I am not a victim. I was a participant.

I have been so vocal about my experience as a woman who has lost a child, almost to the point where it has defined a big portion of my identity. There are so many other dimensions to me though, other struggles that have had the same impact on shaping the woman I am today. I guess the reason why I have never shared these experiences in a public forum is merely because I am too embarrassed to talk about and admit to them. But with the recent climate with spousal abuse being all over the news, my friends who vent to me all the time about their relationship issues and not understanding that they too are in unhealthy and unsafe situations, I think it’s time to share my story and how a 10yr battle with Domestic Violence tore me down and lifted me back up. I am not here to shame my ex-partner, nor am I here for sympathy. Just to break my own silence. This blog is a healing tool for me and I need to talk.

Regardless of whether you will agree or not, when you are done reading this, I want you all to understand one thing about my story: I am NOT a victim. I was a participant. I know this is going to piss a lot women off, but hey, it’s my experience. Most people are going to say how could I say this? But the truth is, while Domestic Violence is greatly about power and control there is also SELF ACCOUNTABILITY we need to take. For me it all came down to this: I allowed him to, and created the environment which supported him in being comfortable to do everything he did to me. Whether it was because I was afraid, in love, had low self-esteem, I was comfortable with the devil I knew, I was desperate to be a mother at all costs, I was trying to play a hero or any other reason I could come up with to justify different points in my relationship why I stayed, the truth is I STAYED.

I was not held captive, I was not sequestered. I left repeatedly and continuously went back.

This isn’t meant to have anyone look over at their spouse and dissect their every movement to leave them. This isn’t about regular arguments, or about trying to make myself look like this intensely strong woman. It’s about the lowest point in my life that because I was so unhappy with myself I thought I deserved the shitty treatment I got from my boyfriend. You know how most Domestic violence stories begin with it wasn’t always that bad… that’s not my story. From day one there were signs. HUGE FLASHING LIGHTS. Even now when I talk about it in private with people that’s the first thing I say to them, how it wasn’t always bad. That’s bullshit and I have to stop that. That’s just to make me feel better about even dealing with him to begin with, but the truth is, I knew from the beginning.

The biggest signs were…

Sign 1: He had a drinking problem. The first day he went to meet my parents he was shitfaced drunk. The signs of his lack of control were clear. His substance abuse would continue to get worse throughout the years and he would progress to stronger drugs. He would repeatedly lose control and would always chose the drugs. Nobody could win against his drugs.

Sign 2: He had mom issues. His mother unfortunately was not in his life. He did not have the emotional maturity to understand how her absence in his life affected him. Instead he objectified women, envied women and downright hated women. As I continued to advance and grow in life it infuriated him. He would do anything and everything to make me feel like I was never enough and I was inadequate. This fueled a lot of insecurities in me, but the real insecure one was him. I know this now.

Sign 3: He was extremely jealous. Some jealousy in relationships is normal. When you love someone you’re afraid to lose them. But this was crazy jealousy. He did not want me talking to anyone. He was intensely jealous of the relationship I had with his daughter and did not want me to do anything on my own. He made sure to know where I was at all the time. He would do the cutest things like drop off stuff at my job, but it was always when I wouldn’t answer his calls because I was so busy. It was a manipulative way to verify I was working.

Sign 4: He lived in secret. I knew none of his friends. His family yes. That’s how he pacified the situation. But truth be told he was barely around them. I was with them much more than he ever was. He hid his friends from me, where he was and what he was doing. It took me three years to find out about his criminal activity. I was slapped in the face by him getting arrested because I had no clue. I should have though. He was always out and about and drunk and high. This also allowed for him to cheat on me non-stop.

Sign 5: He was extremely manipulative and ALWAYS apologetic. This man would make me feel bad for being a productive member of society. I was bad for working, I was bad for going to school, I was bad for being a dedicated mother. It was his own way of tearing me down in order to compensate for his lack of progress and growth. He had to be the victim. The reason why he behaved the way he did with me was because I did not give him the attention he felt he deserved. But then when things got out of control he was the best apologizer ever.  

He never viewed me as a respectable woman, as an equal or as a partner. In his eyes I was beneath him because I was a woman and a strong woman at that. Well clearly within reason because I’m writing this blog. But I had a big mouth, I am extremely smart and I was always willing to express myself and fight back. Abusers hate that shit. They don’t want someone who is going to stand up for themselves, talk back to them or have a life outside of what they want for you. The more I did and the further I went in life, the more he felt insecure. In order for him to feel like a man he had to beat me down. He was too limited to do it in any other way but by using violence, and manipulation. My weakness though, I allowed him to see my insecurities which he took advantage of. The biggest one was not sticking to my word the 100 times I said I was done. The cycle was deep and real. I don’t need to count the times he physically assaulted me, forced himself on me or told me the most hateful things I have ever heard in my life. Nobody needs to hear those details either. The phone calls to my parents, my friends, the police. The OOPs, court cases I was too scared to pursue. Those details being said aloud won’t make the situation any better. What’s important is that I was so deep into this rut I felt like I couldn’t get myself out. I felt like I didn’t deserve better. I had this notion of loyalty that I felt to my relationship that I thought I could love him enough to get better. All I really did was I love him enough to make it worse. I enabled him. Everyone around us enabled us both. You know how many times my friends said “If you’re happy I support you.” I needed those friends who would say nah fuck this Ariel I can’t be a part of your life if you’re going to tolerate this bullshit. I don’t blame them, I’m just saying hindsight is 20/20. Because I tolerated all of his behaviors he became so comfortable in knowing that I would never leave him that he easily escalated to the point where there were no longer any boundaries or any limits.

On August 30^th, 2016 my ex beat me so bad in front of our daughter and niece that I was all bruised up, suffered a concussion and was out of work for a week. Jennessi saw. Its two years later and she still vividly recounts the details and subsequently resents her father for what he did. On this day she uttered the only words I ever needed to hear that got me out: “Mommy, I’m afraid Daddy is going to kill you.”  She begged me to leave him for good. And I did.

I may not have had the courage to do it for myself. For whatever the reasons were. I was used to it and comfortable. I didn’t want to start over and I wanted to be this hero and help him conquer his demons. But the humiliating truth is that my then 8yr old daughter had the courage, the intellect and the love for me that I didn’t have for myself.

Her father tore me down. But she lifted me back up.

See, from that day forward I vowed to her and her sister that no other man would ever treat me that way. For so many years I was a hypocrite and it was exhausting. I talked to my friends about abusive relationships, my clients, my peers and I went home to one. I never want to be that girl again. I was tired of being unhappy with myself. I was tired of believing someone else’s negativity about me and I was tired of perpetuating the false notion to the little girls in my life that looked up to me, that unhealthy relationships were acceptable and the norm. Again, notice all the “I” statements. I am taking ownership for everything I facilitated. I finally had to stand up on my own two feet and realize I was just as guilty as he was for allowing this bullshit.

It’s not easy. Domestic Violence is fucking SCARY. I would always tell everyone he wouldn’t really hurt me but the truth is, I’m still afraid he could kill me. This was just my way of downplaying the situation and explaining that If I felt safe, there was no real harm. I really fucking defended this piece of shit because I couldn’t explain why I wasn’t going to leave. I just wasn’t ready so I came up with all the excuses in the world that subsequently filled all those passing days.

I don’t know where I would be if Jennessi hadn’t begged me to leave him, or if Aubrey would have been alive and I had to deal with him. His final control tactic was taking Jennessi away from me. Not because he was the better parent or even wanted to care for her, but simply because he could take her away from me. He HAD to prove he had one over me. Normally, this would have drawn me back in and he knew that which is why he did it. Not this time. I packed her up and she looked at me and said “Mommy I love you and I know you will always be there for me, but I understand why I can’t be with you. This is daddy’s fault not yours.” I was at peace and I felt so free to move on and find healthy love…  

This shit eats at me still. I have nightmares, ongoing guilt and lifelong insecurities. But those negative feelings behind all of this are what guarantee that I won't ever get sucked back into this. I can finally say I know my worth and I won't ever give it up for nothing or no one. 

