For many years I resented being a woman. Since childhood, I realized how much was weighed against feminine life. I hated seeing my mother submit to a yelling father. I hated seeing how weak she looked, the despair and hopelessness that she had when being forced to live up to expectations that were entirely unrealistic. I also hated watching her slip into depression.
Through my early years I fought hard to avoid the "feminine" life. Even so far as to earn the nickname Chester. My first car was a '69 Dodge Coronet with a broken speedometer. I fought to be first chair trumpet every concert season and I mastered everything in Math and Science. ALL THINGS MALE was my goal to conquer and overcome. At least until I was put into my very female place by getting raped, having a child and marrying WAY too early.
That's when a reality check hit me. I was not going to be able to avoid being the "weaker" vessel. For 5 years I was subject to physical, emotional, spiritual and sexual abuse. My husband was a master at keeping up with appearances and because I received a large sum of inheritance money when my mother and grandfather died; he was able to deceive people into thinking he was a good man and provider. After 5 years of feeding his cocaine addiction and many attempts to run away from him; I finally was free. By the age of 21, I was alone (all my family had died) and had 2 beautiful little girls (1yr old and 4 yrs old) looking up to me to be their EVERYTHING: their shelter, their provider, their comforter, their nurturer. There I was, alone in a small one bedroom apartment working as a waitress, working at Walmart, and going to SFA University; feeling extremely inadequate for the task of being a good mom.
It was in that small apartment that I had the thought that my daughters would be better off if I were dead. I fantasized about the government taking them and placing them in a kind, loving home with both a mother and father to raise them and provide them with everything they needed. It was in that tiny apartment that I tucked my girls into bed and took an entire bottle of pills and waited for my life to end. It was also in that apartment that I realized that if I were to die, my little girls would have no idea what to do! I imagined them crying next to my body for days and they could possibly die too!! OH MY GOD... what have I done! I called a poison control hotline and they taught me how to induce vomiting. Alot of time had passed and I prayed that I did not wait too long. When I did finally throw up, the bitterness was so toxic that I remember I could hardly breath. I felt like the vomit itself was going to suffocate me. A hard lesson learned. I knew at that moment that I would have to face LIVING, no matter how disgusted I was with it. I would have to face being a WOMAN and the painful endurance required to being called to such a pursuit.
Through my early years I fought hard to avoid the "feminine" life. Even so far as to earn the nickname Chester. My first car was a '69 Dodge Coronet with a broken speedometer. I fought to be first chair trumpet every concert season and I mastered everything in Math and Science. ALL THINGS MALE was my goal to conquer and overcome. At least until I was put into my very female place by getting raped, having a child and marrying WAY too early.
That's when a reality check hit me. I was not going to be able to avoid being the "weaker" vessel. For 5 years I was subject to physical, emotional, spiritual and sexual abuse. My husband was a master at keeping up with appearances and because I received a large sum of inheritance money when my mother and grandfather died; he was able to deceive people into thinking he was a good man and provider. After 5 years of feeding his cocaine addiction and many attempts to run away from him; I finally was free. By the age of 21, I was alone (all my family had died) and had 2 beautiful little girls (1yr old and 4 yrs old) looking up to me to be their EVERYTHING: their shelter, their provider, their comforter, their nurturer. There I was, alone in a small one bedroom apartment working as a waitress, working at Walmart, and going to SFA University; feeling extremely inadequate for the task of being a good mom.It was in that small apartment that I had the thought that my daughters would be better off if I were dead. I fantasized about the government taking them and placing them in a kind, loving home with both a mother and father to raise them and provide them with everything they needed. It was in that tiny apartment that I tucked my girls into bed and took an entire bottle of pills and waited for my life to end. It was also in that apartment that I realized that if I were to die, my little girls would have no idea what to do! I imagined them crying next to my body for days and they could possibly die too!! OH MY GOD... what have I done! I called a poison control hotline and they taught me how to induce vomiting. Alot of time had passed and I prayed that I did not wait too long. When I did finally throw up, the bitterness was so toxic that I remember I could hardly breath. I felt like the vomit itself was going to suffocate me. A hard lesson learned. I knew at that moment that I would have to face LIVING, no matter how disgusted I was with it. I would have to face being a WOMAN and the painful endurance required to being called to such a pursuit.
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