Day 13: My Parents

I have to tell you that my family is dysfunctional. My parents were kids when I was born. They didn’t know what they hell they were doing. They made many mistakes. I hated them both at different points in my life.

But, I’m thankful for them. I’m thankful for their DNA and for their ability to raise happy and healthy children despite a whole host of issues. Even though I struggle with my feelings towards my dad, I know that I wouldn’t exist without him. I see parts of him in my attitude and behavior. I am thankful for him.

I have a lot of my mom in me. I am my mother’s child. I realized that the things that I was telling my son she had said to me. Words and phrases that were interspersed into teachable moments. She really has grown on me and her and Munch are super close now. I am thankful for her.

I am thankful for the struggles and strength of my parents. It is never easy raising children. You do the best you can and hope that you don’t mess them up. They did. Individually. I understand that now.

It’s not about being a perfect parent. That’s impossible. Just be there. That’s half the job of parenting. Love and be there for your children. No matter how messed up you think your life is, your children need you. The real you.  It is Day 13 and I’m thankful for my parents in my #23daysofthankfulness.

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Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

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Day 1: My Munch

In my #23DaysofThankfulness Post, I wanted to share what I am thankful most for. My son. My Munch. Being his Mommy is by far the greatest blessing than I could have ever imagined. Each day I learn how much my heart can grow just by hearing his words “I love you Mommy” and “I miss you Mommy”.

The day it was confirmed that I was carrying this little boy and every day after I feel the presence and awesomeness of God’s love. I am thankful for him. I am thankful for his life. His love. His spirit.

I never imagined motherhood would make me mushy, but it has. He is the perfect child for me. Not a perfect child, but the perfect child for me. God blessed me with the perfect child for my temperament. Even when he was a baby and I loved to sleep, Munch started sleeping through the night at 8 weeks old.  Wasn’t that awesome?

I’m a homebody and some days I don’t want to do anything but lie in the bed and don’t get dressed. I want to watch television, eat and just enjoy being lazy. Munch has my temperament. He enjoys that too. He actually prefers to stay in his pajamas all day. Munch loves pizza just as much as I do. His favorite is pepperoni and bacon. He loves traveling and seeing new places. He loves parties and family. He’s pretty dang amazing.

Day One – I’m thankful for Munch.

 

 

 

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

 

 

Reblog: Suffer the Little Children

Growing up in an abusive home, I saw the face of domestic violence in my mother. I saw it in my aunts and in my cousins. The need to love a man that is broken because you have no idea what love is. The desire to fix or heal that part of him because you think that is what marriage or relationship is supposed to be. The women in my family were “ride or die” before I even knew what that meant. They were literally willing to die at the hands of their man.

Each October we spend so much time focusing on Breast Cancer Awareness by turning everything pink, but what about turning it purple? Purple is the color of Domestic Violence Awareness. Which is also in the month of October. How many of you actually knew that? Not me. Not until recently.

The last eighteen months of my life have been about an evolution of change. Growing, learning and striving to be better. I’ve been digging up the roots of my past and trying to figure out why I am who I am. It’s been a journey of self-discovery and immense pain. The pain of violence that I had hidden away and didn’t want to share. Until now.

I grew up in a broken home with broken people. Love was shown through busted lips and bloody noses. I watched my momma love a broken man until I turned nine. That’s how old I was when my momma decided she’d had enough. She put my daddy out and chose us over him. I rejoiced a little. No more violence. No more acting like my furniture was broken because it was old. It was broken because my daddy pushed my momma into it.

She fought back too, but does it matter? What kind of life was that for us to grow up into?

With her escape and choice she became my hero. She chose to raise her children alone than in an abused situation any longer. I was proud. I was also affected. I don’t think she knew it. Counseling wasn’t something “black people” did back then so it was kind of hard for her to see that her girl was damaged by the violence.

I remember my momma telling me that “If a man ever puts his hands on you, I will kill him.” Calmly. After dinner one night. She was a lion protecting her cubs. But, she didn’t know that a man was already violent towards me.

It wasn’t physical violence but pain inflicted through sexual assault, emotional and psychological abuse. I was made to feel inferior. Less than a woman. Someone with no rights whatsoever. I had no voice. I hid behind baggy clothes to make myself less flattering and unattractive to men and everyone. I fooled people with my cocky and confident persona because I thought that if you looked too closely you could see the cracks in my relationships.

The last eighteen months of my life have seen me entering a new territory. A territory where I have found my voice, renewed my faith and shared my testimony. One in four women will be a victim of domestic violence in their lifetime. We need to bring awareness to this topic now. It shouldn’t take a football player cold cocking his fiancée for you to care. You should care every day because there are too many nameless women out there who need you to wear purple too.

