Knowing That You're Good Enough

Growing up when I was younger was relatively easy from about one year of age to about six years of age. Both of my parents worked, but my mom was the one who was able to keep a steady job, while my dad wasn't able to hold one down. From the ages one year to about six years, we moved probably three different times that I can remember from a young age. After I turned seven years old, we moved to a small city called Santa Maria, California. It had a very comfortable and country-type of feel to it; there were farms, cows, and luckily enough, I had relatives who lived there, so I at least knew a few people.

My mother started working for a name brand company called Rembrandt, if my memory serves right. It's a toothpaste company, among other things it manufactures. I only remember that because I asked my mom multiple times as a child. During this time, my father got a job at a local pharmacy/grocery store, but after a year or so, he was fired for whatever reason. My mother was the sole bread winner for the household and I know it dug at my father's pride and it would cause my parents to fight a lot. Usually late at night after one of them would put me to bed, I'd be woken up by them yelling at each other or, sadly, a loud bang from my father shoving my mother against a wall or knocking furniture down. These are the dark memories of my childhood and there are things that happened that I will never forget.

My mother was able to find the strength at one point to turn my father in after she had enough, and my father went to jail for roughly two or three years. When he got out, we were able to reconnect, but at this time, my mother was dating another person and was planning on moving to another state to be with him. He had moved a month prior to New Mexico and they had been dating for over a year or so at this time, and my mother felt like she was meant to be with him. My father was against it, I was against it, but my mother had custody of me and we moved.

I was roughly 11 when we moved to New Mexico. My father had started dating someone and they were engaged to get married the following year in the spring. During the summer, his fiancé was nice enough to pay for a plane ticket for me to fly out to California to see my father and spend time with them. She was a very sweet lady; caring, a little different in some ways, but she was very nice. In the start of my visit, everything was fun and great; we went to theme parks and made memories. Unfortunately, my father started drinking again and I noticed things started changing between him and his fiancé. They got into this huge argument and it caused so much drama and a rift between them that they decided to split up. My father and I packed our stuff up and went back to Santa Maria. I had about a week or so left of my visit before I had to move back to my mom.

All this time, my father hadn't taken out any of his anger on me, but that was about to change. His now ex was nice enough to pay for a motel for us to live in since she was the one to talk my father into moving in with her until I had to leave. My father went on a binge drinking spree, usually at night while I slept so I wouldn't see. On our third night there, he woke me up. He told me he needed to tell me something, so I got up to went over to him while he was smoking at the table in the room. He asked for my hand and said that, if I tried to pull away, he would keep it there longer. I was confused by what he meant, but I watched him take the lit cigarette from his mouth and, with my palm facing up, he held the burning end against my ring finger. The pain was intense. I was crying and pleading for him to stop, and he smacked me for daring to ask such a thing of him.

Every night after that, he would cause me some sort of pain, whether it was mental, emotional, or physical (nothing sexual, thankfully). The words he would say during this time to me are still stuck in my head to this day. They're only a dull noise now, but I can still hear them as clear as day. I won't say everything that he would tell me, but a few phrases to give you an idea:

"You're nothing to me."

"You're worthless."

"No one will ever want you."

Those are just the tip of the iceberg of things he'd tell me. It was finally time for me to move and it took me over a year to tell my mom what happened. I had never seen her look so defeated. She blamed herself for what happened and was ashamed she wasn't there to protect me. It's been over ten years since that happened. I've grown a lot as a person, and I've come to value everything life has given me. Sometimes I get nightmares still, but they're becoming distant memories now. Being hurt by my father, a person who swore to protect me as a child, helped me realize that I have the power of my own life, that I am good enough for someone, that I will be something, and he doesn't have any power over my life.

Don't ever give up. Don't stop fighting. Prove to yourself that you were right, and give the doubters and negative thinkers a reason to be envious of your life.