Owning My Personal Power - Insights

Owning my personal power is something that I feel like it has taken me years to do. In the beginning, I had no idea what personal power was. If I had any, where was it? What was it? How was it going to change my life?

As a child and a victim of incest, I felt like only my abusers had any power. When I tried to be powerful and not afraid, the abusers quickly made sure that I was put back in my place. I was always afraid of other people - afraid to speak out about the abuse, afraid to speak up and call attention to myself, afraid that if people knew about the incest they would blame me and call me trash, whore, tramp. I was afraid I would die from the shame if others knew. From that position of victim, I couldn't see that I had any power. Those thoughts continued into my adulthood.

As a survivor, I had to work hard to discover who I was. Knowing who I was didn't come easy. As a child of incest, I forgot all of that in order to stay sane and to stay alive. I did a lot of trial and error, as a survivor, starting with recognizing the things that I didn't like and didn't want in my life. As a child who saw only negatives from the surrounding adults, how could I possibly, as an adult, automatically know about positives in life? I didn't.  All I could connect with, in the beginning, was what I didn't like. After acknowledging and letting go of the negatives for awhile, I could begin to see positive things happening in my life. I could begin to acknowledge,
"Yes, I like this."
"Yes, this feels good."
"Yes, I want this in my life." and finally,
"Yes, I deserve to have this good in my life. I deserve to not have to constantly struggle and be disappointed in myself, others and life in general."

Then there was room to see the positives in my life and in who I was. That change started with learning to love myself and forgiving myself for my reactions to the abuse or to the triggers in life. I could change from reacting to acting which meant letting go of the need for drama and really, fully living my life without the hyper vigilance of my childhood and the stress that went with it. I could find real calmness and peace within myself rather than just the surface calm that most people saw in me.

As a thriver, I am coming into my own power and glorying in it. I am a person of great value. We all are. I am not a victim and I am more than just a survivor.

Owning my own power means I can be me, whoever that is. Shining my Light for everyone to see, loving myself in all of my perfection and imperfections, loving and nurturing all of my inner children while not allowing them to control my adult life, truly loving all of me, even the shadow parts - this is owning my power in all of its fullness. Being able to say, "I am sorry." and then changing any behaviors of mine that have been inappropriate or dysfunctional is a step to owning my personal power. Letting others see me in my imperfections takes courage that I seem to have plenty of. As a child, I didn't think that I was courageous at all. I was. Courage is needed to survive incest. Even more courage is needed to become a survivor and even to thrive and I am worth it. So are each of you who are reading my words today. I encourage you to look for your own courage. It is there inside of you. Be brave. You can do it. I am no different than any other thriver who has been through the fires of incest and has come out the other side.

This article was inspired by a comment that I left on the blog of a friend, Sophie whose blog post "Owning my Power" you will find at the following link:

http://www.attunementsforthesoul.com/owning-my-power

Thank you Sophie for the inspiration and for your blog Attunements For The Soul.
Patricia

My Name Is Chris And I Am Three Years Old

Hi. This is an email that was sent to me on the internet. I don't know who to give credit for the writing and original posting of this poem. Whoever you are, thanks for showing us the worst side of child abuse.

For those of you who are unaware, WAKE UP! This happens everyday somewhere in the world. Silence lets it happen. If you do a search for incest or sexual abuse on the internet, you will find that many of us who have survived childhood abuse are now speaking up and breaking the silence of our own abuse at the hands of our parents, our neighbors, our siblings, our aunts or uncles, grandfathers, someone else that we trusted and sometimes by complete strangers. Today most of us know someone who is living with abuse or who survived a childhood of abuse. If you don't know the signs of childhood abuse, check out this cite that I just recently found thanks to Surviving By Grace ( http://thethirdfloorwindow.blogspot.com/ ). The site is called Let Go, Let Peace Come In Foundation blog and is found at the following link:
http://www.letgoletpeacecomein.org/ .

Here is the poem that I wanted to share with you. Beware of emotions ahead. The name of the poem is "Daddy ............ it hurts".

