You say you love your mom, but I can’t relate

I have always been a mildly jealous person. Not that I am in a rage when I see someone with something I don’t have myself, but I am the type of person to let little things hurt me.

And the one thing that probably makes me the most jealous and hurt is when I see others rave about how much they love that their mom is their best friend.

You say you love your mom, but I can’t relate.

I have had a lot of outreach from my blog’s readers. I often hear how others have really connected to what I write about my mom, so I wanted to write one for them- For those that feel the same hurt that I do. For those that have had their own pain and find it comforting to know that they are not alone. For those that relate to this title before even reading the article… This one is in honor of you. (Thank you for reaching out to me, telling me your own stories, and sending love. I hope that never stops!)

I was 7 years old when I was taken from my mom by DCFS, and I actually do have a lot of great memories of my mom from before then. Maybe I exaggerate how awesome those memories really are, simply because I have yearned for more time with her ever since I could understand what even happened. I remember her tickling me while snuggled up on the couch. I remember how good her pepper gravy tasted. I remember how beautiful she was as I looked down on her from the top bunk of our bunkbed.

There were times I would lay with my face in my pillow crying, just so my sisters wouldn’t hear me. I never googled my name because the one time I did I was terrified to see a nasty methed-out mugshot of my mom. I was mailing letters to my mom while she was in prison, whereas some of my friends didn’t even know how to address a letter or buy a stamp. I changed the TV channel every time I saw a CrimeStoppers commercial come on, just in case her picture would pop up under the WANTED list. These are things that I’m sure the average kid doesn’t have to deal with, but they shaped me into the girl that grew up angry and jealous of everyone else that brags on how awesome their mom was. You may love your mom, but my mom has hurt me more than any person on this earth. I do not feel sorry for how blunt I can be about the pain that she has caused. I do not feel like I have to sugarcoat the emotional and mental hurt that she has brought to my life. So when you say you love your mom, I can’t relate.  

You may think, “… But she’s your family, you should love your family no matter what!” Here’s what I have to say to that: Would someone that truly loved you do that to you? No, seriously. Yeah, I get that family is important. My family is truly one of my highest priorities, but someone that can cause you that much heartache is not family. She could look me dead in my eye, tell me she was done with the drugs, then walk down the street to a buddy’s house for a hit after I drove away. So when you say you love your mom, I can’t relate.

I remember one of my high school best friends would bring a perfectly folded and packed suitcase with her to every basketball tournament. To this day, I still remember standing there watching as she opened it up and took the beautifully arranged items out. Something as simple as that made me wish that I had my mom do that for me. There are so many small things moms do that get overlooked, but there are people like me that notice every single one of them. To those of you that have that amazing relationship with your mom, I hope this post makes you realize your love for her even more. I hope this gives you the urge to go hug her and thank her for nurturing and loving you the way a real mother should. You are living a life so many others can only dream of. Never waste a moment to tell her how much she means to you!

 

 

Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,

Sometimes I wonder where you are

You hurt me bad and it’s left a scar

 

I don’t think you care and that’s okay

If there is a will, there is a way

 

I lock my heart in hopes of relief

But there is no escape for all this grief

 

I hate who you are and what you’ve done

This weight I bear feels like a ton

 

So many times that you have missed

I don’t know why I still get pissed

 

You weren’t there then and you’re not here now

You’ve broken every single vow

 

I remember the nights of fallen tears

For wanting all those broken years

 

I wish I could say it was long ago

I’m working on me and trying to grow

 

But I can’t shake this anger deep inside

“I love you, Chrissy Marie,” you lied

 

I should be big enough to move on

But my patience has been overdrawn

 

Someday I will tell her what you did

But I’ll be careful because she’s my kid

 

I won’t do to her what you did to me

Forever my baby she will be

 

I’ll hold her and raise her and never let go

And my love for her she’ll always know

Drowning

I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this.

I go through the motions like I’m your slave.

So much is on my shoulders and

I think I’m drowning.

I can’t keep you happy and you don’t care if I am.

A misplaced shirt becomes an argument.

A rise in my voice becomes a battle.

A longing kiss becomes a plead.

I’m frustrated-

But I feel like it’s more.

Still, I say nothing.

Every responsibility that comes with a child has been placed on me

Every bill.

Every chore.

Every appointment.

I’m so tired, but I keep going for the sake of my beautiful girl.

I’m beginning to realize I can do this on my own.

I just hope you wake up before I have to choose to.

The Crazy Thing About Addiction [Part II]

To read Part I of this blog, please visit The Crazy Thing About Addiction [Part I].

The only goal I have in writing such a deeply personal story is to spread awareness and share my story with others. Many times growing up I felt as though I was the only little girl with a mother in prison. Growing up, I found that like me, many other children were dealing with the same circumstances.

In fact, 1 out of every 28 children grows up with an incarcerated parent (Pew Research Center).

