this was a form of abuse, but anything can seem normal when you don 't know anything different. It 's now clear why I looked forward so passionately to overnight visits with friends, and why watching them interact with their mothers, easily, lovingly, and unafraid, made me feel so cold and so perplexing ly angry. I was jealous of any parent-child relationship that wasn 't rooted in fear and uncertainty. On my darker days, I still feel that twinge of envy. Today I speak to my mother only sometimes, and never in any great depth. There 's nothing below the surface that would be pleasant to
At the age of 11, my parents decided to reunite, and this became my lifelong struggle with trust, mistrust and development of strength and courage to achieve my dreams and goals in life. My mother continued to work long, hard hours while my father golfed, gambled and drank, to what most people would consider “the extreme”. During my school years, I ran our household while my mom worked. I made sure the house was clean and dinner was always on the table for my father, which left no time for a social life. My dad was abusive towards my mom and I would feel helpless as I listened from my room to him physically and mentally abusing her. After many years of not having the courage to help her, I finally at the age of 16 gave her an ultimatum. Either she leaves the abusive relationship or I would leave, so I would not have to endear the pain of it any longer.