age – 24
2 pregnancies, 2 births
4 1/2 years, and 2 years.
Well, I guess it starts with middle school. My ex-stepfather was an older man who was very manipulative. He mental abused my mom, and treated my brother & I worse. My mom would work 2 jobs, & he would gamble her money at the race track. She even caught him there cheating on her once but she took him back. I promised myself that I would never let any guy treat me like that. He started lying to my mom, telling her how we lazy we had been, while he worked scrubbing the house on his hands and knees. The first time I stood up for myself, he didn’t say anything. My mom left for work the next morning a little after 5 am, he pulled me out of bed by my hair, and told me if I ever tried to discredit him again, I wouldn’t have a mom to “tattle” to anymore.
A few months later I started high school, (my brother & mom would get home 2-3 hours after me) he started molesting me. He would corner me in the kitchen, & one day he tried to take my shirt off, so I locked myself in the bathroom. I told my friend about it, & she said if I didn’t tell an adult, she would. I told my school counselor. The policeman that showed up at home just “happened” to be my step-dad’s nephew. He told my mom I was looking for attention, that I was lying, and that once I was over the death of my step-dad’s dad, I would stop lying and behave better. I kept my mouth shut for 2 years after that – he should me the gun he would put to her head if I said anything again. My counselor didn’t follow up even one time.
I stopped caring about my grades & began to plan my suicide. The night I had hand-picked, I couldn’t find the bullets. 1 week later, my little brother did, and for a few months, he didn’t try to touch me. When my Mom started to wake back up, he started to say I needed new clothes, everything was too baggy. I was a size 5-7, 112 pounds, 5 feet 8 inches but wore a black hoodie year-round (in California) & size 9 jeans to hide myself. He picked up where he left off, & one day told me he wanted to hear me scream, because no one would believe a filthy little liar like me. I was talking to a grief counselor at school, when I mentioned the abuse was still happening. By that evening, my mom had him escorted out of her house, & was in contact with a divorce lawyer. I got to move back home in time to graduate, & started going steady with the man I am married to today.
I can’t imagine life without him here. I still have panic attacks, and I wake up crying, screaming, or just plain scared. There are days where I can’t be touched, and a cupboard door slamming still gives me flashbacks.
We got married a year after high school ( I was 18), 3,000 miles away from my family, and had our first son shortly after I turned 19. I started out at 125 (the most I had EVER weighed) and ended up at 180 by the time he was born, stretchmarks from my breasts to my calves). I was miserable, my hip ( I had a bone graft @ 12) was hurting constantly, & my back (which I hurt while hand-digging a pool, not to mention hand-mixing the cement at 13) never stopped. I hated myself after JJ was born because I couldn’t get him to latch, & had to stop before he was 5 weeks old. I went from a 32B to a 38 DD trying to nurse him. I was so depressed over it, I stopped letting my husband look at me because I felt like a horrible, hideous failure. After 1 1/2 years, I still couldn’t loose the weight ( I was 160 pounds), but we wanted 1 more. With Daniel, I was sick from day one. I lost 32 pounds the first 6 months, & was medicated to help with the nausea. My boss told me it was my fault I got knocked up, so deal with it. My sciatic nerve kept me in constant pain from the end of my 2nd trimester on. I ended up at 162 pounds. When Daniel was born, I tried again to nurse, & even got compliments from WIC on how well I handled the techniques, but he wouldn’t latch either (inverted nipples). I cried for weeks afterword, because he wouldn’t nurse, but I couldn’t pump like I needed either. I was working 60+hours a week (6 days) with 25+ hours of commuting. I would cringe when he would put his arm around me at night, because he would touch my fat tummy. Daniel is 2 years old now, and I am (slightly) more comfortable. I still weigh 156, and I know what it is going to take for a healthy 3rd pregnancy (we are trying & hoping for a girl), and I know there will be pain ahead, but I know that my babies love me, I love them, & as often as my Husband sings “One Hot Mama” to me, he must mean it.
It’s been a long 10 years since my troubles started, but the next 10 will be better. I have a man that calls me beautiful everyday, and two boys that love their mommy. The only way it gets better than this is a house with 2 toilets…;)
Picture 1, 3 – me, 12/09/2010
Picture 2 – my Handsome Boys