“Like wild flowers; you must allow yourself to grow in all places people thought you never would.” -E.V.
I have recently turned 29, ( this is the first time that I have consciously acknowledged this), I keep forgetting how old I am and keep telling people I’ am 25 but there is always someone around that knows me well and is happy to correct me and remind me that I am the big 30 next year to my dismay.
I am the eldest of six children. My mum and dad divorced when I was three years old. I can still remember the day my dad left. I remember him packing his socks in his black holdall bag and my mum sitting me on the kitchen work top and handing me a pink panther biscuit as she tried to comfort me as I sobbed. I’m not sure if I was crying because my dad was leaving or it was because it was also the day the glass panels in the front door got broken and the blood from my mums nose was all over the bathroom floor and sink as she tried to clear up the aftermath of receiving a broken nose.
I remember that from this point for a period of time this was the happiest time for my mum, my brother and I. I even remember us going on our first holiday together. My mum got herself a voluntary job within the police force and started to learn how to drive. She was so proud of herself.
Things dramatically started to change from when I was around six years old, after “he” was introduced into our lives. Everything seemed so perfect at first. The perfect family, the perfect father figure. It wasn’t long before the mask started to slip and the sun almost appeared to disappear as the bruises and emotional scars started to take longer and longer to heal. As one healed another re appeared.
By the age of eleven my mum was drinking daily anything from spirits to cheap cider and was in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I was missing school and trying to care for my mum, myself and my five younger siblings. Two months after my twelfth birthday we were all split up into twos and taken into the care with the promise that we would be back home within two weeks. We never returned back to my mums care as children. I wish I could say that is where the story ends but unfortunately it didn’t. Over time I will talk about some of my experiences within my blog.
On the 31st January 2015 after a six day drinking binge my little sister went to check on my mum and found that she had passed away. My mum died suddenly whilst in a lot of pain from chronic alcoholic liver disease.
For the first time in my life, I feel that some of the wounds that didn’t seem to be healing now have. It has taken a long time. It has been a long tough journey but I have done it. I am a shadow of what I was like many years ago. Although now I am trying to process the loss of my mum, I know I am strong enough and know that I will get through this.
I currently work in a therapeutic children’s home working with children who have emotional and behavioural difficulties due to what they have experienced during their child hood. I am also at university training to become a play therapist. My future goal is to help others.
It makes me really angry when others judge. I see it a lot with regards to the children I look after. They are often seen as “naughty” when actually they are strong individuals who have been through some of the most difficult things, yet they are behaving the way they are because they are hurting and its the only way they know how to communicate their pain. These children are some of the bravest, most courageous individuals I have ever met.
When you next walk passed that individual who is sat outside in the cold on their own because they have no where to go, the one that you normally make a judgement on and turn your nose up because they are less fortunate than you or they are holding a can or bottle of alcohol.
Don’t judge them! you have no idea what there story is!!!! Anyone of us could become that individual.