Abuse – my untold story

TRIGGER WARNING: The following posts contains details of abuse. If you are sensitive to this subject it is up to you to decide to read this. Thank you.

2012, a turning point in my life. I had lost a friend the year before to cancer, casting myself into the deepest, darkest depression I had never dreamed of. After snapping out of it, I got a new job. This job was one of my more favorite jobs, despite the fact that I was stationed in front of a very large window and froze daily. In the later part of the year, I met someone. At the time, I had no idea what this person was capable of. And being a young mother, I didn’t know I would ever find out.

Around March 2013, I had an issue at work. I went to clock out for the day. I don’t remember much, other than a splitting headache, and my co-worker helping me into a chair. I had passed out, and was found laying on the floor of the break room. My heart shattered as I was taken to the emergency room. After hours and many tests, the result was unclear. I was told to make doctor appointments, get CT scans, MRI, and that I may be epileptic. I cried all the way home. How would I be a good mother to my son if I was constantly falling to the floor?

After a few weeks, I moved in with my now ex. He told me he would take care of my son and I until we got my health taken care of. I ended up losing my job due to battling schedules between work and doctor visits. Every result was the same, “We aren’t sure what’s going on, we need more tests.” Some said a low salt/sugar intake, others said it wasn’t really happening. Regardless, I was left nowhere.

Fast forward to July, 2013. After another extreme pass out, to the point nobody could get me up for a solid two minutes, I heard my now ex yelling at my son, telling him next time I fall to the floor, he needs to quit playing and tell someone. My heart shattered. He’s a kid…let him play I remember thinking to myself in my weakened state. I called what I was told to be the best doctors in our state and set up an appointment. Later that month I had all of my freedoms stripped from me. No driving, no working, nothing. I had to rest, because any amount of stress could send me into a seizure. It had finally been labeled.

My ex instantly started saying that my son was the cause, he was the reason I was passing out. He had never treated my son right, and I knew, as a mother, I had to get us away. My mother made a deal with me, that she would take my son for me until I got better. The depression began hitting harder and harder, and my ex began taking over.

When we first started talking, I finally weighed a healthy weight. I was on track with my goal to not smoke again. When I mentioned to him that I wanted to quit smoking, his first instinct was that I would be fat. He’d tell me that if I turned into a “heifer” he would leave me. I started to cut back on how much I was eating. I never felt good about myself after that. As soon as I dropped my son off to my mom, he told me how awful my child was. I cried, telling him to shut up, and that his daughter isn’t much better.

As time went on, he began getting worse. I have always had an issue with the people I am dating trying to have sex with me while I am asleep. Multiple times I would wake up to him doing just that. I felt helpless, and when he was done and went back to sleep, I’d lay in bed sobbing. He began offering me money for sex, telling me that I’m not a good girlfriend if I don’t make him happy. On days he would have his daughter, they would curl up right in front of me, making me long to have my baby boy back. I hated every fiber of that man’s being. I knew I had to leave.

It happened on a visit with my son. He left for school that day, and I held my baby boy and looked at my father and told him I will stop at nothing to have my son with me, where he belongs. I called my ex and told him that I was done, and that I’d be living with my dad. He told me nobody would ever love me like he does. For a while I believed it, but remained separated from him. He would call, offering money for sex. I had enough. I snapped at him, called him everything I had wanted for months.

My abuser is still out in the world, living a normal life. He’s a serpent with a silver tongue. When I called the police to report him for sexual harassment, the cop called me and told me that when we work out our differences, she will lift the “no contact” against him. I wanted to scream.

I have kept my story in for far too long. I am writing this so that anyone who is suffering from any sort of abuse will speak up. DO NOT let your abuser get away with it like I did. If they truly love you, they won’t do anything to you that could hurt you. Please learn from my mistake. Don’t stay.