"My name is Chris,
I am three,
My eyes are swollen,
I cannot see.

I must be stupid,
I must be bad,
What else could have made,
My daddy so mad?

I wish I were better,
I wish I weren't ugly,
Then maybe my mommy,
Would still want to hug me.

I can't do a wrong,
I can't speak at all,
Or else I'm locked up,
All day long.

When I'm awake,
I'm all alone,
The house is dark,
My folks aren't home.

When my mommy does come home,
I'll try and be nice,
So maybe I'll get,
One whipping tonight.

I just heard a car,
My daddy is back,
From Charlie's bar.

I hear him curse,
My name is called,
I press myself,
Against the wall.

I try to hide,
From his evil eyes,
I'm so afraid now,
I'm starting to cry.

He finds me weeping,
Calls me ugly words,
He says its my fault,
He suffers at work.

He slaps and hits me,
And yells at me more,
I finally get free,
And run for the door.

He already locked it,
And I start to bawl,
He takes me and throws me,
Against the hard wall.

I fall to the floor,
With my bones nearly broken,
And my dad continues,
With more bad words spoken.

'I'm sorry!', I scream,
But it's now much too late,
His face has been twisted,
Into an unimaginable shape.

The hurt and the pain,
Again and again,
Oh please God, have mercy,
Oh please let it end.

And he finally stops,
And heads for the door,
While I lay motionless,
Sprawled on the floor.

My name is Chris,
I am three,
Tonight my daddy,
Murdered me................."

Unknown Author

I know that this is hard to read and it is the truth of abuse. Even if you survive the physical abuse, there are the scars of emotional abuse to deal with.
Patricia

Mixed Emotions Keep The Hurt Alive---Incest May Be A Part Of My Life Series---Part 6

Warning: Reading the following series may be injurious to your peace of mind. They are intended to be. Without knowledge, we cannot prevent child abuse from happening. Go beyond this point at your own risk. Join me for the painful, frightening, emotional, freeing journey.


My last article in this series talked about Family Secrets and why letting go of them can be so difficult. It is because of those family secrets that breaking the silence isn't an easy step to take. Another reason for the difficulty is what this article is about---the mixed emotions that the victim feels. I hate using that word---victim. Even today, I feel a knot in my stomach just thinking about those days. Even today, I still get "emotional" about this subject. I watched a movie last night that helped me to get in touch with some of my own tears. I cried and cried and cried. I realized that my tears had nothing to do with the movie, even though it was sad. What I had touched was some of the deep hurt and sadness that I am, even today, still carrying around inside of me. I realized this, while I was crying and allowed myself to cry until the tears stopped.
Yes, these articles can still cause the tension to build up in me. Writing about the "secrets" can still make me, not exactly fearful, but at least uncomfortable because some part of me is still not comfortable with this whole process. You would think that I would be after all of the years that I have talked about the incest.

The difference, that I am just beginning to realize, is that I am truly writing about it for the first time with no holding back. Writing for me makes something more real. You would think that living it was "real" enough. Talking about it was "real" enough. Writing about it for all of you to read is taking it to another level for me. In the past, I would attempt to journal about my emotions at different steps in my recovery. I didn't dare write about it when I was a child experiencing the abuse, because, you see, I didn't even think that my journals were private enough not be to violated as well. I couldn't take a chance that someone would read what I wrote and discover the bad person that I really was. They might discover that the "me" that I presented to the world, wasn't "ME". Then I would be known for the liar that I really was.

Today, I have "run" away from sitting down to write this article. I have put away the dishes, washed other dishes, cleaned the bathroom, thought about going out to the store, anything not to sit down and write tomorrow's article. I am still not "ok" with my own emotions. The intensity has always frightened me. Sometimes, the anger and hate feels so all consuming that it could swallow me whole and anyone else that gets too close. Now, most days, I don't feel that way.

I think that sharing my current process of writing is as important as sharing my past experiences with you, my readers. I don't want to give the impression that I am totally "recovered". I don't know if that will ever happen. The process is more important than the destination in our lives anyway and I want you to see that. I don't know that "Recovery" is a destination at all. I think it is the process, the journey that is most important, so I am going to take you back in time to read what I wrote in a journal entry on Tuesday, May 13, 1986. Here goes.

