I kind of struggled about writing this blog entry… It’s a subject that most people love to quiet with useless and unrealistic platitudes, based upon their great experiences of being mothered. For someone like me who loves the woman who birthed me very much, but doesn’t know what it is like to have a non-toxic nurturing from her; these careless and unperceptive comments burn the soul in ways that show signs of singe in future lifetimes.
The gorgeous and genius woman who gave me life loved me, she just didn’t have the capacity to do what came so easily to my great aunt… My Aunt Bea. My mother was harsh, strict, and often cruel… I had my first ulcer at 9 years old because she put so much pressure on me… Stressed AF at 9! This ulcer caused me so much pain. I remember my Aunt Bea said she was taking me back to the doctor…I felt like this was a threat. You see, I was deathly afraid off doctors and hospitals, and so I earnestly prayed and asked the CREATOR to “make my belly stop hurting”; I fell asleep shortly after. When I woke up, I suffered no more pain and could eat without discomfort after the fact… I’m dead serious. 🙌🏿
If it were not for Aunt Bea, I wouldn’t have had anywhere to be free, to breathe, or to be unapologetically sweet and giving in nature… Aunt Bea was my home. For many years, I pushed her memory from me; devastated she had transitioned without me when I was 11 years old.
My mother was always away/traveling on business, and was based out of South Carolina at the time. As I stated previously, she was genius and a genius; her brain in high demand for her engineering and mathematical capacities. So, being able to live with Aunt Bea was a dream come true for me, I didn’t miss my mother at all, though she still would call and threaten me over the phone. Yeah, that ulcer situation was just from over the phone conversations. Aunt Bea would scold her and make her stop; she was my protection but I worried a lot.
Imagine how devastated I was to wake up at 3:30 A.M. on 2/1/1995, to find Aunt Bea looking at me; her eyes set… Demonstrating that her last thoughts in her body were with me… Her spirit probably woke me up to alert me at that odd hour; I can’t imagine her not doing something to let me know she was leaving—Life changed drastically.
One of my most distinct memories of my Aunt Bea’s funeral, was that in which everyone was beside themselves in grief… No one held me or my hand. I walked into that service by myself, and walked out of it by myself… Literally. It was a true metaphor for how my life would go thereafter. One saving grace during that ordeal was that my best friend at the time, her grandmother saw me literally sitting by myself at the funeral, and so she sent my friend to come sit with me; she held my hand. I’ve never forgotten that or the comfort it brought me. Thinking back on it now, I wonder what adult people at that service were thinking as they observed me and those “family” members. As an adult, I can’t imagine the angst and worry I would feel for a child sitting all alone at her mother figure’s funeral. Knowing me, I’d go hold the child and give the selfish family members stank face and feel uber justified in doing so… One thing about a Libra Woman is, once we feel justified in something; you can’t do nothin’ with us.🤣
I finished out the school year where I was, staying with a friend of my mothers in my hometown. My mother didn’t stress me out at all during this time, which is a blessing. However, the new temporary living situation I was in had me stressed and perplexed. I was staying with a family that I knew very well… The woman of the household had always watched me and would take me on amazing imaginary adventures throughout the neighborhood with her kids. She lived only two streets over from Aunt Bea’s. I thought this would be great for the time being, because she was so nice and so much fun,.. Thing is, It was much different knowing her on a 24-7 basis. I was very close to her for years; she had known me since I was a baby. Still, living in her house… A place I had spent many hours and days; I didn’t feel very welcome anymore. I very much felt like a burden, and the cheerful, adventurous woman who had always favored me seemed to have some sort of annoyance with me now. Back before this living arrangement, I use to sometimes wish that my biological mother was more like her. Living in her house showed me that very few people can actually love other peoples kids wholly; on a regular basis at least.
