Tag Archives: love

A Daughter’s Heart Break… Part 2

19 Apr
Horace-Rhone-1491567206

I LOVE YOU DADDY!

There’s been a knot in my chest since the 2nd of April 2017, I’ve had several nightmares since then. I am uneasy, I keep replaying calling you, begging for you to wake up dad, to grant me the opportunity to say a proper and final goodbye. I have shed countless tears in private as well as publicly, my go to (writing) doesn’t seem to help much. I was unable to read my tribute to you on Thursday and though Rick and Julie offered to read it, I just couldn’t, they were my final words to you and I wanted to say them. (I will soon) I write now with tears streaming down my face, still questioning, besides the fact that you are dad and I love you, why does your passing bother me so?! Your passing have unearthed all types of emotions and left me in a state of quandary!

Death has a way of forcing us to reflect, whether on unfulfilled desires, unattained dreams, unmet goals, there is nothing like the passing of a friend, an associate or loved one that propels us to put things into perspective and compels us to search our hearts, question our motives, reignite passions, release or let go off old grudges, and drives us to be more compassionate, considerate, forgiving, loving and kind etc. even if it’s just for a moment…

For me however, this is really not the case. Dads passing somehow made me revert, it’s unfathomable, somewhat irritating and renders me cheerless. I remain in a  somber/melancholy like mood. I feel like a five year old child!

I find myself pining away, needing to feel my dad’s arms around me and him telling me just how much he loves me, the irony is, I NEVER received that type of affection as a little girl! Hence my confusion, (something for the professionals to explain) I have spent each quiet moment, no matter how brief, searching the crevasse of my heart trying to find an explanation to the emptiness I feel. I am relieved that dad is no longer uncomfortable or in pain, I’m content that he is resting peacefully, but much to my consternation I’m left feeling shaken, bothered and extremely emotional. WHY?! I have questioned my current state of being many times, I have yet to sit in total serenity and surrender to this feeling, but I’m beginning to make sense of it.

Every little girl wishes to be daddy’s little angel, the apple of his eye, the one that causes him to see reason, to as much as force him to change his life. Every little girl yearns to feel protected, shielded by her 1st knight in amour, her father. A dad emboldens his daughter, teaches her values, reminding her of her worth and how special a gift she is to the earth. Every girl wants to know that there is one man whose love is impenetrable towards her and regardless of what happens she is loved unconditionally, I’m no different. I LOVED my dad, and I know he LOVED me, but, we butted heads. It took us both a long time to see and unfortunately this is apart of my uneasiness and my query,  I am not at all certain DAD was able to see me…

TO BE CONTINUED…

AT THE END…

19 Jun

Rainbow


AT THE END

I Lived

I Loved

I Laughed

I Prayed

            I Felt Pain

               I Cried

                    I Hurt

                        I was Betrayed

                                     I made Friends

                                         I was a Friend

                                             I lost Friends

                                                 I had enemies

                                                              I was Brave

                                                                 I was Weak

                                                                     I was Strong

                                                                 I was Me!

                                                                                      I Hoped

                                                                                          I Prayed

                                                                                               I Believed

                                                                                                    I Dreamed

                                                                                                                    I Fought

                                                                                                                        I Persevered

                                                                                                                           I took  Chances

                                                                                                                              I Leaped

I DIED!!

 I Traveled

   I was Transformed

       I was Reborn!                                                          

                                     I Evolved  

                             I made a Difference 

                                            I made a Change   

                                                 I Forgave

                                                         I Laughed                      

                                                             I Loved

                                                                         I LIVED                   

                                                                   I PRAYED

                                             I WAS UNIQUELY ME!

 AT THE END

                                                                                                                                                                                                    By: Larissa Rhone

I AM NOT MY MOTHER! Part1

10 Jun

“Your mother gives you your identity as a woman” (Iyanla Vanzant) hmm-mm I don’t know…Is this really true? I will be able to agree or disagree at the end of my release. I have been rather hesitant to write this post, and the others that will follow, I agonized over the wording, what should I reveal and what to hold back until further notice. What will be considered offensive, how will this be perceived? Will my actions be understood? The reason this particular post proves challenging is because it’s solely about my first relationship, my first role model, my first love, my first heart-break, my first betrayal; this post is about my Mother! I LOVE my mother yet for years I battled with various emotions, how could this woman who I adore cause me so much pain! I RESENTED this woman, in equal terms, with mixed emotions, one part loving the other part resenting! But I knew underneath it all… unconditional love was always looming.