On Tuesday, May 13, 1986, I wrote the following entry in one of my many journals that I have tried to write over the years.

"No matter how angry I get. No matter how much I think I hate my Dad, I still love him and want him to love me. That is what hurts so much. A child needs and should have a parent's love. With the incest, he took that away from me. He shattered my world---my self-respect, my value as a person. My self-confidence was destroyed. I don't know what's supposed to be normal behavior in a family. I always felt that my Mother had closed herself off to all feelings, all pain. I couldn't reach her, touch her, talk to her, tell her that I loved her, tell her to make him stop. I couldn't hurt her by telling her."

These words came from one of the many pieces of journals that I have started writing and then stopped writing over the years. Sometimes years would go by before I would pick up the journal and start writing again. Why would I start to write and then stop? Each time that I would start to write, a little more of the pain would come out. I would get frightened and stop writing again. Each little piece, I can look back at and still see the pain that I was in. I still didn't have the tools to "feel" the pain so that I could heal it and then release it.

Each little awareness would peak though the covers that my mind and body layered them in so that I could survive. Our mind does what it can to protect us. That is what flashbacks do. When I experience a flashback, I have learned to take that as a sign that my mind or body is telling me that I am now strong enough to deal with this situation or this person. Flashbacks let me know that I am ready to "face" whatever it is that I need to face at this time, whether it is emotions, situations, other people or myself.

I have learned that love and hate are opposite sides of the same coin. Very often they reside in my mind and body side by side. When I wrote the above journal entry back in 1986, I was still 3 years away from having the support groups that Al-Anon and ACA (Adult Children Of Alcoholics) provided me with. Even so, I got the quiet realization that the mixed emotions sharing the same space in my mind and body were what was causing me all of the pain and distress that I always carried around with me. Not dealing with these emotions was what caused me to suffer migraines on and off for years. Even today, I still haven't learned to deal with the internal pressure caused by not acknowleging these two extremes, I still get an occasional migraine. It hasn't been enough to just say, "I know you are here. I release you." There are underlying issues still to surface, before I stop "doing" migraines.


Here is what I wrote just last night about the process of journal writing in the past and right now.

"Why would I start and stop the journal writings so many times over the years? Each time that I would start to write, as now with these articles, feelings would start to surface. In the past, I would start to get in touch with the feelings, get frightened by the intensity of the feelings and would then put away the journal for 3-5 more years. I would start the whole process over again.
My response to the feelings that would come up was to stop the journal writing and to stuff the feelings with food and to concentrate on taking care of other people, anything to stay away from the feelings that I was afraid to deal with. I put walls around myself to keep from being hurt.

In some ways, I became like my dad trying to control everything in my life, including the people closest to me. With my husband and kids, I leaned toward becoming the dictator that my dad had been with me as a child. I felt that if I could control the circumstances and people around me then I could be safe. I could be happy and no one could hurt me again. (As I was just writing this, I got the sudden realization of just how terrified my dad must have been. Boy, did I ever repeat this pattern in my life!!!)

I wasn't taught about healthy boundaries as a child. Neither of my parents were taught this either. The only boundaries that I saw were those fueled by rage or those forged by walls of silence. I have used both at different points in my life. (Make a note to myself to do an article on boundaries.) In using rage as a boundary, I became like my dad.

In using silence as a wall I was like my mom. I kept people from getting to close with a huge wall of enforced steel made of silence. No one could get in. What I didn't realize was that I couldn't get out either. The hurt, rage, and sorrow were held in, but joy, happiness, contentment couldn't get in."


Neither of these boundaries were healthy. They kept me in and other people out. The process of chipping away at the stones of these walls took years of work on my part. I do realize, that while, they were not healthy, they did enable me to survive an abusive childhood. During my first steps of recovery, I started removing the bricks one at a time.