There are a few things we should acknowledge when reading that statistic.

Our parents’ actions do not determine our worth or capability of success. Looking back now, had the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services not intervened, who knows the person I would have become or what I would be doing. I can guarantee I would not be sitting in front of this computer sharing this with all of you. In any situation, whether it involve drug addiction or not, children can find themselves unhappy with who they are simply because of the opinions and interpretations of how other people view their parents. You do not have to lower your own standards because of what you think other people think about your family. It’s your decision and your decision only on who you want to become, the values you uphold, and the people you associate yourself with. Don’t like your alcoholic father? Don’t be one. Don’t like your addicted mother? Don’t be one.  Use your experiences to be the person that you always wished you had.

There are a lot of families that are affected by drug addiction. We have to end our preconceived opinions about addiction. Not everyone’s background or home life allowed them the easy choice of avoiding illicit drugs, and if you’ve never seen them used, this probably doesn’t apply to you. Imagine growing up in a home where you see drug use happening everyday as if it is a daily occurrence. People are much more likely to engage in that lifestyle when that’s all they know.  I’m not making excuses for addicts, I’m simply stating that we don’t know every addicts’ story. There are far too many people impacted by addiction for us to disregard the reasons as to how the addiction started and why it has not been fixed. I could have had a childhood with my mom had she gotten the help she needed. Now I understand that’s a pretty bold statement, considering that she could have been offered help, and just chose not to accept it. It is a two-way street. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Nonetheless, shouldn’t we at least try? 

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It would be ungrateful of me to leave out the special people that molded me into the person that I am today. I grew up in a family of nine, which included my aunt, uncle, their five children, my sister, and me. Every family has their share of ups and downs, but overall I like to believe that I was raised in a household of love, support, and good values.

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My Uncle Sam and Aunt Jodey with me on my softball senior night
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My great-grandma Elizabeth and I before my senior prom

Although my sister and I were not with the parents that gave birth to us, our aunt, great-grandma, and uncle did an outstanding job of taking us in and treating us with the same standards, commitment, and belonging as they did with their own children. Aunt Jodey and Uncle Sam, I am forever grateful for the home you always welcome us into and the belief you always showed in me. My aunt was always the one to advise me, help me go dress shopping, and get me ready for big events like proms and interviews. You got me in my first pair of heels and taught me what a polite young lady looks like. My uncle was my best friend, so-to-speak. We played catch out in the yard and watched football every Sunday. You introduced me to my love of sports and most importantly, set the example for what a father should be when mine walked out. Most people in our small town know my grandma as the woman that wears the big hats and drove the station wagon. I see her as much more. Grandma Elizabeth, you taught me so many lessons that I can’t even begin to explain. You wrote me letters nearly every single day I was away at basic training, and you always made sure Gabby and I had everything we needed. You are absolutely, without a doubt, the wisest person I know. Without the three of you, I would not be the person I am today and I believe that my world is a much better place with you in it.

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Front: Samantha holding Matthew (Rabecca’s son, my nephew), me, Gabby Back: Joseph, Andrea, Victoria holding her daughter Morgan, Aunt Jodey, Rabecca holding her daughter Rose

I have never thought of my five cousins as anything other than my siblings. I’ve always considered every one of them as my sister and brother. You guys were never reluctant to share your life with two people that had a different story. None of you ever pressured me about my mother and all of you were always ready to listen to my frustrations, talk me out of my anger, and console me when I was upset. Rabecca, Victoria, Andrea, Samantha, and Joseph: I love you guys with my entire heart and I consider myself enormously blessed to have grown up with you guys. The bond we share is no different than that of those that share the same parents.

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Gabby. When I was old enough to understand what happened to us, I always took you under my wing. I have always seen it as my duty to love you, support you, encourage you, and stand up for you, more-so than anyone else in my entire life. We walked through the storm and made it out together, strong as nails. I will always watch over you and push you to become the woman I know you can be. Thank you for being my motivation and the sole reason I chose forgiveness. You were always the compassionate one. Some may think you didn’t get bitter about our mother because you didn’t understand what was going on, but I disagree. I genuinely believe you were just a far more loving, forgiving person than I ever thought I could be. You taught me hope. You taught me the meaning of perception. You led me to forgiveness. You are my rock.

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I wanted Part B to be the positive side of the story. I do believe it is, but what I want to end this series on how it relates to the words in which I chose to title these entries. “The Crazy Thing About Addiction.” Yes, it’s a messy and saddening story, and some parts I left out or didn’t tell in full detail, but that is not the route I wanted to take.  I wanted to share my perception of the beauty in something that is the result of what has caused me the most pain in my life thus far. Just because something is negative, doesn’t mean that there cannot be beauty contained within it. I gained five siblings that I wouldn’t trade for the world. I gained the experience of a real father’s love. I gained countless relationships and friends that I probably never would have, had my life gone in a different direction. I gained empathy, passion, and motivation. But most importantly, I gained the liberating understanding of what it’s like to forgive someone wholeheartedly, and there are very few things that are more beautiful than that.

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My mother and me, since amends have been made

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The Crazy Thing About Addiction [Part I]

I’ve seen a post circulating around Facebook that drives me nuts to no end, so I thought it would be fun to give my side about addiction.

We’ve all seen the “addiction is a choice” posts, talking about how calling addiction a disease is only enabling the addict and therefore allows them to feel sorry for themselves… Please.

Now before you sigh, roll your eyes, and stop reading this post, let me say that I am absolutely not in complete denial of those arguments. Yes, the moment someone decides to stick a needle in their arm, they are making a choice, and in some cases, I’m sure it does give addicts an excuse to keep using; however, to broaden the statement to apply to an entire group of people without consideration of how they were raised, why they made the decision to abuse these drugs, and what exactly does go through an addicts’ mind, is ignorance in its purest form. Let me begin by sharing my story.

For those that grew up along side of me in school, you probably have heard bits and parts of my story and know that drug addiction is a topic in which I am extremely passionate about. If there’s one thing that I hope to accomplish in my life, it is to speak out to those that are affected by a loved one’s decision to engage in such a damaging, heartbreaking addiction. I want you to know that you are absolutely, 110% not alone.

From my childhood, I remember cuddling up with my mom on the couch to watch Oprah every afternoon. I remember trying to squirm away from her as she tickled my feet. I even remember the way her thin, beautiful blonde hair laid against the back of her leather jacket. I loved this woman. I don’t doubt for a second that she loved me, too. We all have times in our lives where we have regret for the choices we have made, and that is part of the reason I have grown to forgive, cherish, and move on.

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I don’t have much of the paperwork on what happened, nor do I even really care to see it. Out of respect for all involved, I’m going to put this into the most courteous, easygoing way that I can. The paperwork I do have shows that on August 27, 2004, a “safety plan” was put into place by the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services. For lack of better words, our mother was struggling with addiction and my father was never in the picture. I was only seven and my little sister was four. This “plan” stated my sister and I were going to move in with our great-grandmother under the care of herself and my maternal aunt. To this day, I am grateful to these women for taking my sister and I in, keeping us away from the struggles of the foster care system. By November 15, 2004, the official order appointing guardianship to our great-grandmother was finalized.

As you can probably imagine, two kids at the ages of seven and four wouldn’t really understand the severity of what was happening. So my sister and I moved to a new school and started completely different lives. We started living with our aunt, uncle, and five cousins.

For a long time, the change wasn’t something that kept me awake at night. When I was old enough in school and big life events like first dances, recitals, and games began to roll around, I realized that something in my life was very different than a lot of my schoolmates. My mom was never in the stands during basketball games. She was not the woman to get me ready for school dances, and she was missing out on all of the great things I was accomplishing. I grew bitter. How could the woman that gave birth to me not care about me enough to be there for something so important in a child’s life?

My mother was in and out of prison throughout all of my elementary, junior high, and high school life. There were periods of times when I so badly wanted to talk to her that I had her write letters to my friends’ addresses from prison, in fear that I would get in trouble for talking to her. In her letters, my mother often denied the responsibility of us not being together, and this would send me into a rage. I eventually stopped responding to her letters, swearing I was done with all of the hurt and anger that she had put me through.  My friends and teachers that were oblivious to this situation made jokes or comments at school about hearing someone with my name being arrested for meth (My mother and I have the same name). Two of the times I found out about my mother’s arrest was because a teacher at school made a comment to me after hearing my name on the radio or television. I was nowhere near being able to get away from the pain that addiction had caused me.

It was somewhere along my junior or senior year of high school where I decided I was done being angry. Holding onto the resentment and despise that I had for my circumstance was only holding me back and keeping me from truly being happy. I honestly believe that if you want to be truly happy, you have to forgive those that have hurt you, and move on. I decided to see her off and on, and she even made it to one of my softball games my senior year. That was the only time she ever saw me play a sport. After long debate, the day before I graduated high school, I decided to call her and invite her to my graduation.

My mom saw me graduate high school.

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Throughout my entire life, seeing her in the bleachers that day stands out to me as just a truly beautiful, incredible moment of forgiveness, love, and progress. Although addiction has many downfalls, there can always be beauty found in something so ugly. No matter what an addict struggles with, we shouldn’t be so quick to turn our backs on them. You never know if you could be the one person that strikes the chord that leads them to recovery. Everyone on this earth has a purpose, no matter what mistakes they have made in the past. Take it from me, forgiving someone that has caused you pain is hard. It’s incredibly hard, but not impossible. The only way we can truly be happy with ourselves is to lose ourselves. Lose anger. Lose resentment. Lose barriers. Lose anguish.

Choose love ♥

Continue reading “The Crazy Thing About Addiction [Part I]”