September 12, 2022

“Puppy Girl”




I recently began a healing of my spirit from childhood physical mental, physical, and sexual abuse. This particular event is something that I believe killed my spirit in such an unbelievably profound way. It has taken me all of my life to even TRY to tap into my feelings surrounding what happened on this day. There is no processing the death of your inner child unless and until you are truly ready. I fight for myself and my inner child. I hid myself in the shattered pieces of her spirit for years. How can I not now heal her heart?


My God. This journey of healing that I’ve begun. Had I known the sheer anguish and heartbreak surrounding this particular memory would suffocate and engulf my spirit in complete and utter devastation, I’m not sure that I would have started this process.

I could be wrong, but I feel like when you’ve been abused, there’s that one thing/event that’s happened to you that will always haunt you. For me, this is that event. The thing that broke the camel’ back. I’ll need to tell this story in two parts in order to connect the dots. When I was 2 years old, my mom was involved with a secretly cruel man. Everything he did was done in the dark. I have a remarkable long-term memory. I even have memories before the age of 1 that I can pull up at the drop of a dime. I amazed my mother with the things I remembered. I don’t remember my mom being around when her significant other chose to inflict his abuse on me. I remember being afraid of this man she was seeing, and I when he entered into the picture, I began wetting the bed again. Looking back as an adult, I find that odd because I was potty- trained before the age of one. This was such a huge red flag! A red flag that was missed. Anyway. When I would wet the bed, his punishment for this ‘crime’ would be that he would rub my nose in my pee, and smack my nose with a newspaper like I was a puppy being house-broken. I can still see his evil eyes fixed on me. His teeth clinched. My face stinging; I sometimes would bow my head in shame and humiliation as the memory takes hold of my frightened inner child. The apartment we lived in was a shithole full of rodents and roaches, and that only added to my fears of living there.

Fast forward. I remember we moved into a nice home, and I was thinking that since the home was pretty, that this man would be nicer, and that his abuse would stop. There’s nothing more pure and beautiful than a child’ mentality. My heart sinks as I think of how wrong I was. The hope my inner child must have been feeling. To have that hope slowly crushed, yet again. Not only did he not stop, but he stepped up his abuse. I had a younger sibling, and he was also now in the path of his wrath. My younger sibling mercifully has almost no memories of his childhood. I can’t and won’t speak for him. I can only tell my side of the story. This abuser was good at not leaving physical marks. The scars he left were left in my spirit. On my mind. Across my heart. The ongoing mind fuck this man caused. It’s the cause of some sleepless nights, and many, many instances of me asking God why He would allow this “Christian” man to destroy my soul before I even knew what a soul was. Why would He allow that if children were supposed to be so blessed, special, and protected? Where was MY protection from this monster of His making? He placed a demon in a place where I should have felt safe. I had to re-think all of this after some healing. The truth of the matter is that God didn’t place the monster in my presence. Had my mother healed herself from her past traumas, she never would have chosen this man to be in her life. She would have seen him for the nothing that he was. As harsh as that sounds, that’s the truth of the matter. My mother placed this demon in my life. Damn. I loved her with all my heart, and she never abused us. Ever. But when parents don’t heal their mental health issues, and they constantly live in survival mode; they miss so many signals. They’re with you, but not really. Things are missed.

When I was about 5-6, we got our first puppy. We were so excited! I remember rolling on the floor in a flurry of joy. We were in love! Inevitably, the puppy wet the floor. He had his nose rubbed in the pee, and had his nose and face smacked with newspaper. My mind immediately flashed back to when I received the same punishment for the same “crime”. In that moment, I ceased to exist as a human, my inner child was slaughtered that day. She died a quiet death in front of witnesses who had no idea that the little girl with the frozen smile they were looking at would never be seen again. Had she not had the ‘gift’ of an infallible memory, this would’ve been a joyful day of getting her first puppy, and not the spiritual annihilation of the innocence she was desperately trying to hold onto. She let go in this moment of death. She idolized Tina Turner, and she dared to dream of her name in lights right next to Miss Turner. No need to ask for singing for dancing lessons. She knew puppies couldn’t sing or dance. She stopped fighting with the man involved with her mother, and also with the male who was sexually abusing her. She wasn’t human anymore, so it didn’t matter. She stopped trying to be the good girl she felt that she was in her heart. She lost her humanity, dignity, beauty, and her place in the world. She laid down everything in that moment. She accepted her role as the non-descript, nothing of a family pet that she was. My God.

People told me all of my life that they thought I was pretty, beautiful, etc., but I never felt that I was. Well, I did up until the puppy incident. The puppy thing explains and opens my eyes to why I’ve had so many issues with my self-esteem, and where those issues probably started. Even as a small child before this incident, I thought very highly of myself. I remember when I was in kindergarten, my mom went to the bowels of hell (in my 5 year old eyes) and pulled out this butt-ugly dress for me to wear. I looked it up and down and said ‘Mom! I can’t wear that dress!’ She asked me why, and I said ‘because it doesn’t become me’. Five years old, and a WHOLE mess! But for me to have that high of an opinion of myself before the puppy incident to having zero self-esteem afterwards, I’m putting money on the puppy thing fracturing my self-esteem. It was at this time that I / she started gaining weight, starting fires, and acting out in belligerent, violent, and somewhat homicidal behaviors. That’s another post.

I’ve been so torn on how to heal my inner child. The hole in my heart in her lifeline, so our connection is indeed eternal. She cries out to me daily. She died a private, unacknowledged death, and I left her. I abandoned her. Left her broken while I hid myself in between her shattered pieces. She took every hit. Every torture. Every fondle, and every fuck. I left my fallen soldier on a battle field she was never equipped to survive. Jesus. Wow. The guilt I feel now when I think of the times I quieted her/buried her/said it was ok for the take her rest. After all she had ‘survived’ through. All the hits she had taken for me. Each hit, equal to a spiritual death. Walking away and laying her to rest felt like the ultimate betrayal. Me, of all people! I should never be the one to silence her voice, and literally be the one to put the nail in her coffin. She screams my name. She still begs me not to disregard or dismiss her memory. She used to be dead to me. How could I feel any connection with her when I never allowed myself to even connect with my own feelings?  The more I’ve healed, the more I hear, feel, and sense the existence of my hurting inner child. She lives, breathes, and screams out to me. I acknowledge and feel such a beautiful connection with her spirit. I love her, and I honor her strong spirit. She came into this world as a giggly child who didn’t even cry when she was hungry, or even when her diaper was wet. She was the baby dreams were made of. I watched this child morph and change as abuse slithered into her life. Her spirit weakened, and eventually caved under the weight of one death, after another, and another. The incremental deaths that go hand-in-hand with abuse are the silent soul killers most don’t recognize or see coming. Or the signs are intentionally muted under the perverse glare of the wolf who claims to love you.

