Cabin Fever

Hellooooo, February!

This month is passing slowly (insert crying) ….. and the month of January was boring AF for our household. These freezing cold, rainy, dewy, icy days are brutal. No one wants to get out to play slip and slide on ice…. so we stay inside trying to keep the peace during “cabin fever” season. Our nights call for lots of soup (because I burn toast-happy to admit that shit!) and family movies. We have seen every Netflix, HBO and new release kid movies out there. At this point, I’m happy to say I could go a year or so without seeing another kid movie -and be completely okay with that.

Family time is peaceful until we start getting on each other’s nerves and begin acting like a bunch of crazy, hearing impaired, psychotic people. Many “snow days” are spent screaming at each other-ready to throw a Jackie Chan at the sight of another toy being misplaced or “stolen” by sister(s). When this type of behavior occurs our only option is to separate and act like we are ghosts until the cabin fever goes away. (I’m looking into hiring a full time nanny for future months of January so I can pack my bags and get the hell out of here.) I’ll let you know how that goes

Speaking of trips….I had an amazing trip scheduled for the end of January; a mission trip where I would get the opportunity to help people in desperate need of medical and dental care. While being on this trip I would get the privilege to love on little babies and kids who are starving for affection and attention, run around and play soccer in the dirt with those sweet lovers, comfort them during dental procedures, hug them like their world depended on it and pray over them for God’s sweet mercy and grace. Well, God sent a sign (his way, not mine) and it postponed our trip. I like to call this “God's Divine intervention.” January was not the time to go. Presidential elections had just taken place in Honduras and riots were breaking out everywhere. Hotels were being burned and many people injured and/or dead. It was not a safe zone for us. My heart was broken with this news. We have planned this trip for many months and have had so many gracious friends sending in donations. We were mentally prepared to be of service during the course of seven very long days. I was sad, but that sweet reminder of my loving Christ chimed in and said “if it comes, let it. If it goes, let it.” I must admit I was and still am nervous about the trip which has now been rescheduled for September but I have many months to prepare again. Please keep us all in your thoughts and prayers as well as the people of Honduras.

@Doterra Oils @healtysexylife Makeup Artist: Chasity

My professional life this month has been filled with an immense amount of gratitude. I worked on two different projects (in one day) with two of my very dear friends. One was for DoTerra oils (amazing group of women) and Miss Mississippi 2015 (she’s flawless and a complete delight to work with). The final looks were better than I could’ve imagined. And the photo shoots were a blast! I was also given the opportunity of a lifetime. It was for a very well-known artist, Mrs. Brenda Lee, for a spread in Rolling Stone magazine. The shoot was postponed earlier that week due to snow... so they called me the night before the big photo shoot and I was so incredibly excited I could hardly sleep. Everyone was a delight to work with that day and it ran very smooth. Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude! Thank you Heavenly Father for those gifts! I can’t wait to see the final project.

Photo Credit: @eafoto  Model: Courtney Byrd  Makeup Artist: Chasity

Photo Credit: @eafoto  Model: Courtney Byrd  Makeup Artist: Chasity

Spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically I’m working on daily. There are days I feel strong in some areas, and weak in others. Trying to balance everything is difficult….especially while parenting, wifeing, adulting, maintaining my sobriety, and being of service. I decided to step away from social media for a few weeks to work on my blog, projects around my home, and organizing more areas of my life (that shit really never stays that way but I get an E for effort). Lately, I’ve noticed how much time I waste on social media. I love social media, don’t get me wrong, but it’s interfering with things I need to get done. So I’m stepping back for just a bit.

I’ll be back soon!

God is good and I am grateful ❤️

Xo

Chasity

Grateful

What’s up? Holy cow I’ve been MIA for a minute. My apologies. Life has taken over and…. well, that’s really my only excuse. School started back for the girls and they are dominating the world one grade at a time. Hubby works from sun up til sun down and enjoys any free time he gets.