Breaking The Silence---Incest May Be A Part Of My Life Series---Part 4

Warning: Reading the following series may be injurious to your peace of mind. They are intended to be. Without knowledge, we cannot prevent child abuse from happening. Go beyond this point at your own risk. Join me for the painful, frightening, emotional, freeing journey.


Breaking the silence is the most frightening, courageous, freeing thing that a survivor can do for themselves. This is where recovery can begin.

Breaking the silence is the most frightening thing that I have ever done.
For so many years, I kept this really big secret inside of me. I was afraid to tell anyone, afraid that if you knew the real me, you would see how bad I was, how tarnished I was, how ashamed I felt. I believed that I couldn't let anyone know the real me. I thought that there had to be something inherently bad in me for me to keep attracting men who would abuse me in this way. I thought, "Why can't I be good enough or smart enough to stop the incest?" I even thought that God didn't care or He would stop the abuse. Even God did nothing so I must really be bad. These were my constant thoughts.

Finally, when I was seventeen years old, I reach a maturity level where I knew that I was older than my dad - emotionally and intellectually. I knew he was the child and I was the adult. He no longer had any hold over me. His threats meant nothing to me. By this time, I knew he would never tell anyone.

Not everyone is as blessed as I was to finally be able to say, "NO" to the abuse. Eleven more years of living with the silence went by before I had the courage to tell anyone.



Breaking the silence is the most courageous thing that I have ever done.
My younger sister shared with me that she had been fondled by our dad starting when she was about five years old. She and I were spending some time together driving to a small store near her house when she told me this. I, then, told her about the sexual abuse that happened to me as a child.

My sister was the very first person that I ever told about the incest. I was twenty-eight years old and she was twenty-five. I still didn't have the courage to tell my husband of eight years. A few weeks later, my sister came to visit us. In front of my husband, she said something about the incest. My husband immediately demanded to know what she was talking about.

Because of my sister's comment, I was forced into telling my husband. Without my sister making her comments, I don't know when I would have gotten the courage to tell my husband. You see, I was still afraid of what he would think if he knew. I loved this man so much that I was terrified of losing him so I had not shared the depth of my woundedness with him before this time.

Once I saw my husband's reaction, then I had the courage to start being more open about the incest with my sister and my husband. I was still many years away from really beginning to work on my incest issues and to admit how much the abuse was still affecting my marriage and my life.

I had successfully opened the doors of communication between myself and two other people that I cared about. To open that door took more courage than I knew that I possessed at the time.

I was thirty-eight years old when I found an Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA) group in Hot Springs, Arkansas where we had moved to a few months earlier. January 1989 was when I finally broke my silence in a big way.

To me, the alcoholism and the incest in my family were so intertwined that I didn't know how to separate the issues. So I went to ACA meetings, and a few months later, to Al-Anon meetings. When I went to these meetings (4-5 a week for several years), I talked and talked and talked about incest and alcoholism interchangably.

I know that some people got tired of me talking about the incest. How do I know? At one meeting a woman and her boyfriend told me to stop talking about my incest all of the time. I went home hurt. I thought about what they had said and then I got angry. I went back to the next meeting and told them that if they had a problem with me talking about my incest issues then it was their problem, not mine. I later came to realize that the woman was an incest survivor herself who had not addressed her issues with her father. For me, my emotions and words were like a dam breaking. Once I started to talk, I didn't stop for several years. My meetings were a safe place for me to work on my incest issues. I will forever be grateful to those ACA and Al-Anon people who taught me about recovery and gave me hope. I truly believe that they saved my life, my sanity and my marriage. It was several years later before I went into counseling.

My dad was an alcoholic who wasn't always drunk when he molested me. Drunk or sober, he was still an alcoholic. Because he was sober, as much as he was drunk, when he molested me, I never blamed the abuse on the alcohol. I have seen many people get stuck in the blaming stage of recovery and when they do, then recovery stops at that point. You have to give up blaming to move forward. In the beginning, it is easy to channel all of your anger, no, make that rage, into blaming the people responsible for abusing you and the people who ignored the abuse. You can even get angry at yourself for being abused, for allowing it to happen. Forgiveness doesn't come instantly, or just because you want it to. For me, forgiveness didn't come for years. (I wrote an earlier article called Forgiveness, Done In Layers at http://patriciasingleton.blogspot.com/2007/06/forgiveness-done-in-layers.html and another article called Happy Father's Day, Daddy at http://patriciasingleton.blogspot.com/2007/06/happy-fathers-day-daddy.html . Both of these articles deal with forgiveness.)

