The first six months

Shame. Abandonment.

Pictures of offensive images that refuse to stop playing.

Scents that invade at random times, striking unexplainable fear.

Uncertainty, instability. A sense of always being  on emotional ice, unable to stabilize or feel safe.

All seeds planted into the heart of this child at a time when bonds of safety, value, belonging, nurture and faith should have been the norm.

Initially, when it was revealed that my mom was pregnant, her mother kicked her out of their home. Ironic: the prostitute had some kind of self-righteous moment when her teenage daughter informed her of the pregnancy. A short time later she was allowed to return home  –  to the one-room apartment above the bar. Where “grandma” worked.

Into that room, and that environment, I was born.

The first “chapter” of life was lived in that room, with the people and relationships that are the norm in that environment. A small sense of morality created a scenario where various “co workers” helped take care of the baby in the “house”, to try and reduce the times I was in the room while the ladies were working. Passed from room to room, person to person, beginning life disconnected in a world of chaos.

The images were burned into my mind, imprinted forever on the ‘big screen’ of my memory, never to be erased.

The foundation was brittle, the emotional mold disfigured.

The need for stability was great, the cry for healing even greater.

And the Story has only just begun….

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