Life has been pretty unpredictable for me and very eventful. God has brought some amazing people into my life ….and some have left to start a new life in a new state (insert tear). I was reminded a couple of weeks ago while attending a charity event that five years ago (in early October) I was given a second chance at life. I had a car accident while in a complete blackout. The car accident that could’ve easily taken my life left me unscathed. The friend I was with the night of the charity event (a couple of weeks ago) was the owner of that house and the yard that I drove across (literally) in a complete blackout. She had invited me to this event that was very dear to both of us. We were running late and was rushing to get to the top where all the action was happening. While in the elevator trying to make it up to the tip top of this building (before they closed off the area to eat) a thought crossed my mind…. this was a five year mark and I happen to be with Kel. My stomach felt like it was eating itself at this point but I looked over at Kel and said “Oh my goodness, Kel, two days ago was my five year anniversary of my wreck.” She put her hand on my back as we quickly walked out of the elevator in an attempt to get to the food as she said “I can’t believe it, I’m proud of you, Chas!”

You see….this lady will forever hold a special place in my heart. That night was the most humiliating time of my life. A very difficult time as parents for my husband and myself. And while some people were bashing a young mother who failed a field sobriety test - Kel was praying for me. While some wouldn’t ever think about reaching out to see how they could help, Kel left me flowers on my doorstep with a card that read “I’m so grateful you are okay, I am praying for you and your family.” While some were judging me after the chaos - without knowing the story leading up to my breaking point, Kel was inviting me over for book studies, coffee and catching up on life. Now I’m not saying what happened that night was justifiable. I took credit for my shortcomings and I paid the price…. but Kel set a level of non-judgment and forgiveness so high that it inspires me to act, think and react in ways she did when I needed the grace, support and love. We are all quick to judge. Take a minute to think about it before you do.

I’m grateful today for second chances. I’m grateful for the love and support that I surround myself with daily. The sweet text messages, phone calls and coffee dates when I just need a listening ear. I’m a believer in “to have great quality friendships, you have to be a great quality friend.”

Love like Kel!

I love you sweet friend!

-Chas

Coping with Postpartum

To all of the people who don't believe there's such a thing as postpartum....well, my middle fingers salute you.

I guess you could say we started my second pregnancy on pins and needles. Before conceiving my now middle child, I had suffered a miscarriage, which left me holding my breath for my entire pregnancy. Every flip-flop, bump — or  the worst, no movement  — for a day or so made my mind travel to some dark places. I was googling the “what if’s” and “how longs” for everything that frightened me.

Our little cuddle bug came one week early. Her head was covered in soft dark hair and her eyes were as big and bright as a full moon. But what really set her apart were a set of lungs that would put Adele to shame. She was perfect and so stinkin' cute. We were in love and grateful to have another precious blessing that would also be a playmate for big sister. As if this wasn’t enough stress, we were in the middle of selling our downtown condo and moving to suburbia life. My husband started a new rigorously demanding job soon after her birth and during all of this transition in our life, we discovered our daughter had severe colic. Like, I want to stab myself in the eardrum colic. Postpartum depression snuck up on me like a fat ass zit on the tip of my nose,

I was back at the Google game, except this time it was:  “what the f*&^ is wrong with my child?” For months, the of guilt washed over me and I continued to question, “why is it so damn hard for me to figure this out?” To add to the drama, I woke up one morning sick with fever and chills which prompted my husband to call my OB. I had double mastitis so badly, my fever reached 104 and the infection was rapidly moving up towards my neck. My husband was a bit nervous because the infection was spreading quickly, but I was hell bent on nursing, so I continued despite how horrible I felt. Allow me to paint a picture, nipples covered in red blistery scabs, oozing blood, and knots so crushingly painful, my eyes would water at the thought of them. Luckily, the antibiotics began to work and I enjoyed some relief physically, but breastfeeding was still an uphill battle. I cried; all day, every day. The constant flow of tears cause eyes to remain bloodshot around the clock and bed was the only cure to comfort my anguish. Late one night after nursing, I burped my daughter and noticed her spit-up contained chunks of blood, arriving there via the scab from my nipple.  That was the moment I decided I should stop nursing — it just wasn't working out for me. I was disappointed that every time I turned around there was a new challenge to face and desperately needed something to numb my pain. Helplessness set in and I began a vicious spiral that would change the course of my life.