The community that I knew growing up revolved around my Aunt Bea, her neighborhood, her church, and all the sick and shut-in people she would visit routinely. It was a very small city, so many people knew me and would try to do things with me to lift my spirits after Aunt Bea transitioned—Everyone knew how inseparable we were. Folks would invite me over to their homes, and gift me with things to let me know they cared. I was glad to have places to be considering I felt like a burden where I stayed. Even the more cranky members of the community who proudly and often declared how much they didn’t like kids; they showed me tenderness and went out of their way to do so. All because they knew and respected Aunt Bea…She was the most giving and warm person. I can’t tell you any catch phrases she would say… She was very action oriented and kind, but if you pissed her off; she would get right to the point and get you together real quick. She had a very hearty and distinct laugh, and her words still formed with West Virginia residue.
Being a child of Ethiopian Jewish and African-American decent, I got to experience a lot about how spirituality is interpreted/ worked out, and I knew how to speak the language of whatever spiritual situation I found myself in. My great aunt was a Baptist… Maybe with a lil’ hoodoo in there…Superstitious and holy, I swear. 🤣 She’d tell me to go outside when I was workin’ her nerves, and even in that I felt nothing but her love…She’d make me go outside, then sit on the porch and watch me play; cheering me on… She really loved me.
Aunt Bea had spent a considerable amount of time in various cities in Egypt and also in Jerusalem and Nazareth in the 70’s. Her house was full of so many amazing artifacts and cultural items; some of which I overheard stories of her “hiding from customs”…LOL… She was loved everywhere she went and could charm anyone. Wherever she went, people wanted to gift her with things special to them.
How she came to be my aunt is another story too long for this blog. My grandfather is not her biological sister; he was brought here to Amerikkka as a child and abandoned… I don’t know what indignities or whose hands he was in… Or if his mother sent him away with a missionary, in hope for a “better life” for him? A lot was going on in Ethiopia at the time…The Italians were trying it, and many Africans of the Amerikkka’s (AA’s) were in solidarity and struggle on behalf of Ethiopian People. There were Ethiopians here in Amerikkka at the time, of course so yeah…So it’s deep. Had my grandfather been sold as some sort of servant? Was he being treated badly and then ran from whoever brought him over? I only know bits and parts because no one would talk about it fully. He was an Ethiopian Jewish child, old enough to know who he was and his culture, and young enough to still need hands on guidance and support. He came over on a ship, but what happened? He won’t say. He of course went back to Ethiopia for a while when he was of age; met my grandmother eventually… Of a people called “falasha”(outsider) by other Ethiopians… A people who had survived in Ethiopia long past the glory days of Menelik, son of Soloman & Sheba and the eventual Christianization of Ethiopia; which meant the bastardization of those of Hebraic Faith… That’s when our people became falashas to the rest of Ethiopia. They lost land, resources, taken out of the royal line, shamed and everything else… Many became clandestine Jews, some Messianic to ease the burden of prejudice from them, but the ways of our people always made them stand out…Like a neon sign hung above their heads. Ethiopian Jews, collectively became an impoverished people through this hatred of us in Ethiopia, and our refusal to convert to Christianity. So most people in Ethiopia called my people buda; meaning those who have the evil eye. They wouldn’t buy or sell with our and considered us unclean; irony upon irony…
The same ones who face much racism in Israel today and ostracization in Ethiopia…The same ones who have been, case by case, migrating all over the world for hundreds of years… So no, it doesn’t all start and end with the mass Aaliyah of Ethiopian Jews to Israel from Ethiopia in the 1980’s…The story is much richer and much more complicated than most care to know…Maybe I’ll tell you the little I know, for I am learning still, on a future blog post. But I digress…
Anyway, Aunt Bea grew up near a port in West Virginia, found my grandfather under a tree one day and brought him home. Aunt Bea was always important to all of us… My grandfather revered her; whatever she said was how it was…She was and still is everything, hunny. As a matter of fact, many in Aunt Bea’s family never would claim me as a relation, and I never understood why until after she had travelled to the Ancestral Realm…Without me. As you can tell, I am still in shock, after all these years, that she had the nerve to leave without me…Like what? We always went everywhere together. I can only think of one trip she went on while still in this realm of things, that she didn’t take me with her; we both regretted it.🙇🏿♀️ *smile* Aunt Bea was the woman who mothered me; blood relation does not outweigh soul relation…This I know.
