Here we Fucking Are: Booya..We did it again!

“You have always had a unique way of seeing things” my adoptive mother would constantly tell me.

Or

How about this one:

“You don’t see things like we see things.”

Or

What about this one:

“Hmm…interesting”.

All of these comments are meant to make me feel less of a person, less part of the family. They are made to try and diminish the impact my thought process may have on someone.

They are made to remind me of how much I really do not fit in. 

The cult I lived in for so long brainwashed me every day. First it was my physical appearance:

  1. Skinny
  2. White (or at least act white)
  3. Long blonde hair (or be exotic, the way SHE thought exotic should look like)
  4. No short shorts/skits/dresses (on me…it was fine on the others)
  5. No bikinis (on me….it was fine on the others)
  6. No make-up (on me…it was fine on the others)
  7. No shoes with heels (on me…it was fine on the others)

I live my entire life in the “no” zone.

The cult I lived in for so long brainwashed me every day. Second it was my emotional appearance:

  1. “Flexible”: As an adoptee, flexibility comes and goes. For me, I needed consistency, and a schedule. I needed to know and feel secure, when my next meal would be, whether my allowance was going to be the same every time. I think adoptees coming from homes or orphanages lived in such an unpredictable fashion that being part of a family=stability. NOPE
  2. Particular talk: I had to talk a certain way. Have all the stupid quirks they had. Laugh the way they did. Tell jokes in the same exact fashion they did. I could not show that I knew more….but if I showed I knew less, I was criticized.
  3. No expression: How day I tell them how I really felt? “Smile when a picture is taken” my a-mother would tell me while she pinched my arm that was oftentimes trying to NOT touch her.
  4. Total submission: My emotions were never taken into account. No one cared how I felt about certain situations. No one ever asked “how are you handling this?” So I learned to hide it all and smile on the outside…but on the inside, Shit was real!

The cult I lived in for so long brainwashed me into thinking that I really was not intelligent. Unless of course, what I had to say made them look good. Because as always, it was about them. So my words were stifled….cut short, filled in, unheard.

My adoptive mother told me how to think.

My adoptive mother told me when to think.

She told me how to feel.

When to feel. Whether it was time to feel or not.

She thought I was stupid. One of the ways to tell your children they are stupid is by showing surprise when they accomplish something great.

For example:

My sophomore year of college, I took an advanced Spanish class. 1st. the word advanced was a word to mock. She didn’t think I could really do anything, so when I took the advanced class, she was floored and asked me “how did you get in that class?” I told her that I was fluent in the Spanish language so I needed something more challenging. When I told her this she chuckled…as if to say “you don’t speak Spanish”. But what she seemed to continuously forget was that I WAS HER FUCKING TRANSLATOR during the almost 20 years we lived in the Dominican Republic.

The fact that she even allowed me to go to college was a surprise. I thought I was not even smart enough to go. She would tell me things like “you can go to college and be this amazing strong beautiful black woman one day” and then, behind my back…choose a college for me, apply for me, and even write my entrance paper.

She had no faith in me at all. She saw me as the hired help, someone who could not read or write, or even do math (my math sucks though, I have to admit).

The day I got to college in NY, my counselor complimented me on my amazing entrance essay. To which I said “what essay?” He found my file in the cabinet and pulled out the essay. He put the essay in my hand and said “don’t you remember..?” And me, being my honest self, I said “NOPE. I didn’t write that”.

I was told Five days before going to college, that I was actually “going” to college. My grandfather (on my adoptive father’s side) set aside college money for all of his grand kids. I was included in that. But my Adoptive parents used that money to build a mansion when I was younger and now owed our CD account money. So for me, they chose a school that had “diversity” because it was cheaper. For my daughter, they chose a predominantly white school that cost double my school.

Yes. The story gets worse. 

In my Sophomore year I chose to transfer to a school that was more challenging. My adoptive mother said she would not fund the school unless it was a Christian school-like the one she chose for me.

Two things that stand out:

  1. Control
  2. Fuck-tard.

I left the first school because I didn’t want to be under her control anymore. I knew that my college was paid for by the grandfather, and yet she continued to threaten to discontinue funding if I chose to switch and go to a “secular” school.

She thought I was a Fuck-tard. She thought I was this slow fucked up person that needed all this guidance and it had to come from her. So when I voiced my opinion, and told her I was not staying….she went BAT SHIT.

This was probably the first time I had a voice….from far away. 

Did she continue to control the remainder of my college experience, YES.

I graduated with a double certificate. I walked away with a BA in English with a Spanish Minor. Did my family come to my graduation?

You guess it!

HELL NO.

Not only did I graduate with a BA in English, I received two teaching certificates: K-8 Self-Contained and 6-12 Spanish as a Second Language. And I didn’t stop there. In 2012 I got a life long TESOL Certificate, allowing me to teach overseas. In 2013 I went in reverse order and got an Associates Degree in Psychology (for the purpose of diagnosing my fucked up a-mom-this way it may be easier to forgive her for her crazy insane filled ways.) The problem with the Psychology courses was the fact that every time I turned the page, my a-mothers face would show up.

That same year I got a diploma in Freelance Writing. And by the time I got a degree in Freelance writing, I had already published five books.

I worked full time at a school, and raised four children. One of them was adopted in 2015. I owned my own business while working full time. Eventually I quit my job and opened my own business but this time, giving it my undivided attention.

I married an amazing person!

I say all of this not to brag (though I’m pretty fucking awesome) but to bring the craziness to light.  For most of my life, I was under the thumb, told I was stupid, told I could not do anything (with a smile), and was treated as though I didn’t have a brain, and yet….

HERE I FUCKING AM!

If there are any Adoptees here, who were treated in this fashion, told that you were nothing, adopted only to create a “multi-colored family” but yet your a-parents won’t approach a person of color. DO.NO.LET.THAT.RUIN. YOU. I am not saying the path will be easy or straight…but I am saying you will be on a PATH-your path for truth.

If you are reading this and you are an adoptive parent who has treated your child the way I was treated, or who currently is treating them poorly…FUCK YOU! You have NO PLACE in my heart, nor in my soul….but you will always be in my mind. Because I will be thinking about the many times you put us down…..only  force us to RISE.

HERE I FUCKING AM!

Here WE fucking ARE!

Boooya! We did it again!

This entry was posted in Abuse, Adoption, Children, Family, Mental Health, Relationships, Religion. Bookmark the permalink.

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Any comments deemed inappropriate or rude will be deleted.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s