I had a painful flashback of my childhood the other day. It was painful enough to bring me to tears. I was about 12 years old. I remember feeling so unloved and unwanted.
My stepfather had just arrived to this country. My mother married him and brought him over. We were living in a studio apartment. Yes, that’s right, three people in a studio, infested with mice and roaches. It was an absolute horrible time in my childhood. I was getting older and was really starting to understand the abuse and neglect that I was suffering at the hands of my mother and her husband. Things were getting worse because she didn’t want me around. I was a burden to her and she made that clear. She would stop speaking to me for weeks for no reason. I was a child with no one to turn to. I had to fend for myself. I realized that most of my phycological damage occurred within that time frame. The ages of 12 through 13 was when my mother wanted her new life with her new husband. I felt like I was a burden. I didn’t feel worthy to be alive. “Why was I on earth?” I used to wonder.
My stepfather made things worse. He hated me, too. My mom gave him the ok to be mean to me and torture me. Not so much physically, but he emotionally abused me. I think I would have preferred the physical abuse. His “lectures” would last hours and hours. He really wasn’t saying anything of substance he just repeated the same thing over and over. He basically told me how much of a f*ck up I was, how stupid I was, how bad my grades were, I will never amount to anything etc. Yet, never did I remember either one of them helping me with my homework. Even thought he boasted about intelligent and smart he was. He was and still is a big dummy. My mother used to scream and yell when I asked for help. She would take my notebook and rip up the page and say “It’s wrong!! Do it again!” without telling me what was wrong with it. How am I supposed to fix it if I have no clue what I am doing, lady? I used to be terrified of asking her for any kind of help. Her husband would egg my mother on when she would go off, and he would start a lot of drama. I used to wonder why was he like that? Why did he gossip and act like such a woman? I mean, to me women where the gossipers and troublemakers. I wasn’t around men other than my uncles, and they weren’t like that. They had their own issues, but none of them were bitchy like he was. I never knew a man to act like that.
They kept me home from school because they knew that was my escape. I hated being home with them, so whenever they felt like dumping on someone, they would keep me home from school to endure phycological abuse. He loved to lecture me for hours and say the same thing over and over again. Sometimes he would play Simon and Garfunkel thinking it was torturing me, but I secretly liked listening to it. I found them soothing over his annoying voice. They were some cool guys, although I preferred Wu-Tang, Tupac and Biggy back in my high school days. “Bridge Over troubled Water” was calming. Anyone’s voice was better than my mother’s husband’s.
You know, as I was writing this I decided to play that song and it occurred to me that the lyrics seems as though it was comforting me.I mentioned in my last post that I never listen to lyrics, so I didn’t realize what the song was really about. All I know was I found the song soothing. I just now realized Jesus was trying to talk to me during that time through the song. He did lay himself down. My time to shine eventually came. My dreams were on their way. I need to say right now that I love the lord!!! He was right about starting to write about my life. I am in tears yet again. Tears of joy. To have God is speak to you, especially during hard times is truly something I can’t even put into words.
I was in high school when they kept me home the most. They would keep me home for days at a time. No one from school ever questioned why. I told a counselor about my mom and stepfather keeping me home, and she said that it was against the law to do that, but never did she do anything to help me. She never called children services or even notified another coworker. I mean, I grew up in New York City. We were poor. No one cared. I forgive that woman for not doing her job. If she failed anyone else like she failed me, I hope they forgive her too.
They kept me home from school the most when I was in high school. I never did well and was cutting classes anyway. I would only show up to my Theater Arts class because it was fun. They knew I cut school but they really didn’t care. They would come to the school only to embarrass me. I remember her taking me to juvenile court. A judge made me get a signature from each teacher. It was so humiliating. There were other ways for her to get me to go to school. Maybe getting me a tutor and not telling me how stupid I was would have helped. Maybe not controlling every aspect of my life and only allowing me to leave the house to run her errands and do her laundry. School time was my free freetime. I couldn’t have friends. I couldnt go anywhere. I was 16 years old at this point.