* * *

For more information about and help dealing with domestic violence in the African American community, check out the following organizations:

The Institute On Domestic Violence In the African American Community
The Feminist Majority Foundation (has a great list of national domestic violence advocacy groups)
Purple Reign
National Domestic Violence Hotline (800-799-SAFE (7233))
National Sexual Assault Hotline (800-656-4673)
National Sexual Assault Online Hotline

This is a reblog of a post I wrote for My Brown Baby. Please check out the article here: Suffer the Little Children

 

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

Surviving the BS – Part 1

The goal of my blog has always been to tell you what’s going on in my life. In all honesty, I started writing to blog about my life and family when I was happily pregnant with Munch. I had many starts and stops and I wasn’t consistent. Life got in the way.

I came back to it at the end of my marriage. It was a way for me to maintain my sanity through all the drama and the noise. It was my free therapy. However, I held back a lot. I was doing it under the guise of protecting my son. But, I was hurting. I was dying.

No more.

I’m tired ya’ll. I’m exhausted. I can no longer remain silent while I continue experiencing this drama. It’s not fair to me. It’s not fair to Munch.

For the last year, I’ve gone back and forth to court with my ex-husband. I told you how it stressed me out. The last court date was on September 11th. They accepted our parenting agreement. An agreement that we supposedly entered in a good faith effort to co-parent.

But, we don’t co-parent. We can’t. I hate him. He hates me and we’re left trying not to mess up Munch. Every therapy appointment I tell my therapist that is my fear. That my son will be damaged by the choices his parents have made. She reminds me that children are resilient and that I can love and do the best that I can and it will make a difference.

I’m not as optimistic.

How did I get to the point of hating my ex? From all the senseless back and forth. The name calling, the BS passive aggressive behavior, the court drama, the insertion of his wife, the mediation, etc. My life was in suspended animation and I had no choice but to participate in this custody drama. I thought there would be peace. At least for a little while.

However, I was wrong. I underestimated the man that I was dealing with. I believed that somehow we would call a “cease fire” and leave each other alone. No contact or communication unless it pertained to our son. All email communications would only be about our son.

But, I was naive.

It was a rough first week in October. We went back and forth on our son’s flute and swim lessons. Unnecessarily long emails that really don’t matter. I was tired. I was tired of receiving the emails and asked him to please stop contacting me unless it had something to do with our son because these back and forth emails were harassing and emotionally draining to me.

This was what I received:

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I highlighted the piece of text that caused me anger, angst and feelings of violation. I realized that I was being battered and suffering emotional abuse by my ex-husband. He copied his wife on the email. I blacked out the email addresses and names. Why? Did they care when they sent me this BS? Probably not.

You see I told you about being a survivor of sexual assault, molestation and rape in my post: I Know Not. I shared my story because my ex-husband wanted to use it as an excuse to verbally abuse me. He wanted to harass and embarrass me in front of his wife as a form of intimidation.

So, if she wanted to know what really happened as a woman and a mother, she could read about it in my own damn words or she could support the man that continues to abuse me. But, it’s not about her. It’s about him. It’s about me. It’s about me saying that I will no longer allow this man to continue to insult and humiliate me. I am a survivor.

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I will no longer be silent.

-To Be Continued-

 

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

I Know Not

I know not the moment when my innocence was shattered. When my belief in man became so obscure that I thought death was better than life. I’m lying.

I remember.

I remember the day that you touched me as I slept. The moment that my innocence was shattered and I was left to pick up the pieces of the dirty word I had become. I know not why I had to endure that pain.

Maybe someone can explain.

I know not why I was assaulted by two boys on the school bus. Why they held me down and hunched me as I screamed out.  Kissing me. Holding my wrists. Why they chose to grind their adolescent penises in my crotch all to show me their manhood. I know not why no one came to my rescue. I screamed for help.

I remember.

Because I was just a girl. Faceless. I didn’t matter. They were popular. I was a nobody. Or that was how I was treated after the boys got in trouble. I was just an unknown. I asked for it. I know not how a child asks for boys to hold her down as they humped her and she screamed for help.

I know not why I was abandoned.

The isolation of classmates created such loneliness in my spirit that I understood that a nobody liked me must have deserved the unwanted attention as I was just a girl. A child. It didn’t matter. I don’t know why the expectation is that I wanted this.

I know not why I remember the day that my classmate raped me. I remember the feel of his penis pushing through me as I screamed and fought. The words “No one likes a tease” as I laid there crying and fighting for my spirit. I remember praying to God to die as he penetrated me relentlessly.

I know not why I saw me outside my body. I sang a song. A song of comfort. My mind was breaking apart. I imagined singing. I was a young girl. Maybe about 6 or 7. I sang This Little Light of Mine as he raped me. I know not why that song came to me.

I remember. I remember believing that God was protecting me. That walls were being built all around my mind to protect me from the pain. The pain was insurmountable. The memories would be too painful and I felt numb.

I died that day. Spiritually.

