#Life #Life Lessons #Personal Development

Tragic Childhood

And a life re-imagined

I have worked since I was 14 years old. Just reaching my seventh decade, I think it’s time I learned how to be not to do. I thought I had a tragic childhood until I discovered the meaning of those words.

Yes, I was egregiously abused by a family member.

Yes, I was a victim of domestic violence.

Yes, it marked my life until I decided it wouldn’t anymore.

Yes, it was hard.

As my father liked to say, “You have a roof over your head, food on the table. What are you complaining about?”

I never saw a soft or gentle moment between my mother and father growing up. I never saw my father pat my mother on her backside. I did see and experience them screaming and yelling at each other. When I say screaming, I mean screaming! When I was about 12 years old, I remember a long drive with my parents, a cooler of beer between them and cigarettes blazing, my mother threatening to jump out of the car. My sister, brothers, and I huddled together in an attempt to protect each other’s psyche. I remember getting whipped with a belt for the crime of getting red clay on my clothes. As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, my dad had to pull my pants down to spank me with that belt. He always got a good whack in. Hard, yes! Unusual for those times, not so much. Create feelings of shame, embarrassment, anger deep in my soul without a doubt.

When my baby brother was born, there was no amniotic fluid protecting him in the womb. I think he suffered from a condition called fetal alcohol syndrome (FAS) by two Seattle physicians, Dr. Kenneth L. Jones and Dr. David W. Smith, in 1973. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention described symptoms of FAS, including learning disabilities, poor memory, hyperactivity, low IQ, impulsivity, poor social skills, trouble completing tasks, and a higher susceptibility to mental health disorders.” Bingo!

While heavy smoking and drinking plagued my mother and father most of their lives, it affected my baby brother the most. At six years old, in the small town we lived in, he skipped school, went to a K-Mart, and stole a bike. I’ve lost count of the number of times he was arrested, put in jail, found God, led AA meetings, got out, and repeated. He almost beat an older man senseless for a few dollars.

My sister, who I treasure, was the smart one. To this day, she tells me that she was the smart one, and I was the pretty one. It never felt like a compliment. We were opposites in the way this impacted us. She made straight A’s, was popular in school and could talk to anyone. My middle brother just hid in the shadows. Except for the time, of course, that he slipped away in the night, hitchhiked from Florida to a New York barn in Bethel to see a little-known musical event called Woodstock. I was so jealous that he had the nerve to do it!

Me. I played at being the rebellious one. Inside, I was quaking in my boots. Outside, I had that look, that swagger, that mouth. I did poorly in school — I wasn’t the smart one. I didn’t necessarily think I was the pretty one — I had a few dates and few boyfriends. I look back now in wonder and awe at the desperation I felt on the inside while showing the world something very different.

I barely graduated from high school. I ran into my mother’s boss the first time I skipped school! After my earliest educational experiences taking place in Alabama and Georgia, we moved to Florida. I was so far behind; I hid my insecurities in being a “wild child.” It was an act, but I have to say, someone could have nominated me for an Academy Award. I went on to community college, where my grade point average for the time I spent there was 0.85. More proof I wasn’t the brightest light in the forest. I chose to shine in an incandescent way!

It was only as I grew in years that I realized I didn’t know how to be. I surely knew how to do. I immersed myself in my work. My first job at 14 was an afterschool camp counselor. My second job was at the Department of Psychology at a stellar university. I didn’t realize then that I had a brain! That took many years! I ran away from home and married the first boy that asked me. He had begun to hit me before we got married. I could always rationalize it away. And marrying him would undoubtedly get me away from my damaged home.

That marriage lasted about a year. We moved to Miami. While he began working for a state senator, I landed a job with a large, well-known law firm. They handled a part of Nixon’s defense when he “resigned” from office. That’s when I first realized I did have a brain and could be successful — despite what my high school typing teacher told me without a second thought. I can still hear her saying, “You’ll never amount to anything!” I think I laughed in her face and went home to cry in the privacy of my bedroom.

Back to my first marriage, after being knocked backward out of a chair with a fist, I came to fear being locked out of our apartment in the middle of the night in a bad part of town, and continuously being his punching bag, I realized it was time to leave. I got very good at beginning relationships and ending relationships. The middle — not so good.

One of my greatest regrets is leaving my wedding album behind. It wasn’t because of love or fond memories. It was one of the few concrete memories I had of my family being happy. The beautiful dotted swiss pure white wedding dress was not a problem. I threw it in the trash. Most likely spit on it.

I went into hiding, terrified of what would happen if he found me. I couldn’t go home. I could not go home. My boss helped me land a job with a law firm a couple of towns away. I nursed my wounds, tried to find strength, with a clear recognition that I would never count on any one person again to take care of me. It was clear from an early age that I was born to take care of myself. That’s when I became even more resilient, if only in my mind.

Merriam Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary defines reimagine as a transitive verb to imagine again or anew or recreate.

I couldn’t believe what my future held! I landed the job of my dreams. With not a thought of success, I looked towards a career with an airline as a Stewardess. Yes, a Stewardess. Later to be known as a Flight Attendant. It was here I learned I could take care of myself financially. I still longed for that love connection. Life would prove my definition of love connection didn’t always lead me to successful relationships. I didn’t have a clue as to what a healthy relationship was. Didn’t stop me from trying to find it. Try, try till you get it right.

When I flew to Atlanta for an interview, I felt as if I was in a dream! There must have been 200 girls there from every walk of life. I was one of several hundred that day and went home thinking, “not a chance in hell.” Well, I got my chance and spent 22 years enjoying travel and adventures I never dreamed possible. I had lived in every small army base in Alabama and Georgia. I had never seen snow. I don’t think I had traveled outside of Florida once my dad retired from the military. I found I excelled and sought out leadership positions. I was a supervisor for a short time , but I was too cool to be a supervisor. I clung to my rebel exterior! I didn’t even attend the going away party they had for me — I called in sick that day!

I flew all over the country. I could not believe someone would pay me to fly to New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco. It was amazing. I liked being large and in charge of flights — almost always flying in the lead position. I took advantage of every single opportunity. Fly to New York for dinner and a Broadway play — no problem. Go to San Francisco for the weekend to enjoy shopping and fine dining — in a heartbeat. My first trip to Europe was $99 to an unlimited number of cities — most often in first class. My dream came true. I began at 23 years old and took early retirement at 44 years old. This was when I started believing that my job defined me. I was a Stewardess. How cool was that?

In my last couple of years flying, I returned to college. I couldn’t believe it. I was smart, after all. A relentless over-achiever. Relentless! I was offended that my grade point average (remember 0.86) followed me for the rest of my college career. I finished my bachelor’s degree in human resource management and went straight into a master’s degree program for social work. I thought I wanted to be a therapist. After everything I had lived through, I could become a successful therapist, maybe write a book or two, help people! I could not stomach anything but an “A” as a grade. Perfectionism is not a strong enough word. Competitive. Hard to look back at some days. I didn’t enjoy learning. I enjoyed performing, competing, and coming out first.

Back to the beginning, I didn’t know how to be. I did know how to get things done. I didn’t know what satisfaction looked like. Oh, but I did. Nothing short of becoming a CEO for a child abuse agency. I set my sights, my internships, and my new dream on this goal. I planned every step along the way — convinced this next dream would come true as well. I started as a program director, moved on to the assistant executive director, and three years later, I became the CEO. On the outside — looked cool as a cucumber. Inside — terrified. I had a long and successful career working in child welfare, domestic violence, substance abuse, and all the things that went along with it! I learned what tragic childhoods were. If I couldn’t heal myself, I could certainly help others become whole.

I was a big fish in a little pond. Inside, I was that scared, quivering, insecure, little girl. I worked tirelessly. I did some things I’m proud of. But I was getting tired, losing my edge, slipping. I thought when this or that happened, I’d be happy, and my life will be better. You can only fool yourself for so long. My time was about up. Inside, I knew it. Outside, I did not know what to do! I didn’t know what to do! And I certainly didn’t know what it would mean just to be. After 20+ years, it became about as clear as muddy water.

