Personal Narrative: My Mother

My mother was born in La Venta in Oaxaca, Mexico. She dropped out of high school during her freshman year to assist her mother and eight siblings on their farm growing apples, pears, and mangos. A year later, without knowing any English, she immigrated to the United States illegally, and settled in Massachusetts. Soon after, she met my father, who left as soon as she got pregnant.
After my mother had me, she met a man who promised her stability . She moved in with him and gave birth to my brother and sister. At first, the man seemed kind and caring; he decided to adopt me. Soon, everything changed. He barely came home, and when he did, under the influence of drugs and alcohol, he was angry and controlling. He yelled at my mother and beat her. The stress and frustration created by this abusive relationship drove my mother into a dark place. She hit me and locked my siblings and I in the bathroom for hours. As the oldest, I did everything in my power to protect my younger siblings. Finally, my mother tired of my ‘father’s’ drug fueled rages. She packed our bags and we moved into a homeless shelter; my home for the next four years.

My siblings turned to me for support and care. I became my their second mother—putting bandaids on scrapes, soothing pains, and giving advice. One day, my mother beat me and knocked out one of my teeth. That was the last straw. The person who was supposed to love me unconditionally had hurt me. Child Protective Services became involved and ultimately, my mother was deported. My brother, sister, and I moved in with our adopted grandmother. That year, everything was calm. We could have a normal childhood. A year later, when my mother returned to us, she had stabilized her life and resolved her own pain and anger. Thanks to welfare and public housing, my mother, siblings and I were able to move to New Hampshire -- a fresh start for our