I am the type of mother that tries to do everything opposite from the way I was raised. I so badly wanted to scream at my precious infant who had no idea how badly her little screams were triggering me. But I had made a conscious decision to handle intense situations with a loving approach. On the outside, I tried to appear like  a mom that wasn't losing her shit despite enduring the code red level colic of my baby and still be a present parent to my school-aged daughter. But under those layers of a facade I was withering away mentally and feeding my growing battle with alcoholism. The guilt and shame of my history was showing up daily to torment me.. The sum of my Dad issues, parenting issues, and childhood trauma began to spill over into my current life, adding a new self-imposed demon to the list as I began to hate myself for not knowing how to be the perfect parent and wife.

Each night I would rock my screaming daughter to sleep as tears ran down my cheeks and I cried out to God for help. I was extremely overwhelmed and tired of not getting any relief. Exhaustion hit a point of no return and so I turned to the only thing that I knew would knock my depression out quickly: alcohol. I started my love affair with this soothingly toxic drink that took all of my troubles away after the first two glasses. I had not touched alcohol since the night we discovered we were pregnant and after two months post baby, I was slamming bottles of wine like my life depended on it. I crossed the line when I went from wanting alcohol to soothe my pain into needing the alcohol to escape the triggers that were eating the hell out of my soul. The "switch" happened quick for me, the switch that I hear so many talk about in my recovery. I used to drink for fun, or just to decompress, but during this time of my life I drank to numb the chaos of life and to get out of my head. Within four months of drinking postpartum I made that chemical switch. I started hiding bottles of wine in my closet so that my husband wouldn't question how much I had to drink that night because the typical two to four glasses of wine was not cutting it for me. Six months after giving birth to my second daughter, I had a single car wreck and  found myself in and out of an alcohol induced blackout. I don’t remember much from that wreck besides sitting in the back of a cop car with a convicted DUI on my record.

Postpartum is REAL, folks, and so is alcoholism. It waited for me to become complacent with drinking and in a situation that had me stressed to the core before it took over my life and caused a heap of trouble. My life had become unmanageable. I was restless, irritable and discontent - trying to take control of my own life. I would go weeks without washing my hair, days without bathing or brushing my teeth. I was not taking care of myself mentally or physically. The thought of wearing a pair of fishnet panties and pads the size of depends was traumatizing enough to keep my ass planted where I was. I isolated myself from friends, family and activities ...and drank myself to sleep. I used alcohol to try and fix my problem instead of reaching out for other sources of help. It was by far the most humiliating, mentally and physically time of my life and it took a long time to forgive myself. Today, I am grateful for that moment. I am grateful God gave me a second chance at life. I am glad that I can reach out for help when I have hit the point of “I am about to go batshit crazy if I don’t get help.”  It was a hard lesson I had to learn, but it lead me to a path of empathy, acceptance and love.

I don't blame my DUI on postpartum because ultimately I have the freedom to choose what path to take... my point of sharing my struggles with postpartum is to shed some light to others who may be experiencing PPD as I did. Take care of yourself, get out and enjoy beautiful weather while rocking those sexy ass fishnet panties, call friends and family, take a bath...even when you don’t feel like it,  ask for help and the infamous “sleep when your baby sleeps” ha! Yeah right...sleep as often as you can. If dishes and clothes have to pile up for weeks…..oh well. That is materialistic shit and can be replaced. You can’t. Happy trails to you, my postpartum Momma’s!

XO

~Chasity

Breaking ACEs

I have always loved to research. I could sit in a room and research a topic that I am interested in for hours. I love reading and listening to real life stories. True stories inspire me and, in some way, it helps build a connection that makes me feel like my feelings are validated and I am not alone.