Ok, so I can’t lay a soul to rest who lives. Completely out of the question. My prayers tell me over and over the only way to honor my inner child is to heal my heart so that I can finally heal her heart. I’ve begun my healing, so she’d no longer on that battle field. I hold her close to my heart. I speak love to her daily, and I thank her for her dogged spirit. Without her grit, there would be no me. Who knew that she was the stronger one of the 2 of us?

All the humanity and beauty she lost on that day, I now return to her. The chains of brutality are no longer hers to wear, nor to embrace as her own. Tears fill my eyes as I write these words, and I know that I’m telling the story of so many inner children awaiting their own rescues. I will visit the house of horrors one time only. You and I died so many deaths on that property. Our physical wounds healed, but the psychological mind fuck that lives rent-free in our mind continues. The hatred that bubbles up when I think of all the things we both lost in this house. The list echoes through my spirit like hollow, broken promises.

Healing is the ultimate Pandora’s Box. Once you open it, you are a prisoner of change whether you want to be or not. You follow this new path where it leads you. Opening this new box of healing has ultimately led me to the realization that healing my inner child is just as important (if not more important) than healing this new woman who now looks me in the eye. My promise to my inner child is to heal all levels of the hidden, quiet mess I’ve forced her to sit and ‘live’ with me. When we left that house of horrors, we left as defective, defeated, and damaged souls. The next time I walk away from that place, I won’t be holding the hand of a victim. I’ll be holding the hand of my champion. My soldier. My lifeline, and my guardian angel. You’ll hold my hand, and I’ll hold your heart. Let’s get outta here, Baby Girl…

© Antoinette Davis, September 12, 2022

           

 

July 13, 2021

A Stroke of Grace: Soul Scribes of a Survivor

“A Stroke of Grace: Soul Scribes of a Survivor” 

My God. Here we are. It’s taken me a lifetime to sit down and say these words without tears, anxiety, hesitation, or untruths. I had to dig so far into my spirit for the strength to write these words; let alone, share them. I always knew that one day I would make the hard parts of my life public. I feel that these are the most important words I’ve written so far in my life. The words and sentiments behind them are attached to a higher power than myself, and they have the power to transform. I don’t say that with arrogance. I’ve begun my transformation, and that’s something I never thought would happen. The months that I worked on my healing, I prayed that God would give me the right words, and the courage to be completely honest as He asked me to be. This is about my health on all levels. All my adult life, I’ve heard God tell me to write about my childhood, and the trauma I “lived” through. The last time I prayed about my next writing, I told God that I didn’t the subject to be connected with my health in any way. I decided that I wouldn’t write about my health, thank you very much! Well, you know that - or it’s been said - if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans. I’ve been on a medical leave for over a year now. When God wants you to listen - and you don’t - He’ll sit you down one way or another. I, of course, learned the hard way, and it’s been the scariest, and most eye- opening experience of my life. Truthfully, I never wanted to face anything, and I sure didn’t want to write these words. He told me to live, tell the brutally honest facts of my life as I’ve known it thus far, and to tell my story. I’m writing these words out of obedience. God told me that my blessings would flow as a result of my words. I’m not sure what to expect, or where these words will land. Sometimes all you have is God, faith, and the belief in the power of your own words. I started this journey thinking that I needed to heal my body. What I later found is that while my body did/does need to heal, what I really needed was a healing of my spirit, and my mental health. What I thought would be a ‘story’ about surviving a medical emergency turned out to be my testimony instead.

On March 3, 2020, I woke up like normal, and went in to a job that I was hating. I was feeling drained on a daily basis, but this job did pay the bills. One minute I turned to laugh with co-workers, and in the next second, I knew my life was in danger. I was speaking with a patient, and the room began to slowly spin around me. I started feeling pain in my head. It felt like somebody had a bag full of bricks and knives, and they were beating and stabbing my skull with no mercy. The pain quickly traveled down my neck, and also through my spine. I remember excusing myself from the call I was on, and I called a co-worker to my desk. I told her to call 911 right now. I told her to hurry because I knew that I was dying. I think she panicked, because I remember her leaving me to get help. She came back, and I told her again to call 911. The pain I was experiencing is something I could never fully express to anybody. To say that I literally felt my brain exploding diminishes the level of pain that ricocheted through my head. I tried to answer questions between the pain, but my answers gave way to me repeatedly saying that I was dying. My manager took over the call, and sent my other co-worker back to her desk. I’m saying that I’m dying, and all I hear is my manager praying over me, and my life. In the middle of everything, something whispered to me to calm down. My speech slowed, and I sat almost quietly while waiting for the paramedics to arrive. It took some extra time for them to find my correct location. Another manager ran outside, and directed paramedics to my desk.

When I got into the ambulance, I remember still whispering about what I was certain was going to be my death. My physical death. I told God that since I was going to die anyway, would he at least flash my life before my eyes. I told Him that I needed my last memory of this life to be something beautiful - if not happy. I waited for the “life flash”, but it never came. Even though fear was pulsing through my entire body, I had a quiet moment of peace. It fell over me like the gentle love of a mother. The noise of the paramedic and traffic faded into nothingness as I quietly waited for death. I was no longer scared, and there was a surreal, welcoming calm that surrounded me. This calm did not show up alone, and I knew that I was directly in the presence of God. Maybe this would be my moment to let go of a life I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep living. More on that later. I told God about my fear of leaving this earth at such an early age (56). I told Him I couldn’t believe that He would let me die when I felt so utterly unaccomplished. SURELY, He hadn’t placed all those feelings of pending greatness in my heart, only to have me question if those feelings were the lies that kept me attached to a life I was sure would eventually live up to the majestic images I quietly (and fearfully) carried in my heart my entire life. I’d always lived my life through quiet tears, but I still always felt like I was this wonderful, dynamic woman. How could my life be ending without this woman making her entrance, and finally having a chance to dance on her own rainbow? I felt that my greatness was innate, but covered by a pile of shit, dirt, uselessness, and so much uncertainty. If this was to be the end of my life, I felt I would be ok no matter where the end results took me. I never saw my life flash before me, so I began to believe that I might live through whatever was happening in my body.