Writing this series of articles on my blog is another way that I have chosen to break the silence. Again, I have had to be courageous and to allow myself to be vulnerable to reach out to others who may need encouragement and may need to know that they are not alone. You can break the silence of abuse and become a better person for making the effort.



Breaking the silence has been the most freeing thing that I have ever done.
Breaking the silence has allowed me the freedom of releasing the internal pressure that keeping such a secret can cause. Breaking the silence sometimes allows you to discover things about yourself that you didn't know. Breaking the silence can bring forth memories that you have forgotten.

I have memories of the sexual abuse starting when I was eleven years old. I suspect that the incest started years before that. Why do I think that when I don't have any concrete memories?

In 1992, I had been going to ACA, Al-Anon and open Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings for three years. The Alano Club, a social gathering place for Al-Anon, AA and ACA members, celebrated their 10 year anniversary. The AA group who organized the event asked me to be one of their guest speakers. I agreed. My ACA sponsor would not let me refuse. I had never told my story in its entirity to anyone, including myself, so I brought a small tape recorder along and recorded my talk. I listened to it at home. Next I listened to it with my Incest Survivor Counseling Group. I was shocked at what I heard myself say.

In my talk, I stated that I remembered an image of myself when I was three years old. I was sitting in church with my maternal grandmother. I remember hearing the Assembly of God Preacher talking about the sin of adultry. I knew what he was talking about. Remember, I was only three years old. At three years old, I knew what adultry was. I remember calling myself an adultress, in my mind. Until I gave that talk that day, I had forgotten that day when I was three and called myself an adultress. (Yes, I know, technically, I wasn't an adultress since I wasn't married. In my three year old mind, I was an adultress.) Why would I call myself an adultress? How would a three year old even know what that was? Conclusion: Sexual abuse was probably already happening to me. Remember, this was in the 1950's. We didn't learn about sex on TV or in the movies like the kids do today. Do I have any proof? No. Does that mean it didn't happen? I have my answer. Accept it or not, as you see fit. I don't care.

When I was in my first counseling group, I did some art work, some drawings for the group and a series of paintings that I did on my own and shared with the group. My counselor said that the art work was not what an eleven year old would do. He said they were the work of an eight or nine year old. Another clue? Possibly. So there are clues that seem to say that my years of silence started long before the age of eleven. Can you imagine the pressure that builds up in a person carrying around this kind of secret, especially if you are a child without the coping tools that most adults use. Breaking the silence has given me the freedom to release the internal pressure that keeping a horrible secret causes.

Breaking the silence has given me the freedom of expression without having to continue the lies of secrecy. I truly have the freedom to be the real me who is loved and loving and no longer being shamed into silence. The feelings of guilt and shame are no longer a burden being carried around in what a friend of mine calls my "grief belly". Each time that I have released certain areas of incest issues, I have lost weight, especially in the belly area. I know that when my incest issues are no longer an issue then I will no longer have a weight issue. I will no longer need the extra weight of protection that I carry around my waist and hips.

I now have the freedom of feeling joy and pleasure in my life and in my body. I can feel and express joy about who I am and about how very far I have come. I have the freedom that only comes from truly loving myself as I am. I have the freedom that comes from accepting myself as a whole person that I have grown into. Yes, the incest has had a major impact upon my life and the incest is not who I am. I am free from the stigma of incest.



Breaking the silence has allowed me the freedom to access all of my emotions and to reconnect with all of my body and my self. Accessing and reconnecting with my self has been a lengthy, painful, sometimes joyful process. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

Why am I breaking the silence again through this blog? To reach out to others to let you know that life is worth living. You can release all of the pain and tears that you have silently held inside for all of these years.



