Credit: Toby Mac Facebook
I saw this today and thought it was perfect and completely validated how I feel about sharing my story.
What is my story?
My story is one that is very complex that I’m sure I will reveal fully at some point, or at least in pieces. As far as motherhood goes, I always knew I wanted to be a mother. I was a little girl who dreamed of having babies and giving them the best life I could ever give them. I wanted twins, a boy and a girl. They would be named Victor Alexander and Victoria Alexandria. Easy enough right? I was a little girl with a dream of having these babies and protection them from the woes of the world. The woes however were my real life. I think for some reason I knew when I had babies I would be away from my current life. I craved love. Real deep love.
I was born into wedlock from a mom who had just completed her 19th birthday and a father who had just completed his 29th. I was an unplanned pregnancy after a few months of dating, but they wanted it to work so they stayed together for my sake. I needed a playmate and she was born 22 months later. I remember as a toddler walking into the house my parents would then buy and raise their four children. This is my earliest memory I can remember. My mother struggled with alcohol and drug abuse and my father was a workaholic who struggled in being faithful to my mother. I knew of their behavior because of the constant fighting, screaming and frequently times we fled the home, only to come back and start it all over again. My young mother knew only how to discipline us the way she had been disciplined and that was physically. In today’s world she would have easily served jail time because of the extent. I remember being very scared when I heard her stomp through the house, as I knew what was to come. My dad would sometimes protect us from her abuse, but of course he was either at work or “busy”. His way of showing his love was making sure we’re were financially taken care of. Something he hadn’t had when he was a child.
My family and extended family loved to hang out. It was always a party and holidays were big. The whole family would come and party. This involved a lot of liquor and of course the drugs were there too. This made it as a perfect distraction for my predator, plus he was a family member so no one would suspect him. I don’t remember how old I was when it began, but I do remember the pretty jean skort with purple butterflies. It was a size 6X and he had me take it off. He violated my innocence and coerced me into things no child should do. I had no clue what was going on and it wasn’t until my early thirties that I realized I was raped as well.
My parents were very protective of me, it’s a big deal in Hispanic culture. You never let the girls out of your sight, fearing that something may happen. So I never really got to go to many schools dance, sleepovers or high school parties, because they didn’t want anyone taking advantage of me. I however rebelled. I could take care of myself. My parents didn’t completely protect me, so what’s the big deal now. I couldn’t wait to leave the house and move out.
After a few years of forced community college (I couldn’t move out right after high school), I finally moved out of my city and I could seek out the attention I wanted. I wanted to have the fun I saw on TV. The spring breaks and parties MTV glorified. It was my turn.
Hooking up was my revenge on the male community. You will like me and want me, but I don’t really want you. I will get what I want and not call you later. I wasn’t about catching feelings. I didn’t want to settle down. I definitely didn’t want to be married.
Then history repeated itself, I met someone and a few months later I saw that second pink line appear and tell me my life had just taken a whole new turn. I was secretly excited. I wanted a baby. I couldn’t show that emotion on the outside. I had an unplanned pregnancy. I contemplated abortion but knew I couldn’t mentally handle the guilt for the rest of my life. I was going to have a baby. I could handle it. Two of my closest friends from back home were doing it as moms already. I could handle it too. Right?
My Struggle is My Story 