When I got to the ER where my brother works, I remembered seeing him waiting in the doorway for me. When we talked later, I told him I remembered seeing him waiting for me, and he said he wasn’t there waiting. So at that point, I can only assume that I had begun to hallucinate. I’m told that my family and friends were there, but I have no memory of that. There was a week or so that I have no memory of, and maybe that’s a good thing. All the tubes and procedures are the things most patients pray to forget. I saw flowers, and many trinkets of love, but I didn’t/couldn’t connect to it in any real way.

After about a week of visitors, I looked around to finally realize that I was in a hospital. I didn’t understand that fact. I thought I went to work, and it was now the next day. I wasn’t just in the hospital. I was in the ICU. A feeling of fear and darkness grabbed me. I’m positive that my brother and doctors had told me what happened, but all I can remember is that I felt lost. As it turned out, I’d had a stroke - which presented as a ruptured left-brain aneurysm. A separate part of my brain was also bleeding at the same time, and spinal fluid was also leaking into my brain at the same time. I had 2 determined brain surgeons who worked on me for 8 hours straight, and I thank God for those men and their determination and talent. The odds of surviving something of this magnitude are very small. My surgeons and therapists have either told me I’m a miracle, or that I have many angels surrounding me. Just saying those words shakes my insides to the core. I went to work on 3/3/20 for a normal day of work, and I left that job in a race to save my life. 

I’m now living a life I have no idea how to live - for many reasons I will delve into later. When God removes all of your crutches, what do you do, and how do you move on? What do you do when the only life you’ve ever known has been completely obliterated? How do you put your life back together when the pieces no longer connect, and you have no tangible way of connecting to any of the broken pieces that now lay at your feet? When you ask questions, but you get no answers; you sit, and you pray. Well, that’s what I did. I got the courage to finally ask God WHY He saved ME. I thought out of all people, ME? When I thought of people God would save, I thought of teachers, or people who fed the poor. Not just the ordinary person I thought myself to be.

I remember the saying I used to hear growing up: God don’t make no junk! I mediated on these words, and it opened my eyes to the possibility that MAYBE I wasn’t the nothing I had always seen myself as. I grew up (and survived) some abuse, and the effects pretty much robbed me of my dignity, humanity, hope, and self-esteem. I was ‘living’ a life I wasn’t even sure I want to live. Maybe this stroke would be my golden opportunity to finally let go of this life that meant absolutely nothing to me. The weight of those words. Wow.

Any truths that stop you in your tracks are so worth praying over, and further exploring. I had to ask myself why I was so willing to let this life go. I had to ask myself why I had never committed to anything, or even took care of myself. Why didn’t I care about ME? Again, and again, I asked God for the reason He chose to save my life. I’ve watched as others lost their lives, but not me. I even asked God why didn’t He just take my life. He told me to live my life, and to share my story. Well, God, I said; I’m living my life now. Again, He said live your life. I asked Him a couple more times, and each time, I got the same response. Obviously, there was something I was missing. To live your life sounds so simple. For me, this was a tall order. In my life, I’d learned to survive one thing after the other, other, and other. I finally realized that while I had learned to survive, I’d not learned to LIVE. I was at a crossroads, and the weight of the ‘I’m ok’ mask had gotten so heavy. That mask began to crumble long ago, and I knew in my heart that I was not ok. All the loud, crazy unhappiness was standing over me. Staring me in the face in a way that I knew I could no longer accept or ingest. I was terrified because I knew I was going to have to come face to face with every emotion, situation, and excuse I had used to keep me planted where I didn’t want or need to be. I knew this would be a painful process. God all but told me I would be gutted in the process of my healing. I couldn’t run anymore. I couldn’t cry anymore. Either I could now walk my road to a healing, or I would simply go back to existing - and wait to die. This was a huge turning point for me. I was/am healing from a stroke. The weight of the mask, sick body, and weary spirit showed me one indisputable fact: Not only was my body sick. I was sick all the way down to my soul. Soul sickness may not be a medical diagnosis, but it damn sure felt accurate to me.

God told me that the very thing I’ve avoided touching would be the very thing that would reward me, and change the trajectory of my life, and my future. As I watched/felt the weight of the mask crack, I feared who I would become. Who would be revealed to the world? To myself? Would I connect in any way to the new person who would now be staring back at me? Would or could I love her, or show her the love that she has always deserved? The love she always wanted?

I knew ages ago that I needed this healing, and I would tell God that all I needed was for the world to stop long enough for me to mentally take care of myself. I prayed over and over for this time, but of course, it never came. In what world can a person leave their job, receive help, pay their bills, and still have a job when all is said and done? I felt I had to just keep going. So I did. My spirit called out to grasp, understand, and heal my prior ‘life’. I didn’t really know where to start. All I had was a pen, paper, time, and a dream of life on the other side of what I knew I would have to leave behind. Having no idea where to begin, I decided to start at the beginning (as God told me to).

