Out of darkness by Amy Brown

Please make Amy Brown welcome at the Window. I saw this post on Facebook and asked--maybe begged a little--if I could use it. It's a little ragged, a little raw, and some of it's hard to read, but its message is important and I thank her for sharing it. - Liz

So I am going to say some things, some may be offended. Some may cheer. But bear with me because it's something I want to say. It's a book, so if you don't want to read, I won't be offended if you scroll on by.

Jason and I have had a 17-year-old foster daughter for almost three months now. Most days are good, some are a little tough. She's not cooking meth in the laundry room, she's not openly disrespectful, and she’s not hurting people or animals. For that, I am thankful.

But her scars run deep.

She's lost both her parents in the past two years. She wasn't raised with the same values I was or how my kids were. That's the hardest part. She's almost socially feral, in some ways. She's come a long way, She's gone from D's and F's to A's and B's. She's learning what family does for each other, how it's not all about yelling and name calling. I have great hopes for her. She's learning that talking it out is actually pretty effective. That someone getting your coffee ready for you before school is actually a thing people do because they care. People doing nice things for her made her suspicious. Earning her trust was and still is hard.

The biggest struggle has been in influences and friends. Hanging around with the wrong crowd. One day she said, "If he really loved me, he wouldn't say that..." Another time, it was, "I'm sorry my parents were crappy and didn't teach me how to..."

STOP RIGHT THERE.

First of all, we don't love at a Level One or a Level Seven or any level. Sure, there are types of love, and different ways of showing it. BUT, you don't measure love by what people do or don't do. If you loved me at a Level Eight, you wouldn't do that, but I understand you only love me at a Level One...

Eyeroll. Sigh.

You are not the asshole whisperer. You only have control of your own actions and reactions. If someone is going to be an asshole, they are going to be. YOU can't change them. Don't even try. But you can move FORWARD and be the person you want to be. Always.

Here's the thing. We all have baggage. We all have things in our lives that change us. That mold us into who we are.

Here's where you get to choose. You can let those bad things define you or influence you. Or you can stand up and define yourself. I chose the latter. I know some who still choose the former even 35 years later.

I was in a foster home with my brother. We were there for three years, probably. It wasn't the greatest, I will say that. We were bounced back and forth with our mother, between her and foster care. In 1983, Easter Sunday, she introduced us to someone. "This one's your dad," she told us.

Six months later, we moved to northern Indiana. In the country, away from the city. With a new mom. With two new sisters. With a dad. A family.

Here's the thing, and I am going to be perfectly raw here. Had we stayed with our mother, I would not be the person I am today. I was looking forward to turning 16 so I could quit school. Frankly, because that was the culture there. Welfare, food stamps, various babysitters. Most likely, teenage pregnancy. Drugs and alcohol. I have some good memories with her, but now, 35 years later, I realize she couldn't take care of anyone but herself. She's missing something inside her, and I believe that. She blames others, to this day, for how her life has turned out.

Bear with me here.

Do I sit around, feeling sorry for myself, claiming at every bad turn in my life, it was because I was abandoned? That my mother “didn't want me?” No. It was 35 years ago. Even in those first 10 years without my dad, we really were with her only a only few years of that time. We've been without her more than we were ever with her.

My life was damaged by sexual abuse at a very young age. I've dealt with depression and anxiety. I get overwhelmed sometimes. I've struggled with OCD, feelings of not being good enough, failed relationships, failed marriages. (Laugh here if you want to―I don't care) Some more disastrous than others, some filled with horrible treatment and emotional and mental abuse. Some, amicable to this day. I've been cheated on, told I was worthless, made to be a robot. I've been told what my “jobs” were as a wife. I have been told I am just the wife, I am not family.

I've made bad decisions. I have regrets.

But now, I am thankful.

I am thankful that I had a father, even though we butted heads―mostly that Aquarius stubbornness mixed with some Staats blood. I am thankful that he and my (some may say “step”) mom taught me manners, how to talk to people. How to be respectful, how to be caring. How getting up every couple hours to feed a lamb made me love and appreciate animals. How consequences, no matter how harsh they seemed, were for my own good. How important it was to get good grades, to stay out of trouble. How having older sisters buffered that relationship. How I knew I could count on them. How they helped with "girl stuff" my mom never taught me. How laughter and sarcasm can help you keep your sanity.

I am thankful for a partner who works HARD. Who shares my love for animals and sarcasm. Who would do anything for me. Jason and I have been together over a year and I still get butterflies. We are more a team than anyone else I have ever known. I don't have to question if he loves me or if he has motives for anything else. We are talking Level Ten here, folks.

I get it. I see it now.

My biggest motivation through my life was to NOT be her. Harsh? Maybe. Realistic? Yes. I wanted to be who I always wanted a mother to be, to my kids. I love my relationship with both of them, and now trying to mimic that relationship with Hobbit (That is a nickname.) so that SHE can see that people do care. That you can get through life with support, care, and talking things out. That how you got to this point in life that was out of your control does NOT have to define the rest of your life. How feeling sorry for yourself because of that DOES NOT HELP. How self-sabotage is NOT EVER going to make you happy or get you peace. Self-sabotaging your relationships with your parents, your friends, your partner, your kids...it's truly heartbreaking.

Do you get it? Can you take that bitterness, that ugly self-destruction, and throw it out the window and be thankful that you are blessed? That people, knowing your scars, can't fix what you don't want them to....but wait... they want you anyway? These people want good for you, want you to succeed, want you to be happy? YOU are the only one who can fix or change that. Not multiple partners, not drugs, not alcohol.

YOU.

If you can't see this, you are slowly killing yourself. Who you COULD be.

I have had this conversation with Hobbit many times in the last three months. I hope she gets it, I hope it sinks in and she feels her own self-worth growing. I hope she's successful, confident. I hope she understands that good people do exist. It's hard. It really is hard trying to mold a child you did not give birth to or have since she was very small. I hope that one day, she looks back and can say that we helped her grow.

Here's another thing.

YOU CAN'T EXPECT PEOPLE TO WORK FOR YOUR HAPPINESS MORE THAN YOU WORK ON IT YOURSELF.

So all that rambling above comes down to just that.

If you want to be happy, it's up to you. You can choose. Sure, you are allowed to have bad days, where those insecurities sneak in, take you down to your dark place, but if you stay there, if you linger in that dark place, that's on you.

Use it to prove to everyone that despite all that shit, you made it. You survived. You succeeded. You tied up your loose ends, maybe even double-knotted them. Wrote letters you never intended to send. Screamed at a tree. You can forgive, but it’s harder to forget—but how you deal with what you don’t forget will make a world of difference.

Look. I don't know why I vomited all of that this morning. I feel like someone, or multiple someones, needed to hear it today. If it spoke to you, then I can believe that is the reason. We all see messages, signs, maybe this one is yours.

You are the only one who can get your own shit together. Period.

And now, I finally feel like I have my shit together. Sure, I don't prioritize things in the order they probably should be. I procrastinate. I take too long on tasks, mostly because I get lost in them, not because I overlook them. My heart is in it though, I can assure that. I feel everything. I get my feelings hurt sometimes. I can only be responsible for how I react to that. And, friends, it sure ain't in self-sabotage or attacking someone else for it.

Can I get an amen?

Amy Brown is Mom. Artist. Photographer. Realtor. Pack Leader to four. Poet. Sometimes an all-Know-it. Lover. Fighter. Occasionally, an all-nighter. Loves to sing, can't dance. I wear short pants.

Find her on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/aj.staats.brown

Email brown.aj0129@gmail.com