I am grateful today that I continually reach out to educate myself on how to balance life. I’ve seen just about every therapist in town, read every book, listened to podcast, watched documentaries….and talked to the women in my life I respect most. My strategy for balancing has never been perfect, but I am getting better each year. Sometimes we have set backs, I remind myself that God is preparing us for a set up. Things are definitely not like they used to be (back in the day)…..because there is MORE of everything. More working, stress, pressure, expectations, and opportunities - you name it. Finding that balance in life is where my struggle lies today. When I am unable to find balance in my life, I tend to automatically fall back into “default mode”. My default mode is the infamous flight/fright response. Something that is so ingrained in my brain, it feels like it’ll take a freakin act of congress to shift the pull of the genetic curse. I am hardwired and predisposed to A LOT of negative thinking, anxiety, addictions, judgments and shit talking between my ears, unfortunately. Fortunately, I have educated myself and continue to so. I have learned the tools I need to bypass dysfunction or negative thinking when I see it pop up.

Recently, my husband and I have focused on balancing our personal lives with our work/social lives. We are at it hardcore this year...since my NY resolution was to prioritize everything in my life; we are focusing on balancing our family life with our work/social life. Some years we kill it in this area, and other years - it almost kills us. We have planned a new strategy (this happens often) ...so I will keep you updated on this strategy. In order to break genetic curses (anxiety, depression, over working,over eating, alcoholism) we have had to “crawl” before we “walk”. Our new plan is written something like this….

1.      Eliminate ALL invaders. Invaders can be anyone or anything that is pulling us away from our goal instead of pushing us towards it.

2.      Stay positive. When life sucks, our attitude doesn’t have to.

3.      Teamwork. If you fall, I’ve got your back. If I fall you have my back….if we are insync….we kill it together. We used to get caught up in the “this is your job and this is my job”...that’s not how we base our marriage today. We are a team, not two individuals.

4.      Pray. Every single day….before our feet touch the floor.

5.      Stay connected. Connected emotionally, mentally and physically and spiritually to the people we love most, the needs of each other, our children, and God.

6.      Laugh. People who take themselves too seriously lack life….in my opinion.

7.      If things get heated….PAUSE! Breathe! And reassess.

We post notes, write on our chalk boards and remind each other every morning once we wake up. Things get a bit chaotic on weekday mornings in this house (three girls- go figure) so my husband calls me and our two younger girls for a family prayer on his way to drop off our oldest at school. The thing we have to remember is that flexibility is needed along with acceptance of what cannot be changed. There are things in and around our life that need acceptance - nothing more, nothing less….just accepting what is - just as it is. Easier said than done...right? Recovery has helped me in this area “if we continue to push, we will never feel the pull”. Take it one day at a time, do the next right thing and let that shit go.

I am posting recent research to the ACEs study. I have really enjoyed reading the recent research and studies from Kaiser Permanente and the CDC. It really validates why my mind defaults to “shit talk” at times. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I do.

Via CDC website

www.cdc.gov

Childhood experiences, both positive and negative, have a tremendous impact on future violence victimization and perpetration, and lifelong health and opportunity. As such, early experiences are an important public health issue. Much of the foundational research in this area has been referred to as Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs).

Adverse Childhood Experiences have been linked to

·         risky health behaviors,

·         chronic health conditions,

·         low life potential, and

·         early death.

As the number of ACEs increases, so does the risk for these outcomes.

The wide-ranging health and social consequences of ACEs underscore the importance of preventing them before they happen. CDC promotes lifelong health and well-being through Essentials for Childhood – Assuring safe, stable, nurturing relationships and environments for all children. Essentials for Childhood can have a positive impact on a broad range of health problems and on the development of skills that will help children reach their full potential.

Child maltreatment includes all types of abuse and neglect of a child under the age of 18 by a parent, caregiver, or another person in a custodial role (e.g., clergy, coach, teacher). There are four common types of maltreatment.

·         Physical Abuse

·         Sexual Abuse

·         Emotional Abuse

·         Neglect

CDC’s research and programs work to understand the problem of child abuse and neglect and prevent them before they begin.

 Types of ACEs coping

 Alcohol Abuse

Anda RF, Whitfield CL, Felitti VJ, Chapman D, Edwards VJ, Dube SR, Williamson DF. Adverse childhood experiences, alcoholic parents, and later risk of alcoholism and depression. Psychiatr Serv. 2002;53(8):1001–1009.