I was born to an 18-year-old young woman/child who had the purest, most loving heart I’ve ever known. She grew up in a tragically abusive home, and I have no idea how she survived her childhood with any amount of love in her heart. She told me that at the age of 13, she made the decision that she wouldn’t be the same ‘parent’ to her kids as the ‘parents’ that she was born to. Her words. Not mine. That’s something that I thanked her for many times while she was still alive. She tried speaking life into me and my sibling, even though she was not afforded that same right/luxury in her own life. I knew she would do her absolute best for us, and that’s what made it SO hard to reconcile my feelings of resentment that I held for her. She always said she dreaded the day that I would realize that I resented her, and I would always tell her that there was no way in the world that I could ever resent her. How could I possibly resent the one person who gave me the best of everything she had to give? How did I curl my lips to say I resented her, when all I saw when I looked in her eyes was a little girl whose only wish was to be loved? How could I say I resented her when I saw a woman who went without her basic needs just so that we had what we needed? How could I resent her choices when I knew she probably based her decision on her fucked up, abusive childhood, and a basic lack of love and care that she didn’t receive in her life? She finally decided to get help dealing with her childhood abuse late in her life, and I applauded her for that. What good would it have done for me to bring up my feelings of resentment when I saw her reaching for her own healing? Would my telling her of my feelings impede her healing? I loved my mom more than I loved myself, and I just couldn’t see me being the wrench in her wheel of self- love and healing. I knew that I could not and would not ever be the one to stop her or hurt her while she strived for her own mental health. That’s not who I was, am, or will ever be. So, I kept my feelings to myself, and went on with my life. But my own healing demanded that I be honest about my feelings, and I just had to say the words: I resented my mother. She NEVER abused us in any way, but her choice of men in her life ushered physical, mental, and sexual abuse into my life. Those men brought destruction, fear, and self-loathing to my doorstep. I wish I didn’t remember everything, but I’m the sibling who holds all of the memories; while my sibling remembers nothing. After I made peace with my true feelings, I said prayers for my mom’ fatigued, weary spirit. She was ready to leave this earth when she passed. She passed without my telling her that I finally understood her dread about my resentment. I never got to tell her that I finally saw how she was robbed of her humanity and safety in her own home. I think in my earlier years, I equated resentment with hatred. The guilt ate me alive. Now, I can see the difference between resentment and hatred, and I have accepted my resentment without ever hating her. I forgave her, and prayed that she left this earth in peace. I prayed that she was finally free of her childhood traumas, and that her spirit laid down and left behind all feelings connected to her fight for peace on this side. I prayed that she took any and all love that we, and many others, had for her. We laid her to rest in 2006, and she has let me know that she rests in peace. That’s all I could ever ask for. Thank you for your love, Mom.

This next memory is something I debated about sharing, but I felt that I needed to get this one out. I’d always run away from the feelings associated with it, but I could no longer let these feelings keep me from healing. My mom was involved with a man who was quietly abusive and cruel. I was roughly 2 years old, and I had wet the bed. I was potty- trained before I was a year old, so the fact that I was wetting the bed again should’ve been the biggest red flag ever. After wetting the bed, this ‘man’ rubbed my face in my pee, and proceeded to beat me in the face with a rolled-up newspaper. You know, the same way that you do when house-breaking a puppy. Of course, it was painful and humiliating. Fast forward to getting our first puppy. I was between the ages of 5-6. The puppy wet the floor. He had his face rubbed in the pee, and was beat in the face with a rolled-up newspaper. When I witnessed this, my mind immediately flashed back to the punishment I’d received for the same ‘crime’. It was at that moment that I made/figured out/put my value in my family as the same as that of the family dog. I lost all of my humanity, and I no longer thought of myself as human. I gave up all of my dreams of singing or dancing. I was a puppy, and puppies and dogs don’t sing or dance. It was so hard to be a shiny little girl when I lived my life in the shadows of a puppy. I was, unfortunately,  a precocious, intelligent-thinking young girl, so my ‘logic’ made sense to me. I would have lived the life of anybody else not to have this as part of my memory. This memory haunts me to this day, and will probably always be my reminder that this was the day I lost my beauty, dignity, humanity, and feeling of worth in this world. There are days that this memory leaves me balled up on the floor with unending tears streaming down my face. Like now.

It was during that time that I was also being sexually abused by another male. It wasn’t just a one-time thing. Even though he tried to turn it into a game, I already knew how abuse felt, and I knew what he was doing was wrong. I would physically fight him to try to keep him off of me, but what can a 5-year-old really do to hurt somebody so much bigger and stronger than her? I lost every fight. After a while, I just stopped fighting. I would close my eyes, and stare straight ahead at the wall in front of me. Sometimes there would be baths afterwards, and I remember just looking down into the water. I wondered how many times would this happen to me. I later found out that this person who hurt me was sent to prison, and murdered by his fellow inmates. I don’t know the reason for his murder, but venturing a guess wouldn’t be too hard. I can still feel the sting of these, and many other memories. After having already been through so many horrors-some I won’t discuss yet-this was the moment that I gave up. Just the fact that I’m speaking of a child that young making a conscious decision to give up on life gives me an ache that still breaks me. I checked out. I vowed that I wouldn’t let anybody near me again. I had learned-incorrectly-that love was something that only brought pain. I’d learned that men hurt you, and had no capability of showing real love or safe affections. I’d learned-incorrectly-that people who love you never could never see the truth, so why bother to say anything. I learned-incorrectly-that I was completely alone, so why not just be by myself. Those were the kinds of memories that God pretty much demanded that I acknowledge, and cleanse in my spirit. For those of us who’ve given up, I know we never forget the incremental deaths that go hand-in-hand with childhood abuse. The deaths are many. They live on via recurring nightmares, and silenced, unacknowledged adult trauma. Do you know what happens when adults live in silent trauma? Talk to an addict. Workaholic. Recluses. Those who don’t understand why they ‘are the way they are’. Walls up, but secretly protects the sweetest of all hearts. I called them (me) the angry angel. And the saddest of all? The one who sees suicide as the only way to separate from their pain. We’re literally everywhere you go, but rarely do you take the time to actually see us. I’m praying that this healing means that these memories will no longer be stumbling blocks to my happiness - and my road to a life I should’ve been living all along. The truth of being robbed of a soul I didn’t even know existed is a fact that visits me often. Especially when I wonder what and where I would’ve/ could’ve been without the garbage that saturated my being, and my very life as I knew it. Tapping into that knowledge was so haunting, and profoundly devastating. It brought up all the dreams that I’d secretly dreamed, in spite of what had been stolen from me. I was fascinated by Tina Turner, and I was just so curious about her hair! I saw her sing and dance, and I knew in my mind that I could do what she was doing when ‘I got big’! In my young mind, I was this little dancer. How does a child survive repeated traumas and believe there’s a such thing as a dream? I chose to survive. Yes, it was a choice. I put that little girl to rest. I walked away from her, and all the fighting I’d done to be seen as a good girl - and not the little monster that slowly began to show her face, and hateful, belligerent ways. I lived my life through fits of rage and defiance - all in the name of survival. I was full of fight. I looked at all the things I wanted to be, and I came to the conclusion-incorrectly- that these bad things happened to me because of my ‘badness’. I thought ‘God won’t let bad girls do good things’, but I still thought maybe I could be this, or that, or that. I now know that this is the kind of pain that I can no longer give energy to. The ‘wouldda/couldda’ thing is like riding a merry-go-round with no attendant, and there are no stops on this ride. I only have this moment, and even now, I still force myself to remember that.

