My Mom Bequeathed Me Her Voice

People who know me now will find this very hard to believe, but up until I was 33 years old, I could not speak up.

People lived with me and I didn’t have the strength to ask for rent; so, they didn’t pay.

When my son was in kindergarten he was being mistreated by his “Christian” school because he is biracial and was from a single mother, and I couldn’t confront the Principal. I asked my mom to go with me. She laughed at me and told me to march into his office and tear him a new one! There was no way I could do that, so I just changed his school.

Don’t get me wrong, I have never been a church mouse. In fact, for most of my life it’s been a struggle to control my temper. But that was always a reaction because of rage, and not towards someone of power. I was to respect my elders and remain silent if my confrontations could adversely affect me or my loved ones.

That included losing a “friend” even when that “friend” wasn’t being a friend to me. I’ve had “friends” steal from me, spread lies, and slander me, and because I still loved them, I said nothing.

I now know that all of that was a result of the abuse I incurred as a child. I survived because I learned how to stay silent when I needed to, and to just take it out on others when I could.