Dube SR, Anda RF, Felitti VJ, Croft JB, Edwards VJ, Giles WH. Growing up with parental alcohol abuse: exposure to childhood abuse, neglect and household dysfunction. Child Abuse and Negl. 2001;25(12):1627–1640.

Dube SR, Anda RF, Felitti VJ, Edwards VJ, Croft JB. Adverse Childhood Experiences and personal alcohol abuse as an adult. Addictive Behaviors.2002;27(5):713–725.

Dube SR, Miller JW, Brown DW, Giles WH, Felitti VJ, Dong M, Anda RF. Adverse childhood experiences and the association with ever using alcohol and initiating alcohol use during adolescence. J Adolesc Health. 2006;38(4):444.e1-444.e10.

Strine TW, Dube SR, Edwards VJ, Prehn AW, Rasmussen S, Wagenfeld M, Dhingra S, Croft JB. Associations between adverse childhood experiences, psychological distress, and adult alcohol problems. Am J Health Behav. 2012 Mar; 36(3):408-23.

Drug Abuse

Dube SR, Felitti VJ, Dong M, Chapman DP, Giles WH, Anda RF. Childhood abuse, neglect and household dysfunction and the risk of illicit drug use: The Adverse Childhood Experience Study. Pediatrics. 2003;111(3):564–572.

Obesity

Williamson DF, Thompson, TJ, Anda, RF, Dietz WH, Felitti VJ. Body weight, obesity, and self-reported abuse in childhood. International Journal of Obesity. 2002;26:1075–1082.

Sexual Risk Behavior

Hillis SD, Anda RF, Felitti VJ, Marchbanks PA. Adverse childhood experiences and sexual risk behaviors in women: a retrospective cohort study.Fam Plann Perspect. 2001;33:206–211.

Smoking

Anda RF, Croft JB, Felitti VJ, Nordenberg D, Giles WH, Williamson DF, Giovino GA. Adverse childhood experiences and smoking during adolescence and adulthood. JAMA. 1999;282:1652–1658.

Edwards VJ, Anda RF, Gu D, Dube SR, Felitti VJ. Adverse childhood experiences and smoking persistence in adults with smoking-related symptoms and illness. Perm J. 2007;11:5–7.

Ford ES, Anda RF, Edwards VJ, Perry GS, Zhao G, Tsai J, Li C, Croft JB. Adverse childhood experiences and smoking status in five states. Prev Med.2011;53:188-93.

Strine TW, Edwards VK, Dube SR, Wagenfeld M, Dhingra S, Prehn AW, Rasmussen S, Mcknight-Eily L, Croft JB. The mediating sex-specific effect of psychological distress on the relationship between adverse childhood experiences and current smoking among adults. Subst Abuse Treat Prev Policy. 2012;7:30.

Sending hugs,

Chasity

One Arm. . One Story. . One Life

This past week was a great growth experience for me. I got the opportunity to tell a small portion of a humiliating part of my life --in front of an amazing crowd. It was "storytellers" night so I picked a story that had a lot of humor but told a story of grace and compassion. I received a lot of good feedback. It made me want to sign up for more. It felt comfortable for me to see the smiles on the crowds faces. It's what I absolutely love to do...make people smile! I had a great support system there which made it easier for me.....because I knew they would laugh no matter what....even if I sucked. (Ha)

Kristin texted me the day after and asked "how do you feel about last night since you've had some time to process it"....It feels great, I said. I think I took many people by surprise who didn't know me that night. I walked out on stage modestly dressed, hair and makeup on point (not to toot my own horn...but I did that shit mostly one handed....just sayin'!) and then dropped the bomb about a small portion of my life that seemed so catastrophic at the time but ended up turning into a purposeful calling.