I can’t make any apologies for how depressing this might sound. It’s my truth, and I have to accept it as part of my life - and my ongoing journey to healing. All my life, I had wondered why had it been so easy to ignore the positive possibilities I probably had a real shot at. Why and how did I choose to forego the work of fixing my life? Why live a cheap existence when in my heart and soul I knew God created me for greatness? I had decided that the effort and work it would take to fix me was a waste, because I simply wasn’t worth it. That feels so harsh, but saying it out loud finally feels like the truth of the matter. I had mastered each and every way to throw my life away, but at least I now knew why. The old me died on 3-3-20. She is no more, and I know I will never get her back. I mourn her, and leave her to take her rest. For all intents and purposes, she was already dead anyway. Once I accepted that ‘she’ was gone, I had no idea what my life would be. There was a blank slate that was now staring at me. I had survived the scariest medical happening of my life, and I stared my own mortality in the face. Mortality demands that I ask myself the toughest questions that I’d previously kept buried, ignored, and dismissed. I felt that I had experienced enough pain, and that there was no reason to ‘drag all of that up’. But as I said; this healing isn’t just about my physical. Without the stroke, I truly believe my physical life would’ve ended. I had already given up, so it was only a matter of time, really.

As a child, I had a few dreams here and there. None big enough that I would step outside of my comfortable mess in order to chase, and/or achieve. None big enough to erase the ugly untruths I believed about myself. None bright enough to help me embrace by beauty, nor the talents and possibilities that were such a part of who I was. It’s insane to me that it took a stroke to make finally recognize that the life I was ‘living’ was one of disconnection from anything that mattered. While I wallowed in the nothingness of my life, that time was periodically interrupted by my REAL internal voice that spoke to me of my beauty, power, and greatness. How would I balance my gut telling me that I was dynamic, when my voices from the past only uttered humiliation and worthlessness into my spirit? I’m stubborn, and I have a spirit that will survive at all costs. I found myself at a point where I was tired of the fight to ‘just survive’. That feeling had drained me of the good that I was still fighting so hard to hang onto.

Even though I was losing things left and right, I felt like I was on the right path. I just knew that I could no longer fight, and I had no real power. Well, not when I woke up to the fact that it was God who was now guiding me through the mess that was MY life - and not me. I screwed up my life by not living it, and seeing what a blessing life really was/is. He didn’t give me life to sit and watch me live it so far under the bar like I had been doing. It was time for me to humble myself, and ask Him for help with my life. The life I pretty much destroyed vs. the life He wants me to live are so not the same thing! Looking back, it feels as though God figuratively wrestled me to the ground in order to truly have my attention. I had to finally wave the white flag, and sit quietly while He showed me my life - good, bad, ugly, and all ways in between. I kind of pictured Him face-palming, and saying “FINALLY”! He told me that my issues from my past were killing my potential, and keeping me from the life He had planned for me. What do you do when God says this painful healing is necessary? Well, you sit down like a student, and listen to the lessons. Take in the messages. Rage and write. Cry and forgive. Love and understand the pain of those who hurt you. Purge and move on to the next lesson. Rinse and repeat. The whole forgiveness thing; I learned I also had to forgive myself. I’d carried all those bad feelings from childhood, and those feelings presented in my life as self- destructive behaviors. The half-lived life that I chose was no protection whatsoever to me. Doing nothing was the nail in the coffin that I never saw, or accepted until that fact was graciously presented to me, and for me. I had to forgive myself, and recognize that I was the one who was ruining my life. The men who brought their shit into my childhood; I’m still working on forgiving them. Everything isn’t always tied up with a pretty red bow. Sometimes, it just is what it is. I could go on about the memories, but I feel that I’ve touched on them sufficiently. There are many memories that will always stay with me, but it’s time to put them to bed. I frequently prayed to die at an early age, and I had always thought that I would be dead by the age of 7. I feared it, but I was certain that was what I wanted. I was literally shocked when my 7th birthday rolled around. Apparently, God had other plans for my life. 

 I find it so crazy and merciful that I didn’t lose my God-given talent of expressing myself through the written word. If you were to give me a word problem or a diagram, I would seriously struggle to make sense of it. I know that’s because of the stroke, but I guess it’s a little weird that I can still write, but can’t think my way through some of the simplest things. I’m witnessing God and His mercy, and I’m living in that mercy now. I’ve always lived in it. Just never truly acknowledged it. God’s been telling me my whole life to be more intentioned with my writing, and to take it seriously. Repeatedly, I heard Him questioning me about wasting the talents He’d given me to use, share, and uplift others. Before my stroke, I ignored His voice, and even said I wasn’t interested in sharing anything with anybody. My first entry about writing about my abuse went like this: “God, You told me that I need to write about being molested, abused, etc. I don’t know WHY You talk about the devil being the one who hurts you, when it’s YOU who’s asking me to re-live all my horrible memories!!! You KNOW this will hurt me, but You’re gonna hurt me anyway??? I see no reason, nor do I see your ALLEGED MERCY in dragging up my past! YOU’RE the demon!!!” **Deer-in- the-headlights-stare** I don’t know why God didn’t just take me OUT??? The stroke was the perfect opportunity, right? It wasn’t until after my stroke that I even asked God for His forgiveness for my words. Apparently, I’m that problem child that God chose to save, and not give up on.

