My screams could be heard clear across the street...
The other stepmother sat upon my back one instance
One hand steadying her
The other, pounding and pounding a stick upon my rear
At other times sitting a two hundred pound mass upon my back to keep me still
Raising the welts higher and higher
Red upon blue upon purple upon black
My screams could be heard clear across the street •
My second stepmother is one I never talk to these days. Still, she sometimes calls me in a drunken stupor, reminiscent of the days when she raised me and inflicted her seeming hatred of me upon my body.
As a child, I lived in my own world — one of infinite possibilities, and I was the central and single only character. So, despite the roller coaster ride that was my childhood, I was always somehow aware that it was simply a thrill ride from which I would exit one day and never return. I was always aware of that in the most sacred, protected part of myself. And so, when I watched the many waves of abuse occur within those short 18 years and how they sometimes intercepted with my existence, I never took them personally. Therefore, when my 2nd stepmother found the hobby of beating me for minutes on end despite no transgressions of my own, I never took it into myself as a part of who I am.
Consequently, the days I attended highschool with raised purple welts on my hands, from my efforts to protect the area of my body being battered, and trying to sit tenderly so as not to summon the pain awaiting on my bottom, I studied with the full knowledge of where I would be in a short few years.
I have yet to find out why my 2nd stepmother hated me — evidenced by the unnecessary duration of the strikes against me. But I do know that she feels guilt for it now and am made aware by the apologies she has given for a crime to which she has never fully admitted.
Nevertheless, just like all relationships in life, this one too was complicated. Despite her previously evident hatred toward me, I can only thank her for the otherwise role she played in my life. The short 2 - 3 years in which my siblings and I lived in her care, we never faced housing insecurity or food shortages. This may be the bare minimum expected of an adult. Still, it is not overlooked, especially compared to the homelessness and hunger my multitude of siblings and I experienced in the earlier years.
Her role allowed me the stability I required to properly and fully apply for, be accepted into, and attend my undergraduate college, thereby releasing me from the hold of the roller coaster thrill ride onto ever greener pastures.
It is for all of the reasons I have mentioned above that despite her behavior having severely worsened my anxiety during the time; I have no regrets about my childhood. I am always searching for the silver linings in my life — namely, how the three mothers I have written about have impacted my life in succession and how, in their own ways, prepared me for the roles I take today — even if often merely by showing me what NOT to do 😉. What NOT to do is always a great lesson we should never take for granted. •
Poem from Acres of Shadow
© Aisha Tariqa Abdul Haqq Publishing
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