When Momma’s had enough

September 2015, the start of a new school year. The school halls are packed with the faces of little children, some are smiling while others are crying. I look to my right. There is a smart young boy holding my hand. This smart young boy has the look of determination in his eyes. This look could set fire to anything that stands in his way. This young boy is my son.
All summer long we worked on reading, math, and anything I could think of to ready him for the start of the first grade. We met his teacher, a nice young woman who is dedicated to her students education. My son beamed as he walked into her class.
As the weeks progressed, we got daily reports sent to our phones. Some days were better than others. I knew what I had to do. He needs a push, so finding a mentor would be perfect. Or so I thought.
The issues started popping up when there was a meeting called. “You should medicate him again. He was doing good on them. It isn’t fair to him—” at this point, the counselor’s mindless droning faded from my mind, and flashes of memories when my son was on medication sprang up. He was so lethargic, hardly ate anything, and seemed so down. We switched meds and with the new batch, he was wild, screaming and yelling at everyone. I interrupted her.
“I will not medicate him again.” I said, my voice shook.
“You need to see both sides, and you seem like someone who sees only one.” replied the counselor. “He is not only distracting himself, but the–”
“Other students, I know. But the medication is not right for him. Therapy is.” I chimed in. She locked her eyes with mine, and a cold deadly stare was thrown.
“Therapy takes far too long. Medications worked last year, and I think he needs them again.”
I shook my head. “They did NOT work with him. They made him into a lethargic boy who had his personality stripped from him. Absolutely not. Besides, medicating takes just as long as therapy, at least therapy teaches him how to handle himself.”

I went home that night and sobbed. Why? Why would they say these things about one of the sweetest and smartest boys? I couldn’t handle it.

A few weeks later, his reports were coming home worse than the day before. I was angry. I was about to make the call for meds when my phone rang.
“They did a test in his class. His class scored mostly 7 and 8. Your son scored 40! I don’t think it’s ADHD, I think he is just bored.” My heart raced. My son…earning the highest score in his grade. I smiled from ear to ear knowing my son was so smart!
Then the anger rushed in. They knew…that had known all this time and I just heard now!? Why was this not told to me, but someone else at the school. I’m his parent, I should have been told.

I decided to take action. My son will no longer be going to a school that doesn’t see him as a smart, funny, young boy. Boys have so much energy. My son will no longer be singled out. I hunted for the right school, one that would help my son in school, rather than make him hate school and himself.

To top it all off, the new school agrees, boys have energy. He isn’t a troublemaker, he’s just a boy. There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s just a BOY.

Best thing, he starts his new school Monday.
So long toxic educational system, hello to a bright new future.

Everybody knows, you don’t mess with a mother’s child. When you do, you’ll know when Momma’s had enough.


Just the other night, while snuggled up to my love, I frantically scrolled through my Facebook feed to find a picture that I thought was absolutely adorable, and a perfect conversation starter. It was a picture of a girl casually looking at her phone. That was the moment the poster knew they loved this girl. In the caption it said “it could be anything”. I figured I’ll be all cute, show him this picture then ask him when his moment was.

Sadly I couldn’t find the picture. I grumbled a little then told him the story anyway and he replied with “you already know” I chuckled and went to bed, determined to get the proper answer.

Today, we were returning bottles when I asked him, “so…when did you know?” He kind of looked at me in confusion. “When did you know you loved me?” I asked him, truly curious.

He smiled a little. “Four years ago, when you wrapped your arms around my waist and hugged me.”

The shitty thing is…I didn’t have my moment until I thought he was gone forever. Although I had gotten my answer…it hit me. My moment was when he was upset with me, walked out of my house, and glanced back at me. My world suddenly disappeared and it was just him, slowly walking away from me. It wasn’t romantic like his story. No rush of butterflies, no small gasp. I remember watching him leave, choking back all of my tears and all of my wants to scream out “I get it! You’ve been right all along!!” I figured that day was my last day to love him.

I learned my lesson. Keep your heart open, and DON’T create excuses. You may not get another chance.

Mommy monday’s and the case of the part time parent

I watch my son’s heart break time and time again, because of YOU. So here’s the deal.

YOU want to be his dad, boy you need to step up and be it.

If your sorry excuse for a woman won’t watch YOUR child, you need to kick her ass to the curb.

YOU need to get him a lot more than you do. This “whenever” shitty schedule is pissing me off. You don’t have to deal with the pain you make him feel. I do, I always have.

YOU need to help me a lot more than you are. You can’t be a dad, and push all responsibilities off to someone else (my man). What about school clothes and supplies? Looks like I will have to cover it all again, won’t I? Like hell I will. You want him in your life, you best help me.

Seriously? Pay off the damn fine for the library that YOU created on MY account. Your child wants to check out books. This isn’t fair to him, and I’m not cleaning up your mess anymore.