A lady approached me that night after the show and said...."looking at you and how you carried yourself on the stage tonight made me think of how we stereotype people just by physical appearance. I bet you have so many stories to tell about your life, but you carry yourself as an ordinary lady who doesn't have the history you just told --and your language with facial expressions made your story absolutely hilarious.".....I laughed. It is true. If I could wear my history as clothing, it would be a mixture of dingy, worn down, dilapidated, colorful as shit and blinged out from head to mother freakin toe.....with damn good looking pair shoes... just like my life. I've had parts that were difficult some beat me down, but I've gotten back up and shinned that shit. It's not perfect, it never will be but it's exactly where God wants me in my life right now. It reminds me of a quote I was told once:

"If we don't reveal ourselves, others will invent us" ~Dorothy Baldwin Satten

I love who I am. I love who I am becoming day by day. I love the fact that I don't value the opinions of those I don't respect. My mistakes have given me some damn good AND FUNNY stories to tell and I intend on telling them, making people laugh, and help others speak their truth. 

I want to send a special THANKS to these beautiful people for supporting my very first storytelling night at a famous comedy club.. It was a fabulous night!

<3 Chas

Amuse Bouche

I suppose one of the many reasons God gave me THREE girls is because he knows how grossed out I get over little things. I am not a dirt digging, worm catching, WWF type of Mom. I am a germaphobe. I can't stand touching my own sweat, public doors, public handles...etc. I will drop kick a mother freakin public restroom door like I've been trained by Jackie Chan before I dare touch it to open. I gag easily and gross smells make my mouth water like Niagara Falls (not in a good way) forcing a rip roaring sound through my vocal chords so loud it sounds like a walrus giving birth. It's horrible. I have a weak stomach and I try hard to stay away from rancid smells, insects and anything disgusting. 

My husband, on the other hand, isn't bothered by many smells. Posh is so outnumbered I give him a pass on occasion to joke about farting, burping and boogers with our girls. It usually starts with him asking one of the girls to pull his finger... flagellating stank into the air so thick, it takes a full can of febreeze to kill the stinch. Our girls laugh until their bellies hurt and their eyes cross. It's gross, we all do it, but in this house I'm apparently the only one that has a problem with it. Our girls have gotten rather comfortable with crop-dusting and burping aloud. I remind them that burping loudly is okay at home, but it's not okay when we are in public or have guest over.... because we were not raised in a barn. 

When it comes to booger eating, well, that's a completely disgusting conversation to have. Once I see fingers halfway up my girls’ noses and then that same finger enters their mouth... I've got some issues. I try to keep an open line of communication with them so they don't have to hide things from me -although I wouldn't mind if they hid booger eating. Lately, I've seen booger eating take over as though they were preparing for dinner with amuse-bouche. I assume they think it's a rare delicacy by the way they examine it before eating and have a sense of palatable satisfaction once consumed. After many awkward moments of turning my head pretending not to see the booger action take place, I decided to address the elephant in the room...or house, depending on where the booger was ingested. The "oh shit act like you didn't see that" started catching up with my gut and I could no longer watch this episode of "WTF are they eating" from my own children - so I decided to sit the girls down and discuss this issue. The conversation went something like this....

 Me: Hey girls, lets talk about booger eating really quick

 Girls: Okay

 Hubby: The crunchier, the better

 Me: OMG...that's not what I was going to say

 Hubby: It's so gross, girls, but I used to eat my crunchy boogers as a little boy. I loved  them.

 Girls start chuckling with their hands covering their mouths

 Me: (gagging)

Before I could get serious with them, my husband turned it into a total joke and all seriousness flew out the window. The giggles of my girls and crunching sounds coming out of my husband’s mouth just about threw me over the edge.  Once my inner walrus settled and the thoughts of what my husband just said left my mind, I was able to get my point across. I told the girls... Yes, I remember eating boogers as a little girl. I think most of us do. We are curious creatures but it's not a healthy habit to form because there are so many germs in those green disgusting things. I went to bed with a sense of accomplishment that night, hoping that my germie booger conversation had sunk in a bit. Regardless, I am grateful that I can slowly open that door of communication with them... even if Posh killed the seriousness with laughter. 

The next morning I awoke to my husband giggling with his iPhone in his hand.... "It's confirmed, Chas, our kids are geniuses. Studies show that kids who eat their boogers are revving up their immune systems" I laughed so hard at the fact that my husband actually took the time to google "health concerns of booger eating" and is reassured that our girls have a strong body and mind credited to the consumption of boogies. 