Had I not taken this quiet time and all these months to delve into my pain, the healing I’m now experiencing wouldn’t have been possible. God took the most horrific and devastating things in my life, and used those things to give me a chance at a real life. Real happiness and peace. The life I now believe that He intended all along. I have no idea what this new life will be, and I worry about lagging behind. I’ve always felt like others around me were running, and I was/am just taking baby steps. I feel that I’ve lost so much in life, but if that life wasn’t part of the real plan - then maybe I didn’t really lose it. I don’t know who I’m becoming (yet). What will I be? How will I connect to this new woman that is starting over again? Will I love her? Will I allow her to be loved? I’ve come to realize that my stubbornness was really fear in disguise. I saw that trait save me in so many instances, but also kept my heart, feet, mind, body, and soul in places they were never meant to inhabit. Fear was/is the ultimate double-edged sword. Saving me one second, and burying me the next.

After wading through the wreckage of my life, the one thing-of many- that sticks with me is this: No amount of abuse, and/or self-destruction was able to kill what God placed in my heart. If the good that was in me survived all the hell that I survived, then who I’m seeing now is who I’ve been all along. For me, this is HUGE! I’ve had to fight for this peace, but it’s been worth it! All my life, I felt this tug in my heart that spoke better of me than I had ever dared to speak of myself. That tug got me through my roughest days, and kept a touch of hope in every tear that fell. It never let me go, or let my spirit die. I believe that ‘tug’ was God. He was there the whole time. Waiting on me. 

So, what are my takeaways from this life-changing event? Many!

            1. God don’t make no junk! He wouldn’t have saved my life unless there was something else this woman/soul had to do. Don’t see me. See what God brought me through! 

2. God sees my potential, and I believe that He was determined that I see it, and use it for the good of whoever is reading this - and needed the words as much (or more) than I did. 

3. The healing was/is so much more than my body. I’m healing on every single level. I’ve taken control of my health. In 8 months, I lost 40 lbs., and I have zero desire to stop until I get to a weight I can live with - not survive with. Let that sink in a moment! I finally started talking with a psychologist to learn to deal with my childhood abuse, and I’m working on a closer relationship with God.

            4. God told me OUT LOUD to stay at home. I worked 55 hours before being told I needed to start long-term disability. I could no longer perform my job. I thought this was wrong, but it was actually the best thing ever. This is the time God used to dig into my spirit, and show me some life-altering truths. Like the fact that I was showing Him that I didn’t want the life He gave me. All the while, He was showing me His love, merely, and grace my whole life. He’s been waiting for me to grasp the POSSIBILITY of what my life could be. He had so many walls to break through, and stroke was the perfect opportunity.

 5. Existing and living are such different things. Existing always felt like I was hanging on to a shoestring that could break or burn at any moment. It was frightening because I was never sure what would be the moment that I no longer felt like it was worth it to listen to the ‘tug’, and the inner voice that kept me around. I’ve finally come to the understanding that I have a life to LIVE! Having my life so graciously given back to me is a blessing that so many people don’t get the chance to experience. I was told that a lot of people who have the kind of stoke I had don’t even make it to the hospital in time to save their lives. I don’t have the right to throw my opportunities away. I did that before. Look where it got me. None of us know how long we have here, and it can be over in a second. Literally.

            6. Listen to your body. I had been having severe headaches, but I chalked it up to stress from my job. The headaches weren’t constant, so I dismissed it. My body was talking to me, but I didn’t listen. Huge mistake!

            7. This is the biggest, most-shocking takeaway for me. I used to hear people say that when they’d faced the biggest challenges of their lives that they actually felt blessed, and were THANKFUL for those moments! Wait, whatttttt? It’s no longer something I think of as possible glib, catch-phrase people used in order to feel extra preachy, or fake-Christian-like. That was my own ignorance, and inability to accept catastrophes as blessings, and sometimes-necessary events to move your feet and spirit into a new place. I sincerely had to apologize for that. I know that fact on a soul level now. 

              8. A HUGE lightbulb moment for me came during my therapy after my stroke. I was going to 6 appointments every week, and something dawned on me. For somebody who doesn’t wanna live (I said to myself), you sure are working awfully hard to keep your life. That stopped me in my tracks, and probably gave me one of the biggest epiphanies I’ve ever experienced in my life. I realized that it wasn’t that I wanted to die. It was the ‘living / existing’ that I couldn’t go back to. That epiphany was the heavenly whisper I needed to open my eyes, and begin the change of heart that I desperately needed. His heavenly whispers have quietly been my lifeline this whole time. 

The life I used to ‘live’ is dying, but at the hands of God; not mine. There was a time in my 30s that I decided I would end my life. I took out a razor blade, and placed it on top of a vein on my right arm. I sat for the longest time looking at that vein. My thoughts trailed off to my mother having to identify my body. That’s the one and only reason I didn’t go through with the suicide. I loved her more than I loved myself, and I felt extremely selfish and self-centered. I put the razor away, and continued with my ‘life’. Looking back, I’ve had Gods’ grace and mercy at my feet, but I was too locked into my fear, feelings, and survival to recognize that fact. I felt that MAYBE I had His grace and mercy because I was still alive, but I never really grasped or even recognized it until I had the stroke. I thought this journey would be strictly about healing my body. Who knew that healing this body would be the least of my worries? Who knew that looking death in the eye would be the very thing that would breathe life back into my spirit? 

I’ve talked a lot about healing from my childhood, and that’s the healing I needed more than anything. Given time, I knew my body would heal, but my spiritual healing would be a whole other issue. I see some traits dying. I’m replacing painful memories with real hope now. That beat-down, burdened, defeated little girl did her job, and took all the punches so that I can now live. She was strong, but I no longer need her. Tears filled my eyes as I told her good-bye. I hid myself in her, and somehow, she knew the real me, and who and what I would one day become. She was the armor given to me in order that I would survive until I learned to live. 

Another good thing to come out of having the stroke is me now knowing who truly loves me, and that’s something I wish I had allowed myself to see before. My family and friends have been here for me in ways I never would’ve imagined. I know who my tribe is, and I know what I mean to people. I see them on both sides of the line, and my vision is sharp.