Anyone who is in a domestic violence relationship, I wish you peace, clarity and strength. Domestic Violence is not only physical and this is the most common misconception. If anyone you are with tries to demean you physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually this is abuse. I hope you have the insight to look within yourself and see what you are allowing and why. If you see that your relationship isn’t safe and you can’t figure out what your role is feel free to come talk to me and I’ll gladly tell you what you don’t want to tell yourself. Ladies please, be honest, be powerful, be respected and most importantly allow yourself to be loved, PROPERLY, FAIRLY and SAFELY.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

AM I or AM I Not A Mother?

Am I or Am I not a mother?

Since I was too young to even remember, I wanted to be a mother. I loved my little sister as if she were my first child. As a teenager, that dream was shattered when my doctors told me I’d never have children. Yet here I am, a mother of two beautiful daughters and still I question myself every day. Am I a mother? Or am I not a mother? I’ve been asking myself this question since I was 20 yrs old, since the moment I laid eyes on my first beautiful baby girl. Every moment of the last ten years I have not only had to endure the traumatic events associated with my motherhood but also defend my title of “MOM.” For those of you who are mothers you know that this is the hardest yet most rewarding job you will ever have. These ten years have been the most joyful and yet the saddest years of my life but I wouldn’t trade them for anything in this world because my journey gave me my children. Yet, the world does not believe those children are mine to claim and keep.

I know as a society we are constantly looking for way to conform and fit in. Nobody wants to be the odd-ball, yet diversity is what makes us all beautiful individuals. So, since I don’t fit into the societal norms of what a “mother” is, does that mean I am not still a mother? It’s funny what labelling will do to people. It honestly is the root to all insecurities. We label people because our own ignorance cannot understand or accept a different way than our own. The insecurities I feel as a mother all come from not being recognized as one. I am constantly questioning my position in traditional motherhood, my role as a woman and my role in the lives of my children because you all have labeled me child-less.

When I look back at my life and my childhood I can honestly say I was never bullied. I have always been a very helping, giving, understanding and empathetic person. I accept people for who they are and for the most part that was reciprocated. You know treat people how they treat you. Yet these last ten years I have felt misunderstood, bullied and downright unappreciated as I started my journey as a mom. The biggest conundrum in all of this, is that the majority of the time it’s another woman, usually mothers, who are making me feel less than.

At twenty years old, I fell in love. OMG ya’ll this little girl stole my whole heart. The moment she was put in my arms I don’t know what came over me but I just loved her. She was about 6months old and had the biggest smile you had ever seen. The biggest head too hahaha. But she was perfect, fragile and had just suffered trauma, yet all I remember was seeing her happy. There was so much hope in her eyes.  See, I didn’t give birth to Jennessi. At the time I was dating her father and she had been removed from her mother for abuse. And well, I had no intention of having a child but it happened. She needed a mom and I just so happened to be willing and able. For the next three years I raised her with her dad. Day in and day out. My whole entire family was involved. Literally everyone. My parents took her into their home and loved her as they would their own flesh and blood. She belonged with us. It never once felt weird for us, but other people couldn’t understand it. Every time she called me mommy, my heart melted. I did everything I could to be the best mother to her. She was my motivation and the love of my life.

3yrs later, 3 ½ yrs old we’re in court. Her birth mother wanted custody. Dad was incarcerated and well I had Guardianship. Judge says to me “The child wants to be with her mother.” I said yes, that’s me. She does not know her birth mother. For her I am her mother. “Well thank you for babysitting, but you are not her mother and she will go back to her mother.” My heart sank. Shit the tears are coming down my face now as I type this. I was not her mother? I nursed her, fed her, clothed her, taught her, played with her, guided her, and loved her. I was there for her first tooth, her first birthday, her first words. When she started to crawl, and walk. When she drank from a cup the first time at 9months old and when she successfully potty trained in one week. The long days I had from school and work and she would wait up for me and cuddle, when she slept on my chest until she was three years old, or when she begged me at 2 ½ to send her to school. Did this count for nothing? How was I not her mother? And how was this going to be explained to a 3 1/2yr old that her mother was not her mother. I still have nightmares you know from hearing her scream. “Mommy please don’t let them take me away. I’ll be a good girl! I’ll clean my room.” And just like that she was gone. Because someone else determined I was not her mother.