I remember asking if I could hang out with my friend Diane. She hesitated and eventually said OK, but be home by 5pm. I was happy but when I told Diane and she said 5pm was crazy. That wasn’t enough time. I politely asked my mom if she would let me come home a little later. Maybe 8pm? She lost her sh*t and started screaming and punching me. She punched me right in my nose and blood started gushing out onto the ground. I remember seeing her face and she looked possessed. I didn’t get to go with Diane that day. As a matter of fact, I never hung out with Diane again. I always wondered what could have happened to our friendship? Maybe we could have been close like sisters. I would have someone to talk about my struggles with. I did remember telling her about my mom and she said that she never heard of anyone ever being like that towards their daughter. She told me her mom spoiled her and bought her anything she ever wanted, and I remember feeling not jealousy, but hurt. “Why doesn’t my mom love me like that?” I wondered.
We are born into family we don’t choose. We inherit their behavior and take on their mannerisms, lifestyle, demons etc. My family sure does have their share of demons. Demons I am still trying to fight to this day. I want to make one thing clear here. I love my mom. She is no longer alive but if you read my other post, I have come to terms with my childhood. I forgive her and everyone else who turned their back on me and I understand they all were fighting demons.
There are times we think we are healed, but then think of a painful event and it gets us. We don’t have to stay there. We can sit with it for a while, and let it go. We can’t go back on our healing.
What caused pain in that moment was the realization that a child should never feel that way. That little girl should not have to question why the world turned their back on her. Why didn’t her mother want her around? Why was her mother giving her the silent treatment? Why is every adult in her life failing her? A child should not have to think about, let alone ask their mother “Why didn’t you just abort me?”
My mother’s reaction to that question was not what you would think. Imagine your child saying that to you? “Why didn’t you abort me?” What would you say? “Because you are loved. You are special.” My mom punched me in the head as hard as she could and told me never to disrespect her like that again. She hated me, and I felt every ounce of it. I never said that to her again, but I sure did think it. Even as an adult. Even up until two years ago when I was hurting about her not speaking to me yet again. “Why was I even born?”
If I could go back to that little 13-year-old girl, I would give her the biggest hug. I would tell her that she wasn’t any of those things people told her she was. She is smart, kind and a child of God. She is loved and there is a purpose for her. There is a purpose for every single soul on this planet and we are loved by God.
God told me that I needed to do something to serve him. I asked him what do you want me to do? He told me to tell people your story, but most importantly tell them about me. So here I am.
To say my life can be a book is an understatement. I have so many stories to share. Once I start writing and get into the flow, it’s hard for me to stop. Basically, I tend to write a lot. I’m not much of a talker, but I sure can write down my feelings and thoughts. Sometimes it can be too much, so forgive me if I get long winded. This is my first time writing and sharing this experience with others. I’ve told a few people about what happened, but other than my husband, no one really cared or believed me. That made me second guess sharing my story, but God said to share no matter what the outcome is. Whatever the outcome, God will get me through it. I was in a fragile state since all of this happened. I am now well enough emotionally to write about it.
Last year in April of 2020, I lost my mother to the pandemic. My mother and I had a tumultuous relationship and we had been estranged for about five years prior to her death. It was a simple falling out. She had a history of not speaking to me for years whenever she was good and ready. So, at the time of her death, she wasn’t speaking to me. I am sure she knew being asthmatic and overweight, there would be a great chance that she was not going to make it. I knew it too. I knew if my mother were to get infected, she probably wouldn’t survive. I wanted to reach out but I knew she was just going to reject me yet again.
My mother had a chance to reach out to me before she died, but she didn’t. She requested that I not be notified of her death, and that I not attend her funeral. I found out of her death 10 days after she died. They could not bury her right away because of the pandemic. My half-brother and stepfather honored her request and refused to let me attend my own mother’s funeral. It broke me into a million pieces that my own mother hated me that much over a simple disagreement, that she would let her 39-year-old daughter spend the rest of her life knowing that her mother didn’t even want to say goodbye to her on her deathbed. It was cold and cruel, but that was who she was towards me.
