If I was to write everything that happened in my life, well, I’d have to take it to another website and I’d have alot more to say. These posts are not your happy go lucky posts-I am beginning some life confessions in hopes that someone somewhere can step out and have their own voice heard.
I’ve never had the normal relationship with my mom. Since I was little, things were always turbulent. Until I was about ten, we lived with my Grandparents. I grew up “Grandpa’s Little Girl”.
But when my mom was sad, I was the one “It’s Ok Mommy” “You are beautiful Mommy” I was a child comforting my Mom. If she disagreed with something my Grandfather said, she was too quiet to say something. So, I’d be the one to speak up. I remember once saying “Don’t you talk to my Mommy like that.” I was freaking young but I remember it. I was taking care of my Mom’s emotional needs. She went to college, then straight into an overnight job. When I was waking up for school, she was going to bed. When I was home from school, she was leaving.
I listened to my Mom cry. I listened to her call herself ugly. It was my job to parent her…
When I was 10, things started to build up. I had been teased at school since the beginning for only having a Mommy. I was teased about the way I looked. I was born missing 6 permanent teeth, two being right in front. Fluoride damaged my teeth instead of strengthening them. Kids are horribly cruel and I couldn’t do anything about that until I was older-and into surgery we went. I held lots of emotions in because I didn’t know how to express emotions. It was ignore it and move on. “Bad things” didn’t get talked about. My childhood had “bad things” but no one wanted me to talk. My mouth was zipped. I was ten years old and didn’t want to live anymore. I was mad at the world. I didn’t want to go to school. And off I went into the juvenile system.
From hospital to shelter to group homes and foster care, the next 8 years of life-I was bounced around. I was in places with drug addicts, people involved in violent acts. I was molded into this “System” of giving the right answer or admitting to things you really didn’t do just to show you were making improvements. Now don’t get me wrong, I was no angel as I began to grow up. I didn’t know how to cope with the typical things a teenager does. I didn’t have rules. At the time, I didn’t want to listen to my Grandpa-the person I truly looked up to. I just didn’t care. I wanted someone to care for me.
Mom got married. She had my two little brothers. My step-dad took over the role of my Grandpa for Mom. Without going in to details, I remember a conversation that was picking him over me. I was losing my Mother. He was more important than me. Here I was being taught to explain that I was “manipulative, aggressive, truant from school, relationship problems with my parents, attention deficit, depression” I learned the labels I was supposed to see myself as. I was supposed to see I was the bad kid. In all reality, I was watching my Mother be manipulated by step-father. He won. I lost.
I went into foster care. I had a “new family” with rules and plans. I tried to get involved in church and the youth group. For once, I started to feel like a person. I got to have a job. My Senior year was my first and last year at the school I graduated from. No one thought I could do it…instead, I moved out right at my 18th birthday as I aged out of the foster care system and I graduated from high school with a 3.16 GPA. I proved them wrong.
My Mom apologized to me via text message. She said she was sorry I didn’t have a good childhood and how proud she was of me. It’s the first time, I actually felt ACKNOWLEDGED. Unfortunately, that was the only time.
When I found out I was pregnant with Kelsie at 19, I was scared out of my mind. I called my foster mom in tears. I couldn’t call my Mother. I was in no way going to turn to her. I didn’t know what I was going to do. How was I, ME, going to be a parent. But Patti told me, “God has a reason for this Jenna. You are going to be an amazing Mother and this baby has a purpose.WITH YOU.”
My Mom? “You can not have this baby. You are too young. You are too immature. All you do is party.” I didn’t want to be my Mom.
I still feel pushed on the back burner. Maybe it’s the fact she really didn’t have to be my Mother. Other people took care of me. I was other’s responsibility to deal with. I knew I was the kid she didn’t want.
When I talk to my Mom today, I still can’t complain about anything going on. It’s “something I brought on myself” or she’s got worse issues to deal with. I’m still the scapegoat. I see other family members congratulated on their well wishes. Concern for simple things they might be going through.
I’m just the bad child. I’m the outsider. I’LL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH.