Trauma Core

Chapter 1

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Welcome To Surviving With Panache!

Lessons in survival for inspiration and hope in an unsteady world. We have lived through every hard day so far! Carpe' diem! 🌻🌻🌻

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Beginnings are hard.

A blinking cursor on a fresh blank page can be intimidating for even seasoned writers….

Hi, welcome to my first jump at getting my book “out there”. It’s my story, that I have been working on for 15 yrs now. This is my 5th draft…..

I’m looking for fellow travelers who can relate to my story and need a little hope and validation. My biggest mantra and goal is to show the journey of life sprinkled with a lot of forgiveness and peace is worth it. Add in FAITH and you will know that Everything happens for a reason.

In this shared journey called life, there are often times of great emptiness in one's soul. There seems to be no tangible meaning, chasing after any shiny new thing that comes along, hours of precious time wasted. Worse than wasted. Thankfully, for me, those times don’t last long.

Herein lies a story. One in which will hopefully provide some insight into the person who may be sitting next to you. We have all been through something, haven’t we?

 The point of this story though, is that no matter what there is HOPE for us all.  

I will share each chapter of the book in this space for your feedback.

What should be clearer? Do you want to read more? Can you relate?

READY? Chapter 1 - INIQUITY

"Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me." Psalm 51:5, KJV.

    This life for me began much like yours. Two people decided to get busy. Naturally these two people had no business engaging in the activity since they were wholly ill-equipped for parenthood.

There were not a few who felt justified in pointing their self-righteous finger at my mother. Mostly, from my father’s sister and friends of his. The other’s were church members who just couldn’t say anything nice to anyone. Their reasoning was that it never should have happened, especially when one of the parties was already married and had a young son whom she was already neglecting and pretending did not exist.

"Be sure your sin will find you out." Numbers 32:23. Not only will you be found out, but you will also be tattled on -loudly.

    My story is so tangled up in my mother's that it took years to sort it out. It's no longer tangled, but certainly intertwined.

    There's a hint of nostalgic romance in this hook-up. Two people from the same side of the mountains and hollers of Kentucky found each other in the big city of dreams, Los Angeles, California. One could argue that this was fate, destiny!

 Let's not be hasty, though.

    My earliest memory in this life was a result of that union and the man known as my father. It’s as unromantic as it gets. Actually, as far as memory goes, it was a recurring nightmare until I was 12 years old.

Savage is a better term for this tale.

    As a toddler between the ages of 2-3, I was playing outside on the sidewalk in front of our apartment, as usual, waiting for my father to come over so that I would have company and someone to play with, since my mother was at work already.  I was excited about the visit.

While waiting for him, I knew that I needed to go pee-pee.  However, I was afraid to go back inside to the bathroom, because in my mind, he might just pass by, and I would miss him. Clearly that was not an option. Remaining in plain sight was most important, no matter what.

It just so happened that I tinkled a bit. In the excitement of the moment, I hadn’t noticed!

    At last, there he was, walking the sidewalk toward me. A tall, mostly stranger in jeans, white t-shirt, cowboy boots and a jacket casually slung over his shoulder held by one finger. He was BA Cool. I was jumping up and down, squealing with delight, each of his steps bringing him closer!

    The joy quickly vanished as Ed picked me up and discovered my wet panties as he held me on his forearm. Tensing up, his body stiffened, the eyes that were once dancing with pride and love were now a burning fire. There was anger. I grew wary and afraid.  Silent.

    As soon as we were in the apartment his tight grip on me released as he threw me to the floor and demanded that I get cleaned up. Then he removed his belt, all the while yelling what a bad girl I was and how he would teach me what happens when a little girl wets her pants.

    Hitting me with the buckle of his belt, the blows kept coming; to my face, to my head and to my body until I was numb. Then he put me on my bed and walked out the door. I was alone, again.

Always alone. 

    When mother did return, she saw right away that he was not there, and a neighbor stepped over to her door to say that she thought she could hear crying through the wall at some point in the night. Mother thanked the neighbor, slowly walked into the apartment, and shut the door behind her. She looked in on me through the darkened room. All was quiet, now. She took her bath and went to bed.

    Upon waking the next morning, she found me covered in bruises from head to toe. My face swollen and unrecognizable. Stunned, she asked me," what happened?"

 She heard a tiny whimper of, "daddy belt" "naughty girl".

     Wounded and altered.  I survived.

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