I eventually got Jennessi back in my life about a year and a half later. She wasn’t living with me just yet but at least we spent time together and she never forgot that I was her mother. She now knew and understood that I was her “stepmother” but she hated that word. She would always say I have two mommys. She always had a way of comforting me. In 2016, she came back to live with me full time for another almost 2yrs.

2015, I’m pregnant. IT WAS A MIRACLE FROM GOD. Jennessi prayed for me to get pregnant and boom just like that it happened. But as soon as I got pregnant was as soon as the comments rolled in. I can’t even tell you guys how many times people would tell me “you’re finally going to be a mom!” Um… did Jennessi not count? I couldn’t figure out if I was more upset that people didn’t recognize her as my daughter or they didn’t recognize me as her mom. Again, the labels mattered. Every time I would correct someone they would quickly respond “Oh you know what I mean, a real mom.” Ohh so this was like batting practice? Man fuck these people. Because now, at 7yrs old Jennessi was developing an insecurity too. She would tell me, “I wish I came from your body like my sister is. I wish I was your real daughter.” Ya’ll know how many times I had to tell her that no matter where she came from she WAS AND WILL ALWAYS BE MY DAUGHTER?!

August 17^th, 2015 I gave birth to Aubrey Brielle. And I fell in love for a second time. Funny thing was, she was Jennessi reincarnated. TWINS. August 31^st, 2015 Aubrey died. Once again I was child-less. In comes the, oh don’t worry your time will come. You will be a mom one day. Now I’m confused AF! I wasn’t a mother when I was raising a child that I didn’t give birth to, but now I’m not a mother because I gave birth to a child I’m not raising? Here we go again with being put into a box.

Fast forward 2 ½ yrs later. 2018 and almost all my conversations go like this:

“Do you have children?” Yes I do. “How old are they?” Well my oldest daughter will be 10 in August, she lives with her birth mom in PR now but I raised her most of her life and my second daughter Aubrey is deceased, she would have been turning 3yrs old this year. “Oh so you don’t have any children?” ROLLING MY EYES: I guess I don’t have any biological surviving children no.

Once again, outside of the “MOM” box. So what’s left for me? I raised another woman’s child to have her taken away from me on numerous occasions because I was not her mother. I have my own child and unfortunately lost her to medical issues so I am not lucky enough to raise her here on Earth. And all I have left is constantly feeling like I need to defend that I am still their mother.

I put my blood, sweat and tears into both of those children. But more so I put my faith and love into them. You see I may not have them physically with me, but I carry them with me everywhere I go. TRUST ME: I would do ANYTHING to have had the opportunity to legally adopt Jennessi and raise Aubrey. But unfortunately our story didn’t pan out that way. That does not negate my experience as THEIR MOTHER. Just because I don’t fit into YOUR box of what a MOTHER looks like doesn’t mean I’m NOT one.

I am so tired of crying about not being recognized as a mother. I AM A MOTHER AND A DAMN GOOD ONE AT THAT. I don’t want to fit into society’s description of what motherhood should look like. Motherhood for me has meant beauty, pain, sadness, sorrow, new growth but most importantly unconditional love. See Jennessi chose me to be her mother. How many of you can say you CHOSE the woman you admired and loved to be your mother? And my womb was so sacred I was chosen to carry an angel. Ya’ll can’t even begin to imagine the beauty in that pain until you have lost a child.

I more than anyone appreciate motherhood because I don’t take it for granted. I know what it is to have children and then not have them. So the next time you want to label, pass judgment or decide for someone else where they fit in society, do me a favor and FUCK OFF. Oh, and HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY !