My Dream was to be a Stable Home-provider: PSYCH!

When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Trust ruined my faith

Raised in a Mormon household, I was brought up believing that my role as a female household member had already been established. I was expected to be a faithful and supportive wife, as well as a God-fearing and principle-established mother. I was supposed to have between five and eight kids, a responsible and respectful husband, live in a nice suburban home with two vehicles, and when my kids were all grown up, they would bring their kids to see their grandparents who would spoil them rotten!

Like many children, my expectations dramatically shifted. I married two cheating men; one who “gifted me” with an STD and the other who threatened my life. I had two babies from two different donors; both were child molesters. I literally lost my mind due to a doctor who was supposed to help people, during a routine drug check for my job. I experienced a debilitating car accident while pregnant with my second child and could barely function, leaving us homeless. Later, thanks to being out of my mind while ill with COVID, I purchased a condo right before I had a stroke that forced me out of the workforce.

Five years later, my second child leaves for the Marines on April Fool’s Day, my son won’t speak to me, and I’m preparing to re-enter the realm of university studies for a master’s in counseling. How ironic is that?

The Best Mommy Ever

When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Because children below the age of seven are growing at an amazing rate, but have no sense of comparison in the real world, it isn’t uncommon for them striving toward goals of becoming their parents. Directly after this phase is when children’s parents typically visit schools for discussions about their careers. This is the beginning of opening a window of discovery.

Kids should learn the enjoyment of life

While I was growing under the care of a seventeen-year-old who married a 28-year-old recently divorced man, my parents were the best. Of course, I wasn’t aware of the philandering husband my mother married or the fact that she had an affair with a married man with two little girls. Naivety. And of course, I planned on being exactly like my mommy. I aimed at making my parents proud.

We made cakes together, sewed clothing, cleaned house, and practiced doing all the womanly duties of being a great mom. As I grew, I gradually took over her duties so she could invest her time in “Days of Our Lives,” Phil Donahue, and Harlequin Romances. A dreamer who never believed in herself enough to strive for what she wanted, because dreaming is painless, responsibility and action-free.

One singular activity that I thoroughly enjoyed and got a degree in is reading and writing. From the age I was two, my mom invested in an entire library of Dr. Seuss and Little Golden Books. I was reading by the age of four and making up stories in kindergarten that same year.

Enjoy YOUR life and live it for yourself

By the age of thirty, I’d been married and divorced twice. I’d had over ten miscarriages, and was estranged from my family—none of the things my mother had been. When I gave birth to my children, I did it on my own and completely raised them alone. The truth is I’ve never been much like my mom. I insist on thinking for myself without a man’s approval.

Dying a prisoner of her own limitations, five days after her birthday, alone—I’m not her. I’m free.

What is your definition of freedom?