Speak that Shit to Heal that Shit

Have you ever been at the mercy of someone you loved, hoping they would love you back but instead treated you as if you were a stranger or not even human? Each time they hurt you with their words, actions, or lack thereof, you inhaled pain and exhaled tears. Have you ever spent an entire day crying from disappointment, heartbreak, confusion, and abuse? Cry a cry so deep until you were filled with so much devastation that you had no more tears left. Because so overcome with anguish that your cries turned in to screams, that no one else seemed to hear. Even the thought of what you have been through would bring tears to your eyes.
You probably think I am talking about a man but I am not. This is the agony that I have experienced suffering from emotional, mental, verbal, financial, and sometimes physical abuse from my mother, my first heartbreak.
I can’t remember the first time she called me a bitch, or when or why but I remember how it felt. I thought being called a stupid muthafucka or stupid ass was bad. Time paused for me and I knew on the street bitch was fighting words for someone you had no respect or regard for. I realized this woman, that birthed me, lost sight of who I was. I was no longer her daughter I was her enemy, her scapegoat, a reminder of some pain that she hadn’t and wouldn’t deal with.
I remember 2 days after my mother and father broke off their marriage and we moved into a new home. I woke up to see a man I never met before walk past my room. I thought I was seeing things but they both looked me straight in the eyes and no one said anything. She walked him out and I immediately began to cry. I didn’t expect my parents to get back together, I was hoping they would break up eventually because the arguing became too much for me to hear but I didn’t expect to see another man, let alone one to come out of my mother room’s, especially one that I haven’t met, so soon after they separated.
My mother returned to see me crying and with no remorse, no stuttering, no hesitating she said, “You better not cry. I am a grown-ass woman and this is my muthafucking house and I can do what I please with who I please.” She continued, “You have no right to judge me and if this is how you are going to act because this will not be the last time that a man will be over here, you can move out and live with your daddy and see what kind of hoes he has come in and out of his house and judge him.” She walked away.
I could have died. That same week, days later, another man came over and spent the night, I saw him walk past my room, too. With only shedding a few tears because I didn’t want her to know I was hurt, I wanted to die.
This turned into many men, many nights of me hearing her having sex, me having to cook breakfast for her and her man and serve it to them in her room, with condoms on the floor and sex in the air. This turned into me kicking out of the house so many times in the middle of the night in my PJs. There were no cell phones. I had nowhere to go. As I got older, 19 and 20, I had a car, I would sleep in it until she let me back in or I'd drive to a payphone (if I had money) to call my friend. Most times, I would get to the payphone and not call anyone, not even my dad, because I was embarrassed and if people judged my mother and I came from her, then they would judge me too. Because I am her and she is me, right? I had nothing but my tears and I tried to process things the best I could. Usually, within a few hours, she would let me back in and of course, what happens in his house, stays in this house. I obliged.
Many nights of when my mother did not come home with a man but would stay out late after work (it was normal for her to come home after work and leave back out or not come home after she got off work and get in the house at 2, 3, 4, 5, am she would ALWAYS come straight in my room drunk, wake me up to either her yelling at me about something, cussing me out, crying hysterically about something or someone, jumping on me (hitting/choking me), of course, getting kicked out and t would go on for hours until she either got tired or my alarm clock went off and it was time for me to get ready for school. She would leave go to bed, I would get up, get ready and catch 2 buses to school and get through my day.
And the day would start again. Mostly her coming home with a dude that that night or coming home drunk and coming into my room. There were a few times she wouldn’t do either and just go to bed or listen to music but my anxiety would be so high from anticipating, I would worry all night because both scenarios upset me and caused me stress.
I could on but I won’t. Just know the abuse continued verbally, emotionally, mentally, physically, and financially.
Many may find this hard to read but imagine living this not just through your childhood but well into your adulthood, even as you become a mother yourself. And this is only a piece of my story and there are many women out there like you with similar or even worst ones. Trust I have heard some that make this sound like fairies and rainbows.
So this is why I talk about this mother-daughter relationship crisis. This is why I teach women to set a standard or have no contact with their mothers. This is why I say if your mother is the one fucking you over, then hey, fuck her and begin to focus on you. This is why I go hard.
I am not courageous just willing.
I just wanted to share a piece of me to further connect with women who can relate and who also are ready to heal and disrupt dysfunction. This why women, you, me must UnMotherFuckYourSelf!
Thank you for joining my mailing list. I know I have not been connecting to you and wanted to change that. I hope you are well and safe during this stay at home order.
If you have a story and although maybe a little scared but want to share it privately with me. I know sometimes we just need to let it out and be heard and have a release, email me
I will listen. I will not shame you. I will no tell you bu that's your mama and you only get one. I will not tell you to get over it (but I am working on some stuff to show you how to get through it).
Hugs and Healing to you!

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