So… the beautiful and genius creature, who gave me life… After Aunt Bea died, I had to go live with her. My story is not so unique in that way, many Big Momma’s and Aunties in BLACK Culture in the Amerikkka’s, have taken care of their young kin while their parents pursued other things, or because they were unable to care for them rightly. I think about Maya Angelou and how her grandmother in Stamps, Arkansas raised her and her brother Bailey… They didn’t even know they had parents for the longest time. Then they eventually went to live with their real mother, and though they loved her; that mother-esqe bond was with their grandma in Stamps…She was their real home, and that was much of what I felt with Aunt Bea.
As I mentioned earlier, the beautiful and genius creature, who gave me life, was harsh and often cruel… No one to save me from her fits now that Aunt Bea was gone. My mother and grandfather had run off my father by the time I was 3 or so. My mother only told me that he couldn’t do for me what she could, and that he had been verbally abusive to her and that he was very controlling. If so, I get her not wanting to stay with him; that’s not heathy. Her executive decision to cut him from me completely was sinister and selfish. I have memories of him… He always was happy to be around me, he was a smoker, wore glasses like me, and was very musical. I overheard my mother and my aunt laughing about how he was asking to see me, and how they cussed him out… On a few occasions. I was never angry with him because I heard of these exchanges of him wanting to see me… It let me know he did care, and I also know how severe my grandfather was; I felt he had no chance.
It was only at the age of 27 when I was trying to find him that I felt my first tinge of anger at my father… Not much; just a little. Having come into my own self worth, I began to wonder why he didn’t fight for me more? Doesn’t he know off the wall these people I had to deal with were? He should have taken my mother to court or found out where I was and popped up—Made his presence known. I absolutely do not know a whole other side of my family, and a brother my mother has mentioned that I have… I can’t help but imagine what life would’ve been like for me, had he fought a little harder for me… Or did he, and I just don’t know about it? I never received any letters from him or anything, not even a birthday card…If he saw my aunt all the time, maybe send something for me through her. One time my aunt seemed to feel bad about the situation and told me she saw my dad, when I lit up in front of my mother; she started arguing wth my aunt… My aunt whispered to me that she would take me to see him, but she never did.
I guess I just wanted to see him literally fighting to see me once. It may sound stupid, but that would have made him a saint in my minds eye. So if you’re not a rapist or abuser and your baby momma or daddy won’t let you see your kids… At least fight hard so they can see you are fighting for them… This is important. Don’t just give in to the other parent not wanting you to see them. They’ll remember and come look for you one day… Knowing you fought hard for them will endear you to them. Leave traces of yourself so it’s easy to find you when they come of age…Write letters to them even if they get returned; keep them if they do. One day they will try to come find you. I do know he did try some… I guess I just wanted him to break walls to do it… I didn’t ask for these people to summon me down here to this wretched earth…LOL… I wondered, did my father know or care that the pressure I lived under was killing my harshly?
Having all the material things I needed from my mother; yet I literally was raising myself with no support in every other way. So, how I feel about my father now is neutral… No sadness or anger. I’ve searched and searched for my father and my other side of the family to no avail… Mostly because my mother won’t give me the right information…Yeah, I know. But hey, I am at peace with it never materializing at this point. I am not angry at him. Maybe for my specific case on this planet… Maybe it’s supposed to be this way. Maybe it is best I just don’t know him for some reason… Maybe he would break my heart too? I dunno, it is not up to me anymore; I’m cool on it. I mean also, when I came of age, he could have found me then. I was always in the newspaper for so many things I was accomplishing, so dude could have found me… He knows when I turned 18…The burden shouldn’t just be on me to find him, and believe me i’ve tried. But this I do know and I want everyone reading this to remember: The universe will eventually send you everything you need… You may have to wait a long time for some things, but eventually what you need will come. Just do right by yourself and others, follow SPIRIT, and be Light in your own darkness as best you can manage—Which admittedly isn’t easy… But even in that darkness, specks of light will come to sustain until the Sun shines fully and readily… I encourage myself in this soul truth when the heaviness of life brings me down.
So anyway, I suffered for years with my biological mother… If she got mad at me, I could be ignored for days. If I made a mistake or forgot a chore, I could be without phone for months. I decided my own classes, signed my own permission slips… I lived in a town without public transportation, so I had to figure out how I would get to my rehearsals and other activities… I didn’t have anyone waking me up for school, or asking me how things were going. If I needed money for something, she always would give it to m… Usually just leave a blank check(back when people actually used and wrote checks) on the counter for me to fill out… She didn’t even read any paperwork, I don’t think she ever had a conference with any of my teachers since I was in second grade… It was about the results. As long as my grades were right when they mailed my report card, then she was cool. If not, she would punish me extensively. She told me she would only come to my activities if it were something big, like I was starring in something. She did come when I starred in something. But regular performances, meets, or games… Nah, she’d rather enjoy her pastime: video games. Yes, my mother is a gamer… She would play for hours.
I had to walk on egg shells everyday. I would check and triple check to make sure everything was right… My heart would pound out my chest when I heard that garage door open, which is why I tried to never be home… I would always greet her from the top of the stairs when I heard her come in, I knew by the tone she responded or if at all, what sort of mood she was in or if I had done something wrong… It was always something and she would berate me, and I would just go to my room and lay silently; wanting to cry but unable. I couldn’t dare be heard sniffling or crying, or I’d get slapped, plus no tears would come out anyway… Just numb. I wasn’t allowed to show “negative” emotions around my mother or grandfather… No sadness, anger, frustration… I had a smart azz mouth sometimes, this is true… I questioned things like I didn’t have an African parent… An African parent who grew up most her life in Turkey( my grandfather moved them to Turkey when she was 5)…Yeah, I was kinda cray cray…LOL I have been a freedom fighter since I was at least in 2nd grade, maybe I was born with it… I would try to get justice for myself and others in most circumstances, but I didn’t try it often with her… My boldness had limits then. I had a lot of racist teachers all throughout school, so I mostly argued with them; which was important.
When I grew up and began the path of Spirituality and awareness I’ve now walked almost 14 years, it gave me the necessity to not need my mother and grandfathers approval. I wasn’t at all disrespectful, especially once on this new part of my journey, but the fact that I wasn’t going to be under their thumb anymore became a huge problem. They thought I was out my mind, and admittedly so, I told them too much about the ways in which I was beginning to shift and become more open to my destiny. Let me give a bit of wisdom righchea’… Not everyone will understand you and you do not, for the sake of what is being formed within your spiritual womb… You don’t want to give people access to your vulnerability; because you are very vulnerable as you first begin to shift and take in a lot of new information and enlightenment. My grandfather began to hate me… And I eventually distanced myself from tall of them so I could grow and listen & evolve.
Over 11 years ago, I went to visit them for a few days. My grandfather had bought me, my mother and aunt all of this stuff. I think he was trying to mend things, but at this point I really didn’t care about stuff. Stuff, material things; it isn’t my main love language, though I do like cool/nice shit, I mean of course… I can take it or leave it… Doesn’t phase me; doesn’t impress me at all. Things don’t make me feel loved unless they are accompanied by my primary love language which is quality time with people who actually care and don’t harm me, and thoughtfulness/sincerity… I don’t care about brands because I boycott most brands…LOL… I like to make a lot of things too, and support BLACK owned as much as possible. So anyway, I wasn’t excited to be at this gathering, but I felt led to come so I did.