Stop and think about what you are doing to him. You are making this situation HELL for your son, myself, my family.

You need to make the decision right now. You either be MORE of a player in his life, or you don’t be one at all.


Randomness of a tired mind

Random thought came through my mind, demanding to be put out there for the world to see. So…here it is.

Stand tall, don’t slouch. Why do you look so uncomfortable? Smile more. You’re too happy all the time. Have you thought about getting braces to fix your gap? You’re so thin, are you okay? My god you are so emotional. Why are you so numb? You can talk to me whenever you need me. Why the hell are you calling me? I mean you aren’t THAT annoying.

Believe it or not, I hear all of these things…A LOT. Why not answer them.

Why do you look so uncomfortable sitting/standing up straight. -I have scoliosis and it’s practically like death for me to sit/stand up straight.

Why do you smile all the time? -Look, life’s a bitch, but other people have it so much worse than I do. I have a home, a vehicle, a job, a family, and meals. That’s more than most people have.

Why don’t you smile around other people? -This is confusing but yes this is asked too. I’m not unhappy with my life. I have a job, but it’s nothing to lose your mind over. Sure I have a place to live, but the cost is more than I pull in from my job. My vehicle is as old as my youngest sister, and is rusting up and falling apart. And don’t get me started on bills. The kid forgot his homework, dinner is going to be later tonight, and oh shit…I didn’t put the quarters in the laundry machine to do my clothes. Like everyone, I have a lot on my mind. Sue me if I forget to smile.

Have you tried braces for your teeth? -First, let’s start out by saying this: Dick. Believe it or not, my teeth were much worse when I was younger. I had braces and the orthodontist removed them, then pulled a tooth. He wasn’t the smartest person in the world.

Are you eating? -I eat like a cow, thanks.

Why are you so emotional? You see, a girl goes through a special change just like boys. I’m either on my period, or, wouldn’t you know it, A FEMALE. We are emotional creatures.

Why are you so numb? -Well, doc. After a long day of being harped on for being emotional…you just kinda tune everything out.

Why the hell are you calling me this early? -Obviously I need someone to talk to. Get over your lack of sleep, I’ve been up since 7 AM, and it’s now 1:33 AM. You know I’d answer for you.

There’s so many things I hear each and every day. In all honesty, my life is my life. Someone gets pissed because I’m so skinny and I look like I could afford to have hamburgers crammed down my throat, let them. I secretly wish I could have the chest I had three years ago, not to mention dat booty.

In the end we are all just mangled puzzle pieces squished together to create a unique human. Yep, that’s the secret people. We aren’t flesh, bone, or icky looking organs. We are cheap cardboard with pretty pictures, diced into an awkward shape, stuck together with puzzle glue. And I’m loving every little piece.

my darling son

To my darling son,

I know it’s hard for you to hear mommy cry. It’s hard for mommy too. Mommy doesn’t want you to hear her cry, ever. But today hasn’t been a good day.

You see, mommy works and works and works for very little money. Mommy then has to use that little bit of money to get food that costs more than a little bit of money. I then have to try to figure out how I can pay bills.

Honey, this is a vicious cycle that goes on and on. Mommy wants to be able to get you a toy, or even those popsicles you want, but she can’t, and that’s another thing that makes her sad.

All I want for you is the best in life, and in all honesty, I feel like I’m failing you. Mom’s are supposed to be strong, and supportive, giving you food, clothes, and a warm house. That’s ALL I can give you. I can’t take you places and it breaks my heart. Watching you grow up with so little kills me. It is none of your fault either. It’s mommy’s fault. Mommy is trying, but I must not be trying hard enough.

So instead of sitting outside my closed door while I’m in “mommy time” listening to me cry, why don’t you find toys to toss around? I promise when I see that you’re happy, I’ll be happy.

Just remember kiddo, we will make it through.



This Momma is bullheaded.

Let’s clear the air for a moment. I don’t give a crap what you say about my parenting techniques. Which is what brings me to this post.

Yesterday, I picked up my child from school, like I always do, My child is a kindergartner, but he knows his responsibilities. And yes, he has responsibilities. Monday – Friday he brings his folder home that contains notes. Friday he brings home an extra folder, containing his homework to be completed. On Thursday he returns his homework folder, so his homework can be graded. This may seem like a lot for a five year old, but it really isn’t.