It was a very horrible time in my life. Probably the worst. I should have been celebrating the achievement of finally finishing my degree, instead I was in mourning. I spent the year trying to heal and bounce back from the circumstances of my mother’s death. Before my mom died, she instructed everyone in my family to disown me, which they did. She would tell them lies and say that I would gossip about my cousins and aunts. It wasn’t true. She did that. Every single family member, including my father’s side turned their back on me. I will share details of that in upcoming posts, otherwise this post would be a book!
My mother lived in Queens, New York. In the beginning of the pandemic, NYC was the epicenter of the virus. I knew all of this, but stood firm on not trying to call her again. Every time I did, she rejected me and it would hurt. I would spend so much time healing from the blow of rejection. I was in my last semester of school and it was a tough one. I decided to just focus on my studies and not reach out. I didn’t have time to get my feelings hurt. Although, I saw on the news how the very hospital I was born in was stacking bodies in refrigerated trucks because they had run out of room in the morgue. Yet, I didn’t call her. In fact, I remember thinking “She will be fine, evil people don’t die young.”
I hated my mother for so long. My childhood wasn’t easy. I suffered neglect at the hands of my mother and step-father. I had food and a roof over my head, but it was the basics. I didn’t have my own room growing up and I never got any treats or cereal I liked. I wore my stepfather’s clothes in high school. Oversized clothes were in back in the 90s. I had a hard time making his clothes look cool, though. My mother rarely bought me anything, let alone clothes. I was embarrassed to go to school which was one of the reasons I used to cut class and hang out with my friends who used to cut too.
Her verbal, emotional and physical abuse was constant. I could count on one hand how many times she said she loved me, I can remember being hugged by her once, and never heard her tell me she was proud of me. I was an only child until 16. When my mom had my half brother, things at home became worse. When her son came along, my mother and step-father wanted the best for him, so they bought a house. I was able to get my own room for about 10 months before I moved out at 17. Before that, we all slept in the same room in a one-bedroom apartment. Imagine being a teenager and sleeping in the same room as your mom and stepfather. I used to hang out in the closet floor just to get some alone time away from them. A 16-year girl old should be hanging out with friends and socializing, not sitting alone in a closet.
I know my mom wanted her new family and I was the 5th wheel. She gave the world to my brother. He talked back to her and stayed out all hours of the night. He didn’t respect her or his father. Yet, they did everything for him. When my half brother was about 19, my mom and him got into a physical altercation and they both went to jail. Her golden child went to jail for putting his hands on her, and she forgave him. Meanwhile, if I answered the phone wrong, she wouldn’t speak to me for years.
My father did the same after their divorce. He left for Massachusetts with his new family and forgot about me. He took care of his new son and daughter. He gave them the world. When he died last month, his obituary only mentioned his two children. Not me or the other daughter he abandoned. ( I found out about her only a few months ago and don’t even know if his family knows. More on that later) I was the child no one wanted or cared for, and I have been on my own since 17.
I met an older man and had a child at 19. I became a single mom at 21. I moved from Queens where I grew up, to The Bronx where I spent a few years and then went to NJ when I was 21 for a new start. There just was too much pain back in NYC to stay there any longer. It was a struggle to raise a child all alone with absolutely no help from my family. My son’s father was a deadbeat also. Thankfully, when my son was 7, I met my now husband. With his help, he got me on my feet. I was able to get a high school equivalency diploma and start community college. It took me 5 years to get a 2-year degree. After work for 5 years, I took evening and weekend classes. I then went on to a four year university to get my B.A. I finally finished last year May of 2020 at 39 years old!