Warrior Wings

Over the past few months our Instagram account has flooded with responses related to trauma. So we are pulling some of our skeletons out and sharing them with you...

I am a child of domestic violence. Throughout my past I've experienced many triggers and images of the torture I witnessed at a young age. This made it difficult for me connect the pieces so I could make sense of it all. For years I was haunted by this one image of my mother. I've had nightmares about it. Thought about it in random settings. Obsessed about it without completely understanding why it continued to resurface.

When I decided to see a therapist about my drinking, we did a thorough inventory of my past. Things that triggered me to drink, made me sad, or brought on anxiety. I give many thanks to this therapist for helping me take a deeper look into my past, myself, and urged me to journal the triggers so that we could process them during our therapy sessions. I had many pages of the specific image of my mother written out. The image was a very vivid picture of my Mom. She was crying, gasping for air, sitting in the middle of our yard in torn pajamas. She told me and my siblings that she was having an asthma attack so I never questioned it. My therapist and I decided to focus my trauma work around this image.

Weeks of review and dissection led me to a strong feeling of fear, a fright or flight response that told me something was off. I learned at an early age to trust that feeling. It helped me close my eyes and cover my ears when I sensed imminent danger and run for help when shit hit the fan. I began each therapy session focusing on this image and began to pick it apart. I was finally able to understand why this vivid image continued to haunt me. Below is a tidbit from my book surrounding this scenario....

In the middle of the night, I awoke to screams and the sound of glass shattering. I knew the protocol for those nights....it was to keep my ass in bed until Mom broke free from my abusive Dad. I laid in bed waiting for Momma to run out the screen door. The slamming of our screen door was the sign that Mom had escaped from my Dad and made it outside. I quickly jumped out of bed and opened my bedroom door. Dad, on the opposite side in his room obliterated and in blackout mode, cursing and lying on the bed, too drunk and high to move at that point. My brother and I ran through the house screaming for Mom. I grabbed the phone on the way out and ran to Momma while dialing 911. We called EMS so much they knew us by name. As we opened the screen door, I could see Momma. It was the same image that haunted me. She was sitting in the middle of our grassy yard, hand on her chest and a frantic look in her eyes. I jumped down the stairs and walked over to her knelt down to kiss her cheek and rubbed her back whispering "it's going to be okay, Mom". She was panicking and gasping for air. Her hair was a mess while she sat in her torn pajamas in the middle of our yard. Mom had red marks up and down her arms and neck. She gasped for air and whispered “water” in between breaths during her "asthma attack". The cops never did much when they were there. Sometimes Mom would press charges but Dad always manipulated his way out and other times she would give my Dad a pass. 

My entire life I believed Mom was really suffering from asthma (she does have a history of asthma) until I talk through it step by step with my therapist. Those were not asthma attacks. Those were panic attacks from Mom getting abused mentally, physically and emotionally by my Dad. I felt helpless during those nights. I wanted to beat my Dad up, but I was scared shitless of him. There was nothing I could do except comfort my Mom in those horrific moments. We waited for Momma to catch her breath and settled down. Once we knew Dad had passed out for the night and we were safe to go back inside, my siblings and I would wrap blankets around Momma and walk with her into our home. We made Momma sleep in the middle of me and my siblings so we could protect her. We all cuddled up and cried until we fell asleep.

After relaying the actual events surrounding that image to my therapist, my cheeks were soaked with tears. That was the image I unconsciously carried with me whenever I felt helpless. I had pieced together the image that haunted me for years and made me feel like my entire spirit had been sucked out of my body. It was intense, sickening and therapeutic. I was disgusted by the thought of what that man did to Momma, his own children and countless others. But I had solved the piece that needed to heal so I could move forward. I left therapy that day with a sense of pride and accomplishment, thanking God for uncovering a piece of my past that I longed to heal. The vivid image rarely comes through my mind these days but when it does I welcome it, envision that little 7 year old girl helping Momma off the ground and wiping her tears away, looking my Dad in the face and saying

THANK YOU! Thank you, Dad, for making me a strong ass warrior..... I release the image and I let it go.