Breaking the silence is the most frightening , courageous, freeing thing that I have ever done. If I can do it and survive, so can you. I invite you to break the silence.

Incest May Be A Part Of My Life Series---Introduction

I am doing a new series of articles starting on Sunday, August 5. This series will be posted on consecutive Sundays. This series will be called "Incest May Be A Part Of My Life". This sentence is continued at the bottom of my first article of the series. It says, "Incest may be a part of my life and it no longer rules my life. I am in total charge of WHO I am." This is important to know.

Even though I am writing about this issue, I am coming from a place of recovery. I am saying to my sister and brother incest survivors that I am in recovery and you can be too. These articles are not being written to cause anybody pain. They are written as a testament of hope and wholeness. Please remind me of that, if I forget.

In order to write these articles, I am revisiting my own childhood and young adulthood of pain. As a friend, K-L Masina reminded me in an article recently, "Pain will always exist - but suffering is optional." You can find her article at http://www.klmasina.co.nz/2007/07/30/pain-will-always-exist-but-suffering-is-optional/ . This is another great article by Kara-Leah. Hers is one of my favorite places that I go for inspiration. Check her out.

I will also be mentioning other sites that I have run across recently that seem to be supporting the points that I will make in my Incest series of articles. My feeling is that if the articles are helping me, then they will be just as valuable to others struggling with survival.

Each of the articles in this new series will start with the following words of warning.

"Warning: Reading the following series may be injurious to your peace of mind. They are intended to be. Without knowledge, we cannot prevent child abuse from happening. Go beyond this point at your own risk. Join me for the painful, frightening, emotional, freeing journey."

I hope that you will join me on this journey of discovery and growth. If you are a fellow incest survivor, don't be afraid to leave comments. Others will benefit from hearing you "break the silence".

Breaking the silence is an important first step.

The Most Influencial Person---#2---Survival

A friend and his 6-year-old son came to visit recently. It has been several years since the son has been to my house. As we are walking through the house, the 6-year-old whispered to his dad that he liked my stuff. Right now, I need to buy several more bookshelves to hold and organize my clutter of books and papers. This sweet little boy, with his child's wisdom and wonder in his eyes, looked up at me and said, "You must be rich." I laughed and then said, "Yes, in some ways, I am rich. I am very rich in friends."

This is my second article about the most influencial people in my life. For this one, I will take you back to when I was 19 years old and getting ready to leave home for the first time. I was just finishing up with my second year of college. I lived at home and rode back and forth to school with my mom who would drop me off on her way to her job every morning.

I met Althea that year in one of my classes. We were actually in 2 classes together. We were both attending a little junior college in Bossier City, Louisiana. This junior college started out as a pilot program that was located on one floor of Airline High School. We had a small student lounge at one end of the hall where the college students could sit and visit in between classes. Althea and I got to know each other in the lounge.

I told her that I was thinking about leaving home whenever I took my last college exam. I needed to find a job so that I could earn some money to pay for my next year of college. I had already been accepted for my junior year at Northwestern State University of Louisiana in Natchitoches, Louisiana. I had applied for and been accepted for a student aid loan and job starting in September of 1970. At that time, I was studying to teach Special Education in Elementary School.

Althea is about 10 years older than both of my parents so some people might think ours is an odd friendship. I have always been blessed with friends of all ages. I just love people. Althea has 4 children of her own, 2 sons and 2 daughters. At the time her oldest son was married and out on his own. The oldest daughter is 11 days older than I am. We became fast friends. Althea's youngest son was in high school when I first met him and her youngest daughter was 12 years old. Althea and her husband moved their family to Shreveport, Louisiana when her husband retired at Barksdale Air Force Base in Bossier City the year that we met.

When I made up my mind to leave home, I didn't have a clue as to where I was going to live until September when I could go to Northwestern. All I knew was that I had to leave home or I would never be able to get out from under my dad's rule. My dad was a dictator, an alcoholic, and a rageaholic. I had reached a breaking point. I knew that if I didn't leave then, that I would have a nervous breakdown of some kind and totally lose myself. I was desperate to leave the abuse behind. I knew this was my one and only chance to leave.

