I took some time off from book reviewing; I got a divorce, and needed a little time to get back on my feet. But, now I’m ready to guide you to my kinky book nook. I plan to do some reading over the weekend, and hopefully introduce you to a few treats over the next week.
Fourteen! Yes, all in one superb box set with contributions from 14 great authors – Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine’s Day Stories ***14 ALL-NEW novellas! Available fo…
I’ve been through some very dramatic life altering changes over the last six years; from learning that I’m a sexual submissive, leaving an emotionally & verbally abusive marriage (on both our parts), and learning that I’m strong enough to get through any obstacle. I agree; that whole quadriplegic/chemotherapy incident at 17 should’ve taught me that lesson. But, that’s a story for another time, my friends.
In 2011, I began a memoir for a class. It started out as a writing prompt and became a journey to heal from my childhood. My original work was from a place of anger, pain, and hatred. I’ll be honest and admit that there are still times when those are my feelings with regard to the situations. However, I realized if I’m ever going to achieve the thing that I want the most then I have to look at the past through other perspectives than my own.
As an adult survivor of childhood abuse, I have wanted nothing more than the unconditional of my parents since I was 16. During that time I was placed in foster care; eventually ending up in a group home, then returning to my parents when my quadriplegia occurred. All this time, I’ve felt like my mother never loved me; she chose my abusive father over me. Over the years, I’ve tried to talk to her about the things that occurred in the past.Her go-to answer, “You’re an adult; just get over it. You can’t go around blaming all of your problems on me.”
What my mother never understood is that I always blamed myself for the things that occurred when I was growing up. I knew that it was wrong for my father to beat me and that that wasn’t my fault. What I couldn’t understand was why my mother never loved me and my father stopped loving me. I’m beginning to understand that my experiences aren’t the entire picture of my childhood; my sister’s experiences aren’t the same as my own. We all had a role to play; sometimes by choice, but other times the roles were thrust upon us.
Since September 26, 2015, I’ve been getting to know my mother as a person, a woman, an entity outside of our relationship. In some ways, I’m re-learning how to love her. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always loved my mother. I loved her in the way a child learns to love a parent. To this day, my mother has no idea how much I’ve craved her affection. As children, we forget that our parents aren’t perfect. Well, I wanted her to live up to the ideals that I had of how a mother should behave.
I always knew my mom had the potential to be a good mother. She and my sister have always had a really close bond. When things started to go horribly wrong with my father and my relationship; I attempted to reach out to my mother. I wanted to create a connection. Unfortunately, no matter what I did she excluded me from it. I saw this as confirmation of my belief that she hated me. Recently, I learned that my mother didn’t think I really loved her.I learned that part of the reason my mother stayed married to my father is because of the interaction I had with that woman at church.When I was around 4 or 5, a woman came up to me at church and said that I looked like my mother. I responded that indeed I did NOT, and I was my “daddy’s girl”.
I have an eidetic memory~which is pretty much a fancy way of saying; when I go to recall a memory I literally see a picture of it in my mind. Normally, it’s a really great thing to have. I’m sure it’s what’s made learning all the languages I’ve studied easier. I also have Hyperthesmia~ which is the ability to recall almost every day of my life in near perfect detail, as well as public events that hold some personal significance to me. If the events are positive then no harm, no foul. If the memory involves being chased down and being beaten with a wooden Louisville Slugger bat; it sucks to be able to remember every detail of the event. It’s part of the reason it’s taken so long for me to heal.
I’ve always used this blog as a way to communicate openly and honestly about my life. I’ve always known that I’m not the only person who is facing this distasteful and arduous battle. I’m well versed in the tools of survival. I know there are teens out there in abusive situations, and adult survivors that are still on their own journey to find reconciliation, and love for themselves and their families. If I can be a voice for those who are still too afraid to speak, or a light for a soul that has lost their way, then I will have done something remarkable.
Over the next year, plan to use this blog as a sounding board, a way to clear my head, re-write previous memoir materials, and of course, a place of support for others previously and currently trying to overcome abusive situations.
Drop me a line if you have any questions….
Source: AUSSIE MONTH with Sami Lee