Each time I was touched. I lost a piece of me. But, I lived. I know not why.

Maybe it is because God had greater plans for my life than I could have ever imagined. I know not why.

God gave me a son to raise after boys and a man destroyed many parts of my youth. But, He must have a sense of humor right? Cause why would my womb carry a man?

I know not why.

I know not why the answers to many questions remain unclear. Like fragments and repressed memories they fight to come to light. Buried memories of things not spoken about.

But, I know that I have a purpose. I am better than my perpetrators. I am better than my past. I’m better than the man who tries to break me down by accusing me of emasculating my son when I am the one who brought forth light and named him Munch. I know not why.

 

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

It’s the Mother’s Fault

I’m so tired of society blaming all the problems of the world on the backs of mothers. We are not responsible for everything that happens in this world. We create life, but as men remind us we couldn’t do so without them. So, based off that fact, wouldn’t it be fair to say that we equally share in creating and influencing our children?

I saw this post in one of my FaceBook groups and was astonished at the comments:

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Why? Aren’t both equally dangerous to the well being of a child? Children require two healthy parents to love and influence them. Mental health is often overlooked in both parents. People who should get help deny their is something wrong with them, but the statistics support that most people are suffering from some sort of depression.

I grew up without a father in my life and I disagree with his statement. It did more damage than good. My mother by no means was toxic, but him not supporting his children financially, spiritually or mentally put all the work on her and she just focused on raising us. I had a hole in my heart because my dad abandoned me.

That played itself out in the men I chose and had relationships with. Some were really good men who could see that my father’s abandonment was playing with me. They didn’t take advantage. They just loved and supported. Others did take advantage. Those were the losers that I was unfortunate enough to be linked too.

Blame shifting when it comes to our children and what is in the best interest serves no one. It only allows those that see nothing wrong with their behavior to blame someone else for them not stepping up to the plate with a knife and a fork.

Our society tends to seek to destroy instead of build up one another. The family unit is damaged and it is sickening to believe that the mental health of men promoting hate propaganda and excusing negative behaviors in men is better for our children. Both a toxic parent and an absentee parent are detrimental to the children.

We need to understad that how children are raised and the traumas they experience in childhood will carry over in their adult lives. It’s a fact. It’s not assumption. Every thing that you’re doing now could be traced back to an event that made you that way. Good, bad or indifferent your past matters. Your experiences matter. They help shape the person that you are.

Children need their parents. Both mothers and fathers. But, you have to do the work to heal yourself from the past traumas you’ve experienced or it will manifest itself in the rearing of your children. Be active, be accountable and be mentally capable of raising great individuals.

 

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.

My IVF Journey: The Road Less Traveled

The two week wait was agonizing. How could I continue to act like nothing was going on? I was possibly creating life in my womb. I was scared yet hopeful that God would be in all that was happening.

I went about my daily life trying to occupy my time and thoughts. Luckily, I was gearing up for my busy season at work, but my marriage took a hit. I thought I was losing my damn mind. Nothing could prepare me for the hell that I found myself in.

I spent so much time crying out to God. I wanted to know why o’ why had He forsaken me? Why did he allow me to be in so much pain? I put my mask back on. The mask of pretending that I was okay when I was in an unfathomable amount of pain.

I was losing control. Nothing in life seemed to be going as it should. I couldn’t let the world see.

The world couldn’t see that I was dying and trying to hold on to my sanity. I am a survivor. I had survived worse, but how much more was I expected to bear?

I prayed that God could hear my cries. I was alone. Trapped in the pain of my mind. The weight of my wedding ring was burning my skin. The  two week wait passed with more tears and numbness than I thought possible.

I got up and went to the fertility clinic. I had survived the two week wait. I had to get my blood drawn. I was used to needles by then. Hated them, but I was becoming indifferent to pain. They told me that my nurse would call me later with the results.

I sighed. I knew the drill. It was probably another negative. I mean how could I be pregnant at this point? I couldn’t think about it. I had to get to work.

Waiting for the call from my fertility nurse was agonizing. I busied myself with meetings and work. I still had a job to do. A job that I needed with so much uncertainty surrounding me.

I was traveling a road that was new to me. Foreign. Was I pregnant? Did I want to stay in my marriage? Am I strong enough?

I checked my voicemail. The nurse had called. I called her back. She was unavailable. I had to wait for her to call me back.

Damn it!

Keep moving. Keep working. Occupy your mind and thoughts.

She called 30 minutes later. She said that my test was positive.

I was pregnant.

Tears rolled down my eyes.

I was pregnant.

I closed my eyes. “Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes, your test came back positive” she said.

I was now a mommy. I was standing at the crossroads in my marriage and I was finally pregnant. God has a strange sense of humor. I didn’t sign up for this. What’s happening to me?

-To be continued-

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links: Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page https://www.instagram.com/mskeeinmd/.