Up until 4 years ago, I was working as a lunch lady for 13 years. I was never a school person, but with God’s grace, he got me through it all. I always thought I was too stupid to do anything really. I also hated sitting in a classroom all day. I didn’t get past the 9th grade. I was just going to school to get away from the abuse going on at home, but I used to cut every single class in high school. I guess I hated being a lunch lady more than I hated school. I wanted to work in TV, so why not try? I tried and succeeded and I was on top of the world until the death of my mother.
The day my mom died; I experienced something I would like to share with you. The early morning of the April 26th, before I knew my mother had passed, a series of events occurred within just a few minutes. I was laying in bed, depressed because I was finally about to graduate after 8 and a 1/2 years of hard work and sacrifice. My mom wasn’t speaking to me, but I wanted her there. She was a stubborn woman who would let countless birthdays pass without calling me. That used to hurt me so much because it was a hurtful reminder that I meant nothing to her, or anyone else for that matter. I remember having many birthdays where not a single soul acknowledged my birthday. She didn’t come to my first graduation from community college and it hurt really bad. I knew she wasn’t coming to this one either and it was getting to me. I felt like no one loved me and I was feeling sorry for myself. Little did I know she was in a hospital bed dying.
As I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, I remember looking at the clock and it said 12:12am. I closed my eyes and saw what looked like a bunch of nuns standing in a row. It could have been about a hundred or so of them. I remember thinking “This isn’t real. There are no black nuns. This isn’t realistic. I need to see some black and brown nuns. Someone who looks like me!” Then the nuns started chanting. “Forgive us for our sins, let us do right by you Lord. Forgive us for our sins.” Although I didn’t see her, I sensed that they were being instructed by an older nun who oversaw them. I then felt as if the nun was telling me to chant too. It was a strong feeling, so I went with it, and I started repeating “Forgive us for our sins, let us do right by you, Lord. Forgive us for our sins.” After chanting that in my head, the nuns disappeared and I started to see older women dressed in white, but they looked somewhat dingy. It was like looking at them through a sepia effect. They looked like they could have been my ancestors. I have a picture of my grandmother’s mother dressed the same way they were dressed. They were all wearing A line dresses. The type they would sew themselves back in my mother’s country. They all had a white hankerchief wrapped around their head and were standing in a circle. Their faces looked distorted. It looked square like. I felt like I was in the middle of that circle spinning around and around. As I spun, I remember seeing each of their faces, but they were all the same. They were asking rapid fire questions like “Why did you lie? Why did you steal?” and other questions to that nature. It felt like someone was being judged, and I got a glimpse of it.
I felt so overwhelmed I couldn’t take it anymore and opened my eyes. I remember feeling relieved that I was out of that but felt like the person who was being judged couldn’t leave. I remember feeling grateful and relieved that it wasn’t me and also feeling sorry for whoever that was in whatever that was. I laid in bed trying to process what just happened, a question popped into my mind. I knew it was God asking this to me. He said, “Do you forgive your mother for all she has done to you?” I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, I cannot answer that right now.”
At the time I was in too much pain. I hated her at that moment. I used to constantly wish death on her so I could finally heal! I just wanted to heal! Why wouldn’t she let me heal? I never healed from all the trauma of my childhood, and trust me, there are so many. My mother would continuously hurt me, opening old wounds over, and over, and over again. I felt like I was spending so much energy trying to recover from the things she had done. I felt weary, I needed her to stop, and death was my solution. If she was dead, she could not continue to hurt me. I wasn’t ready to forgive her at that moment. At that moment I was still angry. I rolled over and tried to forget what just happed.
All of a sudden, my phone starts to play music. Sade’s song “Kiss of life” came on out of nowhere. I wasn’t listening to music, but it started playing on my phone all on its own. I didn’t turn it off, I listened. I never really listen to words when I listen to music. My mind is always too busy thinking about other things to pay attention to lyrics, but I heard them that day. I listened to the lyrics and cried a cry I have never cried before in my life. I felt like Jesus himself was not only speaking to me through the words of the song, but I felt his physical embrace hug me. It was like he was giving me the warmest, most loving hug. It felt what I imagined a mother’s love would be, except a million times better. It felt like all the love that wasn’t given to me from my childhood, all the love I was deprived of from my mother, he gave back to me in that moment. He was telling me that he loved me. He was telling me I am worthy and I mattered.
I always get emotional when I think back of that night. I wish I could feel that love forever, but If I do right by God and do what he tells me to do, I can in my afterlife. I knew in that moment of Jesus visiting me that he was real and he was always there for me, protecting me, guiding me since I was a child. He got me through every difficult, suicidal, sad, lonely moment. He even sent me my husband who was the one who thought me about Jesus. When I thought I was alone, Jesus was there! He was there for me even though my family were not believers of Christ. He showed me he was real. How can I ever doubt his existence after that experience? I knew nothing about Jesus growing up, but as an adult, I leaned towards Christianity but still had questions about him. Who was this guy? Should I really worship him? Yea, I should. Especially after what just happened and learning more about his story.
I remember laying in bed processing what happened. It felt like time was moving extremely slow. A minute felt like an hour because when I looked at the time it was 12:13. How was that possible? I listened to a whole Sade song. I wasn’t dreaming, I was awake. When my husband (Fiancé at the time) came to bed, I told him what just happened to me. I cried as I told him the story because I was so overwhelmed with emotion. He told me that was for sure Jesus. At the time, I did not know anything about my mother being sick. 10 days after that incident, I found out my mother had pass. She died on April 26th, 2020. The same night Jesus visited me. Imagine what I felt. I was blown away. That visit from Jesus, became even more real.
What I experienced that night was probably me witnessing my mother being judged. What I felt was probably what she felt when she had to answer for her sins. Little had I known, all of this happening was the beginning of my journey towards healing. I turned to Christ and started to speak to him. God gave me a wake up call and I’m glad he did.
I started to pray more and more. I downloaded the Bible app and started watching the daily stories every single day. When I miss a day, I would cheat and set my phone settings back a day because I don’t want to miss a single story. If what I felt that night was what it feels like to be with God, I want to do whatever it takes to be with him in his Kingdom.
My mother passed away right at the tail end of my final and most difficult semester due to the pandemic. Little did I know what was in store for me. After my mom died, everyone turned on me. My father was never in my life but at the tail end of his life, he made a very lackluster attempt to reconnect. He had a bad heart and was in bad shape. I gave him a chance but he continued to disappoint me. His new family, especially his daughter didn’t want him talking to me and I saw it. After my mom died, he started gossiping about me to his family, along with my mother’s family as well. They’ve been divorced since I was 3, but he kept in contact with her family.
It was too much for me. I decided to walk away from every single person, including my grandmother who I love dearly. I knew that there was no hope for a relationship with my father. Everyone was hurting me too much and I couldn’t allow it. I grieved my grandmother. I said goodbye to her while she is alive, she just doesn’t know it. I will never see my grandmother again. Not even at her funeral because I don’t plan to attend. That hurts me so bad. I don’t deserve this. I’ve always been good to my grandmother, so I never understood why she always put me down. I tried to buy my grandmother’s love but she never appreciated it. I did the same for my mom. She definitely didn’t appreciate it. Although not as bad, my grandmother contributed to my emotional abuse too. I still love her, because she showed the most love ( in her own way) to me out of everyone as a child. She would put me down and call me names, but she never hit me. She was literally all I had.
I changed my number and was in the process of moving 1,200 miles away looking for a fresh start when I get a message on 23andme. It was of a woman claiming to be my sister. I knew immediately it was true, I mean not only was the DNA staring me in the face, but my mother told me about her for years. She told me that my father had a child with a woman he was unfaithful with. I asked my father about it twice and he lied to me both times saying it was not true. My mom even told me her name, so I knew this wasn’t a joke even though that was my immediate response and the first thing I said to her was “Is this a joke?” I questioned the timing. I had just changed my number. Was this a way for my father to get in contact with me? That wasn’t the case. He had abandoned her, the same way he did me, except he didn’t claim her at all. She grew up not knowing who her father was. I felt bad for her and gave her all the info she needed to reach him.