I can’t believe I’m even saying this out loud, but I want a love in my life. Of course, I love my family and friends, but I’ve spent my life shunning even the possibility of having a good man in my life. I used to feel that I was protecting my heart, but now I feel that I only robbed myself of receiving the very love that I swore I didn’t need. I’ve actually deprived myself of love for way too long. All these years I’ve lived alone, and I had no idea how much I needed love until I started this journey of healing. I’m deserving of love, and it’s an amazing feeling to finally have my heart open to the possibility of being with a healthy, beautiful, mature man who matches, or even surpasses my love language. I’m finally in that space, but it’s 1,000% more lonely now that I’m here. When I didn’t want it, it didn’t matter. Now it feels like I’m stalking the mailbox for a check that may or may not come. But for me to give up on a love that I deserve is bowing to my abusers. I don’t bow to anybody, and I never walk away from what I feel belongs to me. Ever. I’m not done healing yet, but just the fact that I’m feeling hope whatsoever shows me that some things are healing. The things I want are possible. I’m claiming my happiness! I’m now in a place I NEVER thought I would be! To think and know that the steps I’ve taken into this new place started with a stroke leaves me...I don’t really have the words! Dumbfounded? Just blank-stare amazed! Sitting back watching my life take this new direction is something I never could’ve predicted. I mean, you have a stroke, and you focus on getting your brain as close to normal as possible. Not heal your spirit, and move into the possibilities of what your life can be; and maybe even walk into the beginning process of fulfilling your destiny. I’ve learned so many things about myself, and about God. I’m making it on 60% my past salary, and if that’s not a faith-builder, I don’t know what its! 

I should be begging on street corners for money, but I promise you that God has given me all that I need; and then some! I’m still in therapy for the stroke, and for the first time ever, I am committed to the betterment of MYSELF! Healing is NOT easy, but I know God holds me in His hands through it all. 

I’m not sure what to do with this particular piece, or even who these words are for. God told me to share these words. He told me that my blessings are tied to the words I’ve written. Hearing Him say that brings back to mind a time in church that I went to the altar for prayer. This was in 2005 or 2006. As I kneeled, a pastor bent down and placed his hands on my head to pray over me. As he started praying, tears rolled down his cheeks. He told me I had many talents, and then he stopped to correct himself. He said you have A TALENT, and one day your words will be he read and heard in many homes all over the country. He continued to cry even after he was done praying over me. I never forgot that prayer, but I don’t think I ever really gave any serious thought to it until I started this healing process. God also told me to remember that I as I wrote this, I wouldn’t truly understand the blessings to come. He told me to watch and wait. My gut tells me that my destiny is attached to my words. Everything has happened for a reason. Even the stroke. I feel that God used it to usher changes into my life. Changes I refused to even consider or reach for. They say God works in mysterious ways, and sometimes the biggest blessings stem from crushing situations in life. I guess time will tell. Amen.

ADDENDUM: 

After writing this piece-and going through a myriad of emotions - I had to take the time to absorb it until it was well with my spirit. This healing has been/is nowhere close to easy, and it’s ongoing. It’s been over a year of God being in my face, and on my case. I didn’t speak much on the stroke itself or the daily effects I still deal with. I didn’t mean to diminish the stroke. My short-term memory is pretty much non-existent. I have days where I feel like a wanderer trying to find her way with no clues, or signs. There are falls, light sensitivity, cognitive problems, horrible headaches, dizziness, fatigue, depression, double vision, and anxiety. I thought that after writing this, I’d be riled up, and angry about all the emotions I had to touch on. Surprisingly, all I feel is peace. My spirit is calming, and my vision is clearing. It feels like the weight of the world lifted off of me, and that’s a serenity I can’t put into words. This piece has been 50+ years in the making, and it was the first time I’ve looked at my life with all the honesty I could muster. Tears fall again as I write this, and I thank God for bringing me to this point. He has watched over me, even when I might not have deserved it. I’ve seen God bring people into my life, while at the same time eliminate the wolves I didn’t have the sense enough to fear. I know He’s setting me up for something big, but I have no clue what it is!

God chose me, saved me, watched me, and hasn’t let me out of His sights. Then He told me little by little what He needs from me. He brought to mind things I prayed for, but that I didn’t have the faith to believe that I’d ever receive. He has shown me everything. Well, at least all that He thinks I can deal with at this moment. I know there’s more coming.

The reflection from the mirror of the past have haunted me my whole life. I relied on other people to feed my spirit who I was instead of digging deep to find the real truth of who and what I am. I reject those reflections now. They were never really me. Only what happened to me. The weight of it all was spirit-crushing. By sharing these words, the past is crumbling, and I now get the opportunity to walk past it and begin whatever my new life will be. I’m this imperfect masterpiece that GOD HIMSELF felt was worthy enough to save. Yes, He saved me from the stroke, but I’ve never lost sight of the fact that He saved me from ME! I was damaged, reckless, and indifferent. I was abused, but I alone continued the cycle by not even trying to help myself. For me, that was the ultimate act of self-hate, and self-destruction. I took all of the bad things that happened to me and said “fuck it. This is who and what I am or will ever be”. Of course, I was wrong (as I often am). It literally took an act of God to open my eyes. A...WHOLE...ACT...OF...GOD! My hope in sharing this is two-fold. First off, please take your health seriously. This means physical, mental, and spiritual! I read a saying that goes: “The bitter heart eats it’s owner”. It stopped me in my tracks, and I took time to let it sink in. Not taking care of yourself, and holding onto your hurt will only hurt YOU. I learned that me not taking care of myself allowed dysfunction on one level to feed into-and on-the other levels. It was a vicious cycle that almost caused me to take my life. The other things I want to emphasize is not to just read these words. Let them roam around your spirit. If these words don’t pertain to anything that you’ve experience in your life, know that somebody you know and/or love has been through my same experience. If you see yourself in my words-and have yet to get help-then please get help. Forget that ‘what happens in this house stays in this house’ crap! Silence kills. Forget the ‘you’re strong! Suck it up, you’ll be fine’ mess. Sigh...Please walk away from that mindset or voice that speaks of being weak for you wanting or needing to get help. Let that go! Healing is an act of bravery. Believe me when I tell you that it’s not for the faint of heart. If your past devours your spirit-and future-face that fact and start looking for your help. If you feel that you can’t trust anybody, write your feelings out. Not the dear-diary-today-was-a-bad-day type of thing. Write truthfully! From your gut. God already knows how you feel anyway. Nothing you say to Him will be a shock. Say...the...words!