I believe that God put Althea in that class for my sake. Without her intervention, I would not have survived. I told Althea that as soon as I finished my last test at school that I was leaving home. She asked if I would want to live with her and her family that summer. She said that she would help me find a summer job. I said yes. That night I went home and wrote a letter to my mom. I started to tell my dad that night that I was leaving and not coming home the next day. My mom interrupted me and would not let me tell him. I went to my room and packed a few changes of clothing and went to bed.

The next morning, I told my sister bye and gave her my letter. I asked her to give the letter to mom when she came in from work that evening. I hated leaving my sister behind but there was no way that I could take her with me. She was 16 and still a minor.

Mom dropped me off at school. She asked me if I was coming home that evening. I lied and told her I didn't know. It seemed easier than telling her the truth. I went to classes and took my last tests and then went home with Althea.

For the first day, my mom lied and told my dad that I was spending the night with a friend. The second night that I didn't come home she told him where I was. Mom called to tell me that Daddy was on his way to Althea's to get me.

My dad's oldest brother was a police detective for the city of Shreveport. Mom gave me his phone number. I called him and explained the situation and told him that I had left home and was not going back. I asked if he would come over to Althea's to help me talk to Daddy. He agreed. He got to Althea's just before Daddy did. Daddy, Uncle Odis and I went out and sat in Uncle Odis's car to talk. I was afraid to let Daddy in Althea's house because of Daddy's temper. He told me that night that if he ever caught Althea out on the highway that he would run her car into the ditch. I believed him. Daddy and Uncle Odis convinced me to go home for the weekend so that we could talk about my plans. I told Daddy that I would go home with him for the weekend only if he would promise to bring me back to Althea's on Sunday afternoon. He said he would. I thanked Uncle Odis for his help and told Althea my plans for the weekend.

I went home to a weekend of crying and threats and then when that didn't work, Daddy decided to threaten suicide. Instead he went out and got drunk and came back several hours later and went to bed. That was the hardest weekend I have ever lived through. I experienced fear for myself, for my entire family, for my dad in case he did commit suicide. I knew he was doing everything he could think of to keep me at home. I felt sadness over leaving my mom, sister and brother at home. I felt guilty for leaving my sister behind but I knew my dad would not let me take her. I decided I would not feel guilty if Daddy did follow through with his suicide thread. I knew I could not be responsible for his actions if he did decide to take his own life. I knew that my survival was at stake. I would have fallen apart and totally lost my self if I had stayed at home any longer. I was very close to breaking and I knew it. I knew that I couldn't be strong much longer before I gave into the fear.

I think that I was feeling deep echoes of a past life in which I did just give up. In that past lifetime, I remember the feelings of being so helpless to control my own life that one day I just went to bed and never got up. I quit eating and just laid there in my bed until I died of starvation of food and spirit. In that lifetime, I was raped too. In some deep recess of my mind, I remembered and I knew I did not want to do that again. I did not want to be so sad that I would just quit living. I also knew that I wasn't far from doing just that if I didn't get away from my dad.

My mom drove me back to Airline Junior College on that long ago Sunday afternoon. Althea met us there. I didn't go home again until just a week before I left for Northwestern State University.

Althea helped me find my first job working as a line worker in a cafeteria. What a wonderful job that was for a country girl with no special training of any kind. I was extremely quiet and shy. I was also the only worker there that summer that was below the age of 30. Everyone took me under their wings and protected me and helped me begin to blossom.

Althea and her family took me in, nurtured me and protected me and started me on my path to adulthood. I learned what some semblance of a normal American family was. They unofficially adopted me into their family. I gained 2 more brothers and 2 more sisters and a second set of parents. Althea has always been one of my best friends and my second mom combined.

Althea, I can't measure the love and admiration that I still have for you today. You hold a special place in my heart. You really did save my life that long ago day that you invited me into your heart and home. Thank you for your love and kindness in taking in that sad, lonely girl that I once was. You have played an important part in helping me to become the woman that I am today. You are one of the strongest women that I know. I love you.