My new sister and her husband decided to trick our “bio dad”, as she put it, into the meeting. I didn’t see anything wrong with it. If he had known he truth, he wouldn’t have met up with them. Her husband promised him a job, and he met with him thinking it was a job interview. I must admit, I did feel bad. I was told he showed up with a colostomy bag. How pathetic? He’s trying to work while his grown children he did not abandon, were living their lives carefree. Yea, even though he was a horrible father to me, and disappointed me countless times, but showed love to his two other children, I felt bad for him. However, I wanted my other half-sister to meet her biological father so she could have closure. She deserved that much.
The day they met, she called me and told me what had happened with their meeting. He told her that he had a fling with her mom, and it wasn’t serious. He told my half sister that he told her mom to get an abortion, but she didn’t. I apologized on his behalf. That was cruel, but it seemed like she was taking out all her anger she had for him on me. She made it seem as if I had it easier because at least I knew who my father was growing up. I understand that she may or may not have had it worse, but it wasn’t my fault. I’m here trying to heal from my own trauma, but she didn’t even care to listen about my life like I listened to hers. I really didn’t need this. I just cut every single family member on both sides completely off, why in the world would I let this stranger in my life? I don’t care if she is biologically related to me, I didn’t owe her anything. Her father did.
I told her that it would be best that her and I didn’t meet at this time. I told her maybe sometime in the future we can try for a relationship, but at this time I wasn’t interested in meeting her. I know it must have hurt her to be rejected by me. The truth was she was too angry, and my spirt couldn’t handle it. It was disappointing, because I thought we could have been actual sisters and help each other heal, but that wasn’t the case and it felt like another blow. I am pretty sure my father went back home that day and did not tell his family about his meeting with his long-lost daughter and acted as if nothing happened. Yea, that sounds like him.
On June 4th, 2021 he passed away. I didn’t find out about his death until a week and a half later as well. I didn’t attend his funeral either because I found out too late, but I had already grieved him months before. I came to terms that I will never have a father, so his death did not impact me much. How can I mourn someone I had no connection with? I think my husband thought that I was cruel for not shedding a single tear, but I had to explain to him that it might be hard for him to know what it’s like not to have an emotional connection to a parent, because both of his parents are and always were in his life. I had no connection to my father. We never hung out. He never spent time with me, nor did he try to. It’s hard for me to cry over someone who has done nothing for me and has caused so much pain in my life.
I decided to text my half sister to let her know her “bio dad” had died. “I’m not sure if you know or not, but he died on June 4th.”, I texted. She said that he never reached out to her after their meeting and she wasn’t going to force a relationship so she never bothered him again. Understandable. That was the end of that. I am pretty sure his children and widow have no idea she exsists. Maybe one of them will take a DNA test and find out. Maybe they won’t. Who knows?
When my half sister reached out to me I thought it was God sending me an angel, but it was the other way around. I was meant to take that DNA test and she was meant to find me just in time to meet him before he left this earth. She needed closure. I didn’t get that in the beginning, but I see it now.
I forgive my mother and father. I hope the Lord has mercy on both of their souls. I wouldn’t want them to be in hell. I pray that God gives them another chance to make things right. If I could go back to that moment to answer God’s question, my answer would be “Yes! I forgive my mom.” I love my mom and thank her for giving me life. What I learned after this experience is that God is real! I also learned that our words and thoughts are very powerful. If you wish for something, it can very well come true. Proceed with love and let God do the rest. God bless you. ❤️
Thank you for visiting my blog and welcome! I wanted to start this blog for many, many years but always let self-doubt come in the way of it. Not anymore! As I take the first and somewhat scary steps into this blogging journey, I would like to share with you a little about myself and why I chose to blog anonymously.
