He Was Chasing Me Pt.1
Hello friend! Thank you for visiting my blog! It means so much that you're taking the time to read what I share. Since I’m new at this, I felt it would be fitting to introduce you to the most important event of my life. If you don’t know who I am or where I’ve come from you may not understand my passion. I hope you are encouraged and find hope in my story!
I grew up in Salem, Oregon, and was raised by a single mother with my two half-sisters. My parents were married when I was born, but I never met my dad because my parents separated when I was around three months old. A foster family raised my mom in the Seventh-day Adventist denomination, so naturally, she felt it was best to take us girls to Seventh-day Adventist Churches. Also, before I was born, my dad was in ministry with the same denomination. While he was temporarily visiting the United States from Nicaragua, he met my mom. Later they divorced and my dad moved back to Nicaragua, where the majority of my paternal family resides.
That being said, throughout my childhood, we occasionally visited church on the "Sabbath"/Saturdays. I learned about Jesus and several Bible characters who made history. Outside of church attendance, my mom was faithful to share Jesus with us, even despite her own struggles in keeping with the faith. Whenever we had an answered prayer, she always made a point to credit God for answering our prayers. For example, I remember times when we were low on food and someone from the church would come by with a box of food at just the right time! She always pointed us back to God in those moments! I also had key people throughout my childhood who shared Jesus with me. Perhaps that could be another blog post!
I don't remember a time when I didn't believe that Jesus was indeed God, but there was a disconnect in my understanding of my relationship with Him. And this disconnect continued into my teen years when I fell far away from any connection to the person of Jesus.
My mom always tried her best to care for us as a single parent, but our needs often surpassed her ability to meet them. Sadly, she had her own history of trauma that led to drug and alcohol abuse, unhealthy and abusive relationship patterns, and a diagnosis of a mental illness. Throughout my childhood, there was an ebb and flow of positive and negative experiences as the ebb and flow of her struggles and choices affected us. Our family of four was homeless several times throughout my childhood. Then, as my oldest sister became old enough to be independent, our household reduced to my mom, younger sister, and me.
There were a couple of occasions I remember following in tow with my younger sister to battered women's shelters as my mom sought help from her abusive relationship. And when her off-and-on relationship with my youngest sister's father was going well, I remember staying overnight at his house at times as well. We lived in several low-income housing apartments but moved around often. Extreme poverty was my norm, but it began to take a toll on my emotional health and my self-esteem as I grew up.
Toward the end of my 8th-grade year in school, our family ended up becoming homeless again and landed in the Salvation Army Homeless shelter. We stayed in the shelter for a little over a year. The move was a pivotal time in my life, as I was in middle school and entering high school. I was trying to find my identity as a young person, and I cared much more about what people thought about me now that I was a teenager. My teachers and school counselors graciously helped me to keep my living situation as private as possible so I could live as normal of a teen life as possible, but it was far from it.
The surmounting difficulties I faced didn't help my confidence as a young person, along with the fact that I didn't know my father growing up. Growing up without my dad created a deep wound in my heart. I didn't realize how bad it was until I had the maturity to start to have questions about him. Why would he leave me when I was just a baby? Does he even wonder how I'm doing? I had so many other feelings and emotions about being fatherless growing up. My younger sister's father was in the picture, and in many ways, he was a father figure to me (I'm forever grateful). Still, I always had the emptiness in my heart from not knowing my biological father. That pain that surfaced in my pre-teen and teen years transformed into resentment and bitterness.
The resentment and bitterness grew as my relationship with my mom also changed. With her mental illness, it was challenging to live with her. I didn't know what type of mom I would get each day. My mom would have deep depression some days, and other days; she would be hyperactive, over-talkative, and flippant with money and other things-even violent at times. I took a leadership role in our family and there was even some role reversal with my mom.
I grew up far too quickly for my age, as I felt I had to. In my mind, I needed to be the mature and responsible one. At the age of 12, at the beginning of each month, I would help my mom budget her child support. There were little things I would do to help her out while taking on responsibilities and concerns that most kids my age didn't have to do. I also took on a poverty complex because my sister and I were the kids who participated in "Operation School Bell," a program where back-to-school clothes were donated to us. At Christmas time, we were the family that other families would support to ensure we had a "Christmas". We went to food banks regularly and lived off food stamps. At the time, those things were embarrassing to me. Although now that I'm an adult and a parent, I know that my mom was trying her best to ensure we had food on the table and decent clothes to wear. I can't imagine how she must have felt being a single mother!!
My resentment and bitterness turned into anger toward life. When I entered high school, I made a vow to myself that no one was going to find out that I was homeless or poor and I would never be poor in the future. I became self-righteous, prideful, and entitled and driven. I decided if my mom couldn't afford cool clothes for me, I would steal them. That's when I started going on stealing sprees at the mall. I had nice Hurley and Volcom clothes…but not because they were donated this time….not because I bought them….I stole them.
My behavior continued to spiral. As I mentioned, my mom struggled with her mental illness and would often self-medicate. The people she surrounded herself with were not Christians; drinking and partying were a weekend norm. I was introduced to marijuana at the age of ten and later dabbled in it more once I became a teen. When I could have regular access to it, I smoked weed and drank all types of alcohol frequently while in 8th grade and during my freshman year of high school. I keenly remember feeling suicidal and just hating life. I was filled with so much darkness, so much anger and pain. On the top bunk of our family dorm at the Salvation Army Homeless Shelter, I would hold my breath against a pillow and hope to die.
At the peak of my darkness everything changed… Read part two HERE.
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