At the age of 65, I decided what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to be a CEO, I didn’t want to be in charge, and I didn’t want to be the one who made the decisions. I was done. I knew what I was doing was no longer working. I decided to move. I left my job voluntarily, a short time before it would most likely not have ended well. I was ahead of that train. And I got a decent payout. I left everything I knew, family, friends, packed up, and moved about 600 miles away.

I’d like to say I had an epiphany. Epiphany is defined as “a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something.” I knew I couldn’t continue the way I had. My daughter and my best friend lived in Atlanta. I decided to move to Atlanta. The hardest part was leaving my sister. She was my greatest friend, my rock, my everything. It was hard to explain. I know now, looking back, it was an intense fight or flight move. I simply couldn’t do it anymore.

So, I did. I packed up my clothes, my furniture, and my dogs. I was off on another great adventure. If nothing else, I knew how to take a risk. I got a little cottage on about 10 acres in a small town outside Atlanta. It took about 90 days just to slow myself down. Rather than figuring out how to be, I decided to go back to my comfort zone and look for a job. This was my preferred method of operation. I was so fortunate. The woman who became my boss was incredible. I was used to being the boss, so having one wasn’t comfortable.

I have to tell you I have had a few mentors in my life. It is one of my keys to life. She was one of the most significant mentors of all time. She knew exactly how to hold you accountable without making you feel like dirt. Even though she was younger than I was, she became like a mother to me. I don’t think she’d like that description much. She was supportive, she looked out for other employees and me, and she was always thinking about what was best for employees, not the company you worked for. She naturally helped you grow and see your strengths before your flaws.

I threw myself into my work, as I always did. I was good at it. I was in an incredibly supportive environment. I didn’t know many people in Atlanta, so my job became my everything. I was a supervisor for a complaint call center. My motto — never look back.

I met my future husband about two and a half years into my job. This was my second (or third) lesson in what a tragic childhood looks like. His daughter was nine, and his son was ten at the time. His son had Type 1 Diabetes, a cruel, debilitating, life-long disease. It was a full-time job in and of itself. His wife had taken her life months before, and they were all reeling. He knew I had a background in mental health and might be able to help. I had no idea what lay ahead.

I met the kids as a friend and got to know the family. Six months later, he had a massive heart attack and stroke and was in the hospital for over five months in the Intensive Care Unit. Hospice looming. Rehab. Learn to walk, talk, and live again. In the meantime, his mother-in-law and I took care of the kids. It took a toll on my job, and I later resigned with my boss’s blessing. She was a saint the entire time.

Here I am in my seventh decade trying to learn how ‘to be’ not just ‘to do.’ It shouldn’t be so hard. For some reason, it is for me. I’m not working much now unless you consider helping raise a 14 and 15-year-old a job. Which, by the way, it is! But I’m at that point in my life where I want to know how to be. Who am I? I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s been a long, challenging journey. Maybe I’m not as smart as I began to believe I was. Or perhaps I am. It sounds a little like a pity party. I can’t say that I don’t have them every so often. Then kick myself in the ass and decide to move on.

If I can tell you anything, it is this. Don’t wait as long as I have. Love yourself. Grow up slowly. Have a family, significant others, move on. Don’t wait as long as I have. It is never easy. But today, I’m convinced.

I’m going to look back with loving kindness, a little brutal honesty, and take stock. I’ve done some incredible things. I’ve made some huge mistakes. My children are happy. They have children of their own. They have a strong sense of who they are! I love my new family as I loved my own with all my heart, soul, and they satisfy my need to be a mother that makes a difference.

I’m excited. And yes, a little scared. I don’t have a clue as to how to be. But as my father used to say, “I’m damned sure going to find out.” This much I know is true. Embrace life. Embrace you! And figure it out. I wish I could tell you how. If you don’t know, it’s time to discover your secret. Look inside. Take a risk! Enjoy every moment! Don’t look back! One foot in front of the other! You can do it!

Janny’s heart, musings, and meaningful meanderings! Sharing my love, pain, joy, and suffering. Mother, sister, wife, friend, lover of meaningful words, perpetual child of the universe. Food for the soul. What about you? Share your thoughts, comments, or ideas below in responses or send me an email at [email protected]