I know there are blessings on the other side of all that I’ve survived. I’m just waiting for them to manifest. I went to work on 3-3-20, and I thought my life was over. Life on this side can be over in a second. I know that in a whole new and personal way now. Your life is not over, and you’re worthy of so many good things! Live this precious, beautiful life that you were given! Honey, ride it ‘til the wheels fall off!

All of the pain from the past; I release it from my spirit! I release these words I’ve written into the universe to do their job. I know these words were necessary for my healing, but I also believe there are many others who may need these words more than I did. While I wrote for myself, I also wrote for those who were unable to tell their truth. I wrote for those who were scared to start their own journey of healing. I wrote for those who believed all the horrible, untrue things that kept you from reaching out for help. I wrote for those who live in the shadow of who/what they should have and could have been, but for being abused. I know my words are not just for me. My life matters, and your lives damn sure matter, too! Don’t deny yourself the chance to sit in your own greatness. FIND YOUR PEACE, and LIVE YOUR LIFE! Thank you for reading my testimony. Blessing to you all.

© Antoinette Davis, 2020-2021



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November 25, 2019

Daily Writing Exercise – Find a photo and write what’s not in that photo






Lord, Jesus. The first photo that popped into my head was my kindergarten school picture.  I used to laugh when I saw that picture, but the laughs have faded. What’s missing from that picture is my innocence. That smirk on my face doesn’t show the trauma and fear I was living with. This pic doesn’t show the smile or happy-go-lucky life of a 5-year-old who was being repeatedly molested. It doesn’t show the confusion, or my questions of right vs. wrong that I was feeling and questioning. The ‘normal’ smile of my 5-year-old self did not exist.  The slow death of my spirit had already begun, but that was yet not evident. Remembering this picture again; I hoped to see a little dreamer. Instead; only the defiant, cocky smile of a hurting child stares back at me. That little smirk hid a world of hurt. It covered the newfound knowledge that no 5-year-old child should have. My God. I have so much healing to do.

October 24, 2019

What Do You Remember About Sept. 11, 2001?, October 24, 2019


Wow. That is a day that I don’t think anybody in this country will ever forget.

I remember everything about that day. I was working as a receptionist for a global firm, and people were running into one of the conference rooms. They were screaming to turn the TV on. I was on the phone, and I could hear people softly crying. Once I was able to get off the phones, I joined everybody else in the conference room. It was eerily quiet as we watched people running. I remember the sadness in the voice of the reporter. I remember praying, and wondering how anybody could survive this catastrophe. I wondered how long that tower could stand on its own, and what would happen to the people inside if / when the tower fell apart. We were all silently watching the chaos going on, and then the second plane hit the tower. The sound of sobs filled the room. The amount of ‘Oh my Gods” could not be counted. Disbelief, sadness, and fear gripped everybody in that conference room. It was at that moment that it dawned on everybody that this was no accident.  We were under attack. Not in some far-off land. Not in a this-is-only-TV kind of way. On our own soil. Under attack. This is the moment I started to cry.

Our conference room looked out into a big, wide space. There were no buildings to block out view of the Ohio River. I remember I kept looking back to see if there was a plane behind us. I checked that window at least 10 times while we listened to the news. 

We listened as the report told stories of people jumping out of windows, plummeting to their deaths. THIS was something that shook me to my core. These people went to work the same way that I did that day. Going to work, and then having to decide your manner of death. It’s too much to even connect with, or touch on in any kind of real way. It was so unbelievable that people had to choose between burning to death, or splattering below on the concrete. God knows how many stories these people fell. What they must’ve been thinking and feeling as they free-fell awaiting their deaths. Did they think of their loved ones? Or maybe they wondered if their death would be instant. I wonder if they regretted their decision to take that final leap. Even thinking about this now makes my chest tight. It brings such a feeling of dread and sadness. Out of ALL of my 9/11 memories, this is the one that fuc*s me up the most.

Shortly after the second plane hit the tower, our building was evacuated. Our building was attached to The Federal Building, and there were fears that federal buildings across the country could possibly be the next target. Fear was running rampant at this point. Have you ever felt fear so prevalent that you were sure you could reach out and touch it? So real that you could smell it? So real that absolutely nothing else existed at that moment? We all felt it.

We hurried to evacuate the building, and ran out of the building like our lives were in danger. People from all over downtown filled the streets. We were all in utter disbelief. I just remember I wanted to get as far away from The Federal Building as I could.

While I was running away, all I could think of was the victims. The family members of the victims. The passengers in the 3 planes. The first responders. I’m sure that they trained for all kinds of disasters, but for this? They did an AMAZING job, and they have nothing but respect from me, and I’m sure from everyone in the country. Where / how did they even start? My heart really went out the first responders. They were thrown into an unbelievable situation. I found myself praying that they would experience no guilt about the people who couldn’t be saved. I know that their bodies were tired, and I can only imagine that many of them walked away heartbroken at what they witnessed. I still say prayers for them, and their mental health.

My oldest niece turned 11 on 9/11/11, and I remember that we did not celebrate her birthday that year. We wanted to, but we were all so sad. We did celebrate her birthday a week or so later. But I do remember wondering if she understood our sadness. She was a child, and maybe all she knew was that everybody skipped her birthday. I’ll have to ask her that one day.

In closing; what I remember about 9/11/11 is being truly afraid. Feeling unsafe in a way I had never experienced before. I remember that life as we all knew it was changed forever. It was like life became before 9/11 and after 9/11. Not just life. I remember having to turn off the TV because the stories got more and more grim. 9/11 cast such a dark shadow over the world. Every now and then I would hear a story about a survivor that managed to live, and that was amazing – and a testament to the human spirit. I cheered those rare moments. 9/11 made us all realize that America was vulnerable, too. We weren’t this big, untouchable powerhouse anymore. We were just like everybody else. But mostly; 9/11 showed me the power of hate, and also the power of love. To this day, I still question which one is more powerful. I do believe more people love than hate, but those 2 missing towers remind me of what can happen when hate, power, and evil connect. God bless each and every one of the 2,977 victims who lost their lives on this day. RIP

© Antoinette Davis, October 24, 2019