It just so happened, that my mother didn’t like this that coat my grandfather had bought her, so my aunt and myself went to pick her out something else. My mother is very spoiled, but she has suffered greatly at my grandfathers hands so… So I don’t mind her being kind of bratty; she’s known for it. But my aunt, who my mother says has always been jealous of me; she set me up for a fail. So check it out… My mother and I have different tastes, and my aunt knows her better than me in that regard. I picked out a coat and my aunt said: “Yeah let’s get this one!” knowing full well that my mother would hate it. As bratty as my mom is, I never thought that picking out a coat she hated would make her abandon me, but it did. She was so angry about this coat not being her taste. Maybe she was angry I didn’t know her well enough to get it right… Maybe that was where her hurt originated… I noticed my aunt kinda smirking as my mother started yelling at me about it…I started to tear up, because having gotten out of their clutches, the MOST HIGH had been restoring my ability to feel and be connected and present… She then yelled: “Don’t you dare cry” and stormed off—Left me standing there like, WTF? o_0
I went to my room at my grandfathers house, and just cried and over again. I kept hearing in my spirit: I’m breaking the ties, I’m breaking the ties…” It was like a song that gets stuck in your head; it would not stop, y’all. It was accompanied by a warm and comforting presence; a reassurance. I fell asleep listening to this broken record.
A few hours later, I woke up to a car revving up outside. I looked out the window and it was my mother… She left; didn’t even say goodbye. I haven’t heard from her ever since, nor have I tried to beg her to talk to me like I use to do my entire life. I believed those whispers that were keeping me steady as I was almost drowning in my own tears, and the other unctions as well to just let her go… ORIT: Abandoned at 22.
In many ways it was a relief, but I thought she would reach out to me soon after, but she didn’t. I think it really sunk in that this was my new reality about 6 months later when I had come to my grandfathers house again. I saw a letter on the table to him from my mother, so I snuck and read it… She wanted to take him out, and apologize for how she had acted. She didn’t mention my name at all in this letter. She was just concerned about whether he was angry with her or not. My grandfather thinks he is the Ethiopian Godfather. The contents of the letter confirmed to me; the whispers were right.
I could tell you so much more of the story… About things that would be heartbreaking and shocking but this post has enough info in it to properly introduce my lived experience in this area…
So, now let’s revisit the idea I first introduced in the beginning of this blog post—About people dismissing a “being mothered experience” rooted in a reality like mine. Anyone who can identify with ill-treatment, neglect, abuse, or abandonment form their biological mothers are often told to suck it up… “She’s the only mother you will have!”, folks often say. This is so very hurtful, because no one wants to be estranged from their mother, and no one deserves to be treated like shit by their mother either. Sometimes separation, which happens by the mother or their offspring(s) own choosing, is necessary so that the child can function and fulfill their destiny in this life.
This is such a far-fetched idea to most people who have had biological mothers who nurtured them beautifully and awkwardly… I mean, we get it, those of us in this position… That no one is perfect, that mothers make mistakes, that mothers don’t get it right always and go through rough patches with their kids… This is so true and normal, yes we know! However, OVERSTAND that this normalcy is a hell of a lot different then having a biological mother who: Perpetually cripples the emotional, spiritual, and/or physical well-being of their offspring. This isn’t a disagreement or something, this is an all-encompassing brand of non-nurturing, that thrives by eating away at the soul of the offspring… So parasitic in nature that love from mother to child or child to mother isn’t enough to ignore the very nature of it.
Let me say this, I love my biological mother… Even though I haven’t chased after her, nor she after me after “the final incident”… I miss her. I miss her because I love her, and the healer in me feels like a failure because I wonder if I should have stayed to be a healer for her… I am reminded, through so many other factors I have not yet discussed in this entry… I am reminded that chasing after my biological mother wouldn’t be wise, it wouldn’t be right.
Just imagine, my uncle who I don’t know very well, he found me on Facebook back in 2009. He gave me his number and told me to visit him sometime… Not sure how genuine that was, or if it was just talk, but it was very much appreciated on my end. He went off Facebook right after… He had just come on to find and talk to me. I don’t know him that well, he’s like a stranger to me and I lost his number. Thing is, he looked for me… Showed me he cared, and told me he understands how they( his dad and his siblings) are…I t was very kind of him. I’m sure he told my mother he seen me online, he eluded that he had, but she wasn’t really interested in finding me. I guess she feels I have to come to her. Again, the whispers were right.
