Our Parents Had No Idea What They Were Doing Either

As I get older and learn new pieces of my mother's story, I grow sadder and sadder about her situation. I can empathize with her as I learn about the huddles on her path, her personality, thought process and even the impact of being abandoned by one selfish parent and ignored by the other.

Most recently,  I learned that my mom's work at the post office was a temporary gig that paid less than half of the equivalent of what I make today.  

I have started to recognize what I now know are mental illnesses in my mother--not just pure weakness as I had always thought. Our community ruins us and I wonder if my mom has been a victim of sexual assault, most black women have been and many of them underage to make things worse.

 I think about the bitter truth of her parents-- my grandparents-- a narcissistic, diva who is said to have run brothels, still shows off photos of all the men she dated back in the day, who left one daughter behind and gave up the other and a hard headed, verbally and physically abusive player who at 88, still can't keep his penis in his pants. THESE were my mother's parents. She was raised by her grandmother, who died before I was born, but in any case whether it be guilt or a need to control someone, both my grandparents flocked back into my mother's life when it was convenient as thought they never left.

I remember my grandmother trying to treat me like I was HER child as if it would make up for her absence during my mother's childhood. And I remember refusing to speak to my grandfather  after I got annoyed with him constantly belittling my mother. 

At some points I even treated her poorly as a child, whether its my fault for not knowing how to communicate or hers for not teaching me that's really a chicken or the egg situation.

Point is, I look at these factors and I pity my mother. Most people have no idea what they're doing when it comes to children but that is an understatement for my mother. I see this and I forgive her. I forgive her for not knowing how to raise me, she did what she could under pressure. I forgive her for constantly being irresponsible and having us get evicted. I forgive her even suggesting the idea of giving me up for adoption.... that one hurt me the most growing up but now I understand.

Everyone has their own stories. But the damage is done. Trauma is tricky and in my case, I don't think it was intentional. Generational curses, careless/poor parenting and mental illness can all be combined to result in trauma. Or maybe in other cases, our parents just had no idea what they were doing.

I Never Want to Feel This Way Again

 I never want to lay awake at 3 am on a Monday again, dreading 5 hours into the future and the following 8.

I never want to sit down in front of a pen again, only to realize that words just don't flow freely from my fingertips anymore because my passion is also my most unused skill.

I never again want to feel the sting of asking for an upward career trajectory blueprint and being gas-lit to stay in a lower place while those around me advance

I never again want to sit silenced while decisions that directly affect me are discussed behind closed doors, out of my control and out of my hands.

I never want to let money bind me to a building on fire, whilst I struggle for air against the smoke of mistreatment and a lack of freedom as my throat closes tighter

I never want to be the token again, never quite fitting in as my company opts to constantly put me under less experienced (white men)