My story is one of trauma, self-healing and triumph. I will write and share with you every aspect of my life without hesitation. It will be like therapy for me, but at the same time I hope to connect with and relate to people out there who have had similar experiences as mine. By remaining anonymous I can share things with you that I probably would not share otherwise. I want to be able to write freely without fear of backlash from people who know me. Writing anonymously allows me to share my most authentic self, without filtering what I say about myself and others. In turn, you get an my honest and real story without dancing around what I really want to say in fear of being judged. I know that there’s a chance of someone coming across my blog who may know me and may figure out who I am. If that’s the case, then congratulations! You win absolutely nothing! I want YOU to know it’s okay. I am not hiding. I’m just hidden. 😉
I always knew that writing about my life would help people, but people aren’t always nice and I feared I would be ridiculed. Although I’ve grown a lot since then and understand a troll will be a troll, no one wants to be attacked by strangers or by the people in their life because they feel like they’re being exposed. With that said, blogging anonymously will protect my immediate and extended family as well as myself. Even though my family have caused me a great deal of pain, I don’t want anyone going after them. I am in the process of forgiving them. I want to move on from them and not interested in reconciling, but at the same time I don’t want to stir up more trouble. I just want the dust to settle so I can move on with my life. I deserve that much.
I know I am not the only person who has experienced childhood trauma, homelessness, being a teen mom and single parent, navigating life with no family support, choosing bad partners, and having to turn to the government for help and being shamed for it by people who have no idea what struggle and real pain looks like. We don’t get to choose our circumstances and what we are born into, so we should never be ashamed of that. I hope to create a space where people like me feel safe, seen and heard.
As far as labeling this blog into a category, I don’t want to. Plain and simple. I will be talking about life and everything in between. I talk about God, but don’t worry. I’m not here to preach, but to praise God for how far he has brought me. My first blog post will be my testimony. I encourage you to read it whether you’re religious or not. It was hard for me to share that story, but I felt God wanted me to. Writing my testimony gave me the courage to start my blog. I’ll share my journey from being a high school dropout, single mom working dead-end jobs who was once homeless, to receiving a college degree, marrying my soulmate and moving to my dream city! The last part all happened within the last year! *Pssssst* The secret is gratitude. 😉
I love to cook, and people tell me I do it well. I’d love to share that with you. My husband and I are looking to embark on new endeavors and adventures. I’d love to share that journey as well. So, you can see why it would be hard for me to categorize this blog. However, if I must choose, then you can consider this a lifestyle blog/magazine. I would love to have guest writers who can share their experiences, advice and stories. My target audience would be anyone interested in taking a peak into my life, but I would love to reach anyone looking to connect with a person who has or had the same life experiences. People who are lost, broken and looking for hope.
Lastly, I want the tone of this blog to be of positivity and hope. I want it to reflect forgiveness, kindness, but most importantly love. I want people to know it’s ok to be kind to the world, even though the world hasn’t been kind to you. By doing so, we can begin to create a world filled with love. Im doing my part by sharing my story and encouraging others that they can change their circumstances if they choose love and gratitude. If I help only one person realize they can do anything and obtain anything they want if they change their mindset, it would be worth it for me. If you follow me, you will read about people I am still trying to fully forgive, so my tone in speaking about them might not be the greatest. Im still working on it. Although I want this to be about showing love and forgiveness, I am human and sometimes lack in that department. I fall victim to pettiness when I am provoked by people who want to see me fall hard. I am a work in progress and don’t claim to be perfect.
What I want to achieve with this blog in the long run is to share my personal stories and share what I did to achieve my goals. I used to think my situation would never change. For a long time, I thought I would work as a lunch lady at that dead-end job for the rest of my life, until one day I decided that I am not settling for that. I wanted more. I deserve more than to be overlooked by people who didn’t even make much more than me at the time. When I did that, God took care of the rest. I want you to realize your own power. You have it. It’s in there! I feel like I have so many stories to share that can encourage people and give them hope, and I cannot wait to share them now that I am here! You can overcome anything.
So here I am. Putting myself out there without putting myself out there. Here goes something! 🙂