Don't have an account? To participate in discussions consider signing up or signing in
facebook connect
Sign-up, its free! Close [x]


  • okay Create lasting relationships with other like minded women.
  • okay Blogging, let your voice be heard!
  • okay Interact with other women through blogs,questions and groups.
  • okay Photo Album, upload your most recent vacation pictures.
  • okay Contests, Free weekly prize drawing.
  • okay Weekly Newsletter.

If you have not read my first blog please take the time to do so.  Remember I will tell you my story and the story behind my story.  I was born and raised in Boston, MA my earliest memory is of being in a play pin with one of my  siblings looking out of a window from a high place.  That particular memory always pops up when I’m remebering my childhood then it quickly flashes to living with an aunt in Mobile Alabama.  At the age of 4 or 5 we were sent to my father’s sister house to live temporarily so that my father could get his life together so we were told.  

 While in her care we (my 2 younger sisters and older brother)lived in a cramped space and were deprived your basic daily meals.  We were given one meal a day if we were so lucky.  At night when everyone would sleep I would wake up hungry and steal food from my aunt’s kitchen to feed myself and my siblings.  At an early age I knew when something was not right,unfair, or unacceptable and not being fed was one of them. Having hunger pains is a form of torture (slow and painful).  Now I’m not sure to this day if our starvation was intentional or if my aunt was struggling to make ends meat for her own family and we just added to her stress. Stealing food from the kitchen quickly ended when Auntie discovered what I was doing.  One night when I went for food I found the cupboards and refrigerator chained and on lock down.  That one experience alone literally shattered my hope for nourishment.  

The length of our stay in Alabama wasn’t very long soon after our father picked us up and brought us back to Boston.  No freakin lie, we arrived to our new home to find a complete stranger at the door who our father introduces as our new mother. I am 6 years old now and very confused because I had no memory of my biological mother. I was told my father was awarded full custody because my mother was not mentally/emotionally stable to care for us.  When I was much older I was told my father played a large role in my mother’s instability.  My father had divorced my mother and married some woman from his congregation who had 4 kids of her own.  Oh did I forget to mention my father was a minister and had his own church?  Thank God that never stopped me from praying or going to church in my later years.

Things were ok and then they began to change rapidly.  My stepmother began excluding my sisters, brother and myself from eating with her children.  She would feed her children and then have us come in later and if we were lucky we’d get enough to fill us until the next day. Our stepmother  would deliberately choose who would eat out of my father’s children for that day. When I went to elementry school along with my brother we ate and our stepmother and father deliberatly kept my 2 sisters home.  The parents would feed me and my brother just enough to keep the teachers from suspecting there was abuse taking place at home.  

At age 6 I had taken in my little mind that I was responsible for taking care of my younger sisters and my older brother.  I tried to take food from the kitchen at night when others slept and punished for trying; I was paralyzed and worried for my youngest sister Sharon who was around 3 years of age.  Sharon was sent away from the table intentionally so many times leaving us eating and her asking for food.  I would try to sneak food from my plate just so I could feed her later but was  unsuccessful so many times.  I would volunteer to leave the table so Sharon could stay but it was not allowed.  Sharon would get so sick from not eating, she would vomit only to swallow it back down because her hunger was so great.  I would take her to the bathroom wash her up, hold her and just cry.  What could I do?

One morning my stepmother told me to get Sharon up for breakfast.  I went to wake her up only to find a non-responsive limp body. I ran to the kitchen to let my father know Sharon would not wake up, my stepmother ran to the room and I ran after her, she shook Sharon so hard Sharon’s limp body flew into the dresser draw.  My father lifted Sharon from the floor and layed her on the bed, called the rest of the children into the room and told us to get on our knees and pray for her.  I was beside myself screaming “she needs to go to the hospital now,pray later“.  My father ignored me prayed and then told us all to get into the car, placing Sharon in my lap we headed to the hospital.  When we arrived to the emergency room Sharon’s doctor pronounced she was DOA.(dead on arrival)

to be continued:
Remember I will tell the story behind the story once it is completely told.  The life lessons........


Member Comments

About this author View Blog »