I feel like people say nice things but don’t really mean them. This has been my experience with most everyone I have ever encountered. Like, some people genuinely mean well, but they don’t literally mean what they say. So, this makes me cautious around people who seem like they want to embrace me as their own… I am just waiting/looking for clues to see if they really mean what they say… Or if I am mistaking what they are saying as literal and will eventually experience that feeling I ever so hate; that feeling of not belonging and overwhelming stupidity, for thinking they weren’t “just talking” but indeed being serious.
I wish people were as blunt and straight meaning as I am… Like, if I say something, unless being poetic or playing around; I mean just that. If I say you are my sister, I really mean that in every sense of the word. If I tell you that you can call me anytime, I literally mean just that… If I say let me know how I can help you, my ass is ready to assist in actual real life. Most people aren’t like that though, and the awareness that wonderful people who mean well… Well… They just really don’t mean what they say in a literal way; this makes me cautious and nervous and unsure. Trying to read what people actually mean, whilst being accepting of that truth and respecting it fully.
I’m a clarifier in every area of life, so I ask questions… But I admit this is one area I find it hard… I feel like no one owes me anything, so I’ll ask once and if I still feel weird; I observe…Trying to see if I am just trippin’ which is totally possible, or if my feelings have merit. I never want to feel like I am not wanted… Because of my experiences I am extra sensitive to this, so If I am not sure, or if I get a vibe that folks don’t really mean what they say: I’ll just stay to myself.
I am sharing my story on this subject, because I know there are others who need to know this has happened to someone else…Someone else understands. I understand what it is like to be sad around the holidays that you don’t even celebrate, just because everyone is talking about being with their families and all the great stuff they will do. I know what it is like to be invited places but decline because you know that people will ask you awkward questions about this very subject, or that you will feel alone/not able to relate to activities and having no one to understand/share in your awkwardness with you in those moments. I know what it is like to be such a strong and helping individual, that people never see that you need encouragement or mentoring or real friendship…I get it, I get it, I get you!
Truth is, none of us ever outgrow needing a mother, whether she is related by bloof to us or not… It’s very important to have someone in your adult years that can provide the type of nurturing and wisdom and correction that only a mama can. Like I said earlier, the universe can be slow, but eventually everything needed will be given…But also I must say we have to not only be open to the right one(s) sent, but they also have to be open to us as well. Everybody needs people… Everyone needs a tribe… It is a very shallow, scary, and lonely existence without one.
So, here are a few tips to consider when dealing with a person who has an estranged biological or adoptive mother situation:
- Upon learning someone isn’t close with their biological/adoptive mother: Do Not Assume it’s their fault! Show empathy and ask them if they want talk about it. If they do, LISTEN. If they don’t, respect that and keep a mental note to lift up prayers and good vibes on their behalf.
- Don’t minimize the trauma of the individual or excuse the parent for it.
- Be a friend… Like, an actual real one, and let them be an equally good friend to you. Be honest, and handle any issues right away so that they never have to wonder where they stand with you.
- If you’re an awesome loving mother or father, or just any loving individual in general; demonstrate/share/actualize some of it on them…Genuine love and concern can be felt and won’t be rejected; though they may be cautious because of not being use to it.
- If you feel the omniverse has assigned a person(s) to you for re-mothering; congrats it’s a grown ass human that you didn’t have to get stretch marks for😁!!! Try to be patient and don’t take their caution of you personally. Remember, they are scared you will just tire of them one day, show them you won’t… Them not being your “real” child is a fact that may reinforce this fear. Tune into and pay attention to what they say and what they don’t say. They may feel embarrassed or unworthy of telling you when they need your support. Be sure you’re willing to really be there for them in this capacity, or don’t step in at all. Consistency and love from the soul is what is needed.
- Try to always be mindful not to put them in situations where people will pry into their sensitive situation, unless you are willing to be there and have their back. Know what triggers their sadness about their situation, and be Light to them.
- Build community. There are a good number of people who don’t have people, and many people aren’t worth having if we’re being 100% honest. There is no BLACK Community without the mamas… If you are a dope mama and love being that, make yourself known so that we can build community around your light beams~Ashe’!
In Unashamed Négritude & Revolutionary Love,
ORIT
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