I watched and listened over the past few weeks her responses to my choices, her attitude fluctuating as she’s not sure what, and how to feel, when or how to speak, or how to act or at times verbally approach this situation of me publicly speaking about the sexual abuse I experienced as a child. I watched her as she rode her waves of emotions, not knowing at times if she wanted to support or condemn me. I listened and observed as she tried to accept and find her footing when she realized there was no stopping me.  My mother as usual laid wait, waiting for others to react, to know how to feel it seems.  The support from her didn’t come until she saw the support of others rolling my way. It seems she found the courage to follow suit though apprehensive.

Little did my dearest mother know, this, my speaking out, my taking action was happening with or without her approval, because I was tired and I was about to blow.  I have tried for many years to be respectful of her, holding in my true feelings toward her, taking into account she has been through so much, and I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she had already been hurt. Throughout this time I have been annoyed and irritated with her child like cowardly behavior over the years, and I have held her responsible first and foremost for the deepest parts of my hurt and the pain that I carry. I never felt protected, I never felt important, I never felt like a priority, she made me feel like an obligation she had to fulfill, the deepest and hardest part of my test, and the times I needed her to stand with me and weather this storm she bailed, she succumbed, she reverted, she acted like a weak and puny, coward child, giving in to everyone’s demands but mine, standing and siding with everyone but me…

Not having my mother’s support over the years killed me over and over inside, with each dismissal of my pain I was made to relive, to retell, to revisit old hurt, I felt trapped, I felt suffocated, and the more she and others asked me to suppress the torture I had to endure, the more I started to resemble my weak and feeble mom…I knew it was happening and I hated the thought of becoming the spineless coward people pleasing person that my mother was or had become. Little did I know…The story was yet to unfold!

I knew that once I started making the abuse public, it would be hard for her as it is ridiculously hard for me, however it’s all a part of my healing and I must heal completely not just a fraction. I must come to terms, accept and release it all en root to my end result, my ultimate goal of healing and forgiveness.

My relationship with my mother has been one filled with many highs and lows, smooth sailing and turbulent, our relationship mimic that of many mothers and daughters, our disagreements and butting heads were many, as with ever parent and child we had our occasional blow up and blow outs. We fought but our fights though at times tense our fights were considered mild-mannered compared to some of my peers. My mother and I somehow managed to remain respectful and dignified… I believe like her I fought hard but with caution, trying to refrain from saying what we truly felt and what probably needed to be said. Throughout the years though it was extremely hard at times for me because even though I loved and respected my mother so much our relationship was strained. I thought and still do think the world of my mom, for the most part “but” there was that side, the side where my love never wavered but my respect did. I had my moments of being extremely happy that she was and is my mom, yet at times I found myself torn between love and deep-seated resentment!

“I am not my mother!” The first time I uttered those words I was seventeen years old, and after a major fight with one of my aunts I recall her (my aunt) explaining her dismay, total surprise/disbelief that I reacted, (fighting back after she punched me in the head) according to her  because I fought back, I had no manners or respect. She stated that had my mom, her elder sister hit her she would not have fought or hit back…I was livid, I had done nothing wrong to warrant the abuse, so while she tried to accept the reality I had had enough of her and fought back, and she was ever so correct I had NO respect for her NONE but… (Another post).  I was steaming over the fact she compared me to my mom! That was my first time saying it out loud “I am not my mother!” but had not been the last time, in fact it resonated over the years… I refused to be my mother, I am not my mother and will never be my mother I would tell myself and repeat these five little words time and time again. I thought my belief,  I thought my refusal to pattern my mom’s ways were as a result of her demonstration of self throughout her relationship with my dad and while this held true, it was not my only reason.

Imagine my surprise when in my adult years I finally realized that the way I felt about my mom was a combination of things. I knew I didn’t want to be her because she didn’t protect me as a child, in addition to how she reacted to my dad’s ill-treatment. I resented my mother, and I resented her deeply. It’s something I have battled for years, and yes, while I had my moments I realized I loved this woman tremendously but for the most part I didn’t like her! I did not like my mother! How and why you wonder? Well at five years old the first time my grandmother’s husband stuck his slimy nasty disgusting tongue down my throat and fondled me to the point he ejaculated from the pleasure he received. The moment I returned to safety the first person I told was my mom. What happened next was not expected even my five-year old brain knew something was off…My mother, yes my ‘mom’ proceeded to pull my underwear down, check me to see if he had penetrated, pull my undies back up and uttered the words “do not tell your father, do not tell anyone!” I was too young then to comprehend the profound impact and the magnitude and/or toll that this decision would have on my life in the years that followed. I had my first experience of extreme betrayal then, from the person I loved and idolized the most. My first lesson was that this man, her mother and others were more important than I was. The five-year old me needed my mommy to show up and out for me. This was the beginning of a steady decline in our relationship as I would come to realize my mom placed the feelings of others first, her feelings as well as my own we were second in command. The saga continues…

Releasing old hurts, relinquishing resentments, dismissing old beliefs, surrendering to healing and  journeying to free… Join me as I/we Journey2Free

 

From my heart to yours

 

Larissa


 

Never A Daddy’s Little Girl…. Part 1

15 May

It is said a little girl loves and idolizes her father as he is the first man she knows, respect and loves. Psychology says and proves a father paves the way in nurturing, loving, instructing, guiding and influencing their daughters… Well my dad did all the above just Not in the conventional way it was intended, there is so much to be said about this man I called daddy, like the fact he never wanted me!!!

My father had and still has no idea the pain, the torment and trauma I suffered at his hands (well mouth) for although he NEVER inappropriately touched me, the names he called me over the years (bitch, slut, whore) the words cut deeply…With each utterance of one of those derogatory words from my dad, I felt the harshness and cruelty one would feel when slapped hard across the face or salt being thrown on a freshly scare wound. My heart bled, my heart broke and something ripped on my insides each time he called me stupid! He would frequently say “You’re the eldest yet the dumbest of my children”, he’d say even my baby brother had more smarts; he was more intelligent than I was. I know he knew that he was WRONG…I am a very intelligent woman!!

I questioned myself over the years because whenever he uttered such words, it felt he possessed some unique super human ability to look within and see my inner anguish. I often questioned if, somehow my dad knew I was sexually active even though I was being violated and tormented without my consent. Could this be why he called me names? Did I in some way want these men to violate me? Did I lead them on, did I enjoy it? Did I display certain behaviors that warranted them do this to me? Today I know the answer to those question is a resounding NO! Nothing that an underage child does should lead grown men to have sex with them!!! 

From a very early age I realized I was anything but the apple of my father’s eye, in fact I was like a thorn in his side. My dad wanted boys the more boys he had the better it would have been for him but God threw a monkey wrench in his plans. My father never wanted me because I am a girl. He is the definition of a true narcissist! I love my father and for years I fought to gain his love and affection, but I could never measure up to his standards…well what standard? It is my dad’s belief that a woman’s role was to lay on their backs and earn their keep.

The lessons he taught some good and some bad! The lessons were many, and boy do I have stories to tell! One of the lessons that resonated the most is one he unknowingly taught me, he taught me how to be independent, relying on no one for anything! Independent I became! My dad taught me independence in two ways…

1.     Observing the relationship between him and my mom, the system between my dad and my mom was orchestrated so that my mother had to ask his permission before she spent HIS money.

2.     At the age of seven I recall an incident where I had asked my mom for school supplies and she told me to ask my dad for the money, upon asking my father, he looked me directly in the eyes and said “I am not too particular to give you anything, because you a go breed by 11”. At seven years old, within that second, that minute, that hour, that day, as the seconds ticked away, I made a conscious decision never to ask my dad or any other man for that matter for money! It’s a rule I live by to this present day. Needless to say, this rule has caused issues in relationships. My father made his belief and his feelings for women known, he didn’t down play it, or sugar coat it, “A woman’s rightful place is in the home. All women are good for is to cook, clean, service men and breed (have children).” This is why still to this day he has no idea his girls where sexually abused! Isn’t life a bitch?! While I have mixed emotions about my mother’s choice in not telling him, knowing his temperament and the fear is that he would do to us what he did to her…eventually using his knowledge of the sexual abuse against her.  

For years I lived with conflicted emotions on one hand I couldn’t allow myself to be the woman my father envisioned and expected me to become and on the other hand, I was that woman, because for years while I was being sexually abused and years after the abuse I believed deep down that I was the woman my dad had predicted I would be, that all I was, was an object of pleasure and desire for men and boys. This constant battle added to the emotional and psychological trauma I lived through as a result of the different types of abuse and my life with Sickle Cell Anemia.

I succumbed to my greatest fear (I’m the worthless woman dad said I would be), I was tormented mentally and emotionally because I refused to have a relationship of a sexual nature with anyone for fear of being what my dad deemed me to be, yet here I was being sexually violated over and over and over again by a man and his son who should have been looking out for me, protecting and teaching me …It’s as if I couldn’t escape the wretched clasps of narcissistic men! With each violation, my thoughts were how badly I wanted to save myself for the one I loved, I wanted the option to give myself to whomever I pleased or desired, I too wanted the option of making the poor decisions of finding my FIRST true love and losing my innocence to him. I didn’t want it to be ripped from my grasp by family members!!!

My dad had his moments when he was kind, he had somewhat of a giving heart, which was seldom displayed. My dad’s good qualities were overpowered, overshadowed and tainted with sheer ugliness! He gave expecting something in return, he loved demanding to be loved, he claimed he cared however if at any time something didn’t go his way, he would have a hissy fit like that of my two year old son! The world was out to get him, God was testing him, and people entered his life to use him. He often compared himself to Job of the bible…He could not see past himself! I often heard friends, associates and strangers alike long for their fathers, some wishing they had a father like mine, to that I would and still smile awkwardly because if only they knew! I believe, some are much better off without their dads. I feel that God was shielding and protecting them from years of mental torment! It hurts me, for no matter how I tried to please my dad, I was never good enough, I couldn’t do enough and more was always expected. I realize no matter how I tried I was never and would never be daddy’s little girl!

 For years I made excuses for my parents, in my quest to understand, explain and rationalize their behaviors. While I now realize and accept that they are human, I often wondered about their mental state. How and what did they think about? Are they aware of their actions and behaviors, the implications? If brought to their attention would an attempt be made to reverse, repair or change?

I hated my dad at times, I experienced moments of extreme and intense hatred! I would sit and will myself to remain angry at him, (I couldn’t pull it off) the abusive nature of this man, the things he would do to my family, to my siblings in the name of discipline. My dad was physical (though seldom), verbally, and emotionally abusive. Verbally relentless, emotionally draining and mentally it was never ending. He threw one of my brothers down a flight of stairs, physically pulling him back up only to throw him back down, beatings were with whatever was in his reach. I despised him for hitting my siblings; I would go into protective mood time and time again for my mom, my siblings, myself.  All this would take place at home yet WE would walk out the door as a family pretending all was well with the world.

As I write my blogs and work on my book I realize these are the very reasons it took me this long to get these things out… Because they hurt, I have never sat down and really allowed myself to process or feel the various emotion because I always had to be in action mode, and, it was safer not speaking about it all. My dad made sacrifices for us, and he showed in many ways that he loved us, though tainted at times… (Whether out of obligation or duty) but he never had the rationale to see or understand the negative impact his actions had on his family. It was these actions that warranted his dismissal from our family home. I didn’t know what I was doing or how we would have survived, but I knew I had to protect my brothers from the negative teaching my dad was providing to them about women.  “Women are walking dead; no woman is to be trusted especially the pretty ones.”  Even with a wife and two daughters he felt the need to constantly bash women. My dad’s issues which I now know are his issues impacted me in a very negative way but…

” I am not that wimp of a child anymore and I refuse to carry the shackles of my parents, forefathers and relatives sins, their past experiences has influenced me enough I’m breaking free, no more chains holding me, its heavy… I want my freedom thus I’m taking my freedom, forgetting others expectations of me…I am being that which God wants, needs and intends for me to be…Join me as I/we journey to free.

 

From my heart to yours

Larissa

In Pursuit of Trust

22 Apr

When I decided to finally open up about my child sex abuse issues, I was told by some family members “It’s in the past, it’s time to move on.” What some people do not understand is, there are many psychological issues associated with child sex abuse. One of the major psychological effects/remnants of being sexually abused is TRUST. While it’s an *emotion* we all battle, in my case it is heightened to another degree. I find it rather difficult to trust, often times I find myself questioning the honesty and integrity of innocent bystanders who come into my life.

My little prince begins his nursery program on Monday and I am shit scared!! Registering him was bitter-sweet, I was both anxious and excited that he’s about to embark on a new stage of his growth and development. The closer the date drew for his attendance the more frayed my nerves got. I have been playing every possible scenario in my mind, where my son is concerned everyone is a suspect. This place of mistrust is not an ideal place to be mentally. It’s rather stressful and nerve-wrecking.

As I think about these new stages that my son and I must enter I find myself thinking. How can I keep him safe?  If someone hurt him, touch him inappropriately, would I see it, would I know? I try to convince me that I have built a strong, honest, confident relationship with my son and that he will tell me everything.

Then I revert to thinking, the fact is no matter how much we want to believe he/she would never hurt our children, how we try to be secure in our beliefs that we built a great trusting relationship with our babies and they would say something, we try to convince ourselves “my child would tell me” I would see it, I would know, the truth is you may not know, I may not know. Children are often afraid to speak or to tell someone for various reasons, threats is the most likely, being told no one would believe, people will think they wanted it and or played a part in it, being shunned by peers, fear that if they tell someone, it will cause their parents to separate, the feelings of guilt that they would be held responsible for all the dissention in the family….and the list goes on….

I was born with an incurable illness, therefore when I decided almost three years ago to attempt to conceive a child I was very afraid, afraid that I wouldn’t be able to carry the baby to term and afraid that I couldn’t control the sex of the child if and when I had the baby, I was worried about having a daughter for fear that she would be faced with the possibility of having my childhood experiences thrust upon her. I prayed countless prayers, I prayed for a healthy baby; my most recurrent prayer however was that my little miracle be a boy! My fear had me so distraught that I couldn’t see myself with a little girl. I wouldn’t know what to do with her; I was afraid that I would not be able to take care of her and she would grow up resenting me because of my inabilities. I convinced myself she would not understand the struggles of her mother in trying to protect her and keep her safe. From experience I know that many young girls feel that their parents are being mean to them when they try to protect them, some think their parents are trying to hold them back, stop their progress and the works.

Fast forward two and a half years later, here I am harboring identical concerns for my boy!  I realized the minute I held him in my arms in the hospital that “bad people hurt little boys too.”  As he grew that fear intensified, I remember holding him for the first time in that hospital room, I cried, both with relief that I made it through my pregnancy and he was finally here, the overwhelming emotion of love and finally having my own little person to call my own, but mostly because of fear, I had done it, but what now!! Will I be able to love this little being with all I have, would I be able to provide for him and meet all his needs developmentally, emotionally, would God grant me enough time to see him grow up? Would I be able to protect him from sexual predators? The reality hit me that boys are just as susceptible to child sex abuse as are little girls. I was so paralyzed by fear that someone could hurt him sexually and he wouldn’t be able to tell me, he had no voice, he was just a helpless little boy, he needed me all the time, I have to protect him, I cannot let him out of my sight, I would never forgive myself if someone did something to him and I wasn’t there to protect him, all these thoughts rushed through me as I looked upon the angelic face of my beautiful little miracle.

While in the hospital the nurses would insist I send him to the nursery so I could get some rest. Each time I had to let him go my heart bled. I was paranoid, my head was always filled with thoughts of someone touching my baby inappropriately and I wasn’t there to protect him, I felt helpless, I would relive the trauma of being abused in my mind simply because I was separated from my son. I remember buzzing for them to bring him back as soon as they walked out the door. Not because I was so overjoyed but the anxiety I felt from not being where he is. I needed to see him always.

Upon taking my little prince home the fear and inability to trust went through the roof! Reason, I have four brothers and a sister in addition, three adopted siblings (not legally), as much as I love and trusted my siblings, the thought of either of them taking him for more than a millisecond, I would display panic attack  type symptoms. If one of my brothers took him to their room I would start heaving in as little as fifteen minutes. My adopted siblings and their biological mom would offer to watch him so I could get some well needed rest, unbeknownst to them I wouldn’t and couldn’t rest or breathe easy so that was short-lived!

 I remember falling to pieces in front of a friend, finally admitting after a series of questions that I don’t trust anyone with my baby not even those I was partially responsible for raising!  After my melt down, my dear friend said to me “Ris, you are going to drive yourself insane,” and pointed out that which I already knew that with this bunch my prince would be safe, funny thing is deep down inside I knew that! But fear! (I never mentioned this to any of my siblings I almost hope they don’t read this post.) Lol.

Now here we are, after making the decision to keep him out of daycare, now realizing that three is fast approaching and he will indeed have to go out into the world without me, I have to release my grip on my child, knowing I can’t keep him locked away forever, he must have this experience as a prelude to starting school in the fall. My nerves are on display. Each time I think about letting him go, I feel so sick to my stomach, I can feel the panic and the anxiety creeping in, fear impaling my heart and engulfing my entire being.  But, knowing I have to release, I have to let go and let God. I have to trust God to protect and guide,and for others to be kind to my baby. I have to be vigilant yet not overbearing, protective but not stalker like, talk to and not at, verbalize my concerns but not be judgmental, worry but not to the point of exertion or border line psychosis. Truth is, I’m not sure how to feel or approach, but I know I don’t want to eventually drive my child away with my endless worries.

So, as a part of this process, my journeying to free and whilst I maybe at the beginning of the spectrum than closer to the end, I pray as morning comes and I take my son to his program and relinquish my hold/power to the teachers and caregivers for these 5-6hrs a day for the next six weeks that my past does not ultimately alter my present. As I nervously count down the hours, pray excessively, love him uncontrollably, defiantly question self, and talk to him as much as his little two-year old brain can  process/comprehend, I’m releasing and getting another fear under control, pray with and join me as I/we journey2free.

 

From my heart to yours

Larissa