Now, back to what I was saying. Everyday, my child is made to hand me his backpack when we leave the school. When we get home, I get his folder and we continue with our day. However, that mother intuition made me check his backpack right outside the school. Upon looking, I found no folder, I turned to my son and he looked down, knowing the consequences of his action: he would be grounded that night. He nodded and said “No cartoons because I left me folder in the classroom”. We continued our trek to the car, when all the sudden a lady scoffs and tells me “you’re being too hard on him. It’s just a folder.”

I turn and look at her and just shake my head. “I’m sorry, just a folder? It’s his responsibility to bring it home every day.”

“I wouldn’t ground my child if they forgot a folder. Besides, he’s only five.”

I’ll tell you this much. The “the child is only [insert age here]” excuse is the shittiest of them all. It’s what made my siblings think that they don’t have to do chores because they were [insert age here]. Nuh uh. My child won’t be pulling that shit. He will know how to cook and clean. It is the parents job to teach their children important life lessons for them to survive in the real world. We aren’t going to be there to be friends. Our children have to love us, but they don’t have to like us. We are their parents, mentors, and tutors, Until I am told otherwise, I will raise my children as my father and mother raised me. There isn’t anything wrong with me, and I have learned to respect elders, do things for myself, and I will continue to learn.

For the lady who told me I’m too hard on my son, you may want to rethink your opinion. After all, my child isn’t running around like an insane person, hitting girls, and yelling at me.

Demographics, baby.

Demographics. A wonderful way for us to figure out who reads/views our stuff, covering anything from age to household. But there’s one thing I don’t agree with, call it my high school dropout self being a brat. Education level.  Or really, let’s look at the REAL issue, the fact that there isn’t anything stating “currently enrolled in high school / GED completion”.

I understand we want a generalized idea so we can keep content flowing for our current “fan base” or “loyal followers”. What about the new readers? How do we gain those new souls, dying to read something to push through their day? By making them feel accepted.

Imagine for a moment, you are the only person in your selected group of friends with a family of your own, and they plan an outing full of loud music and alcohol. You’re invoted, but since your kids are just newborns, they shouldn’t come. Imagine being that mother that couldn’t fathom being parted from their children for even a moment in this young, frail age. You’re left out, aren’t you? You’re less likely to do something with that group of friends again, because you know their plans aren’t tailored for your growing family.

It’s the same way with videos and blogs. You have amazing quality that gained you the current follower base, but you don’t expand. Soon your content becomes stale, republishings of your old content worded differently. As you sit there trying to figure it out, you learn something. The group you were writing for have told their friends, but their friends can’t find a way to get into your work, or the rapists of people you think are great, because you just don’t appeal to theM. Then you survey the follower bases opinion, leaving a minor key out of your thought process, like “how old are your children”. If your readers have mostly teenagers, they don’t want to read so many articles about newborns.

Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I would like to see people accepted, whether they have a master’s degree or a high school diploma. Maybe I’d like someone to make a judgement on my personality rather than my education level. In all honesty, I wish the education level wasn’t an issue. You can’t measure intelligence with a piece of paper.

Things I wish

I have seen a certain picture running around the internet with the hash tag “things I wish my teacher knew” and of course, it stole my heart. But what about the parents? I’ve composed a few of my own, on the other foot.

Things I wish my child’s teacher knew:

1) I don’t get sleep at night because my son is constantly coughing his brains out. I’m sorry he’s constantly late.

2) Time is limited. I try and try tI make more time for my son, outside of work and his homework. As much as I would love to take him to a school function, I save that time for good old fashioned mommy/son time at home.

3) I know it’s hard with my son’s outbursts in school. His doctor and I are working together to minimize the outbursts, it’s going to take time.

Not all parents are perfect, and instead of us being judged, I wish that the teachers would understand.

Understanding lost

Walking up at 12:20, due to a nightmare kind of runs you down, especially when you were the monster. All in trying to do in life is make the best for my son…so why do I feel like I’m failing? He is warm, and fed, has his own sleeping area…yet I still feel like I’m falling him as a mom.

Why had society managed to beat it into the parents head that they are bad? If I dont work, I’m not rteaching my son responsibility or making sure I can provide for him, thus making me a bad parent.

If I work, I’m not spending time with my son, thus being a bad mom.

No matter which way you slice it…no matter whYat you do for your child, society will tell you that it’s wrong and you are bad.

I just don’t understand.