Write for five minutes. Then share over @thegypsymama.
The word this week is she.
She was born during the depression. Her parents were very poor and had 4 other girls to feed. She got sent away to live with an uncle who had the ability to feed her. She thought her parents loved her, but being sent away feels like abandonment no matter what you tell yourself.
When she came home, she lived with her family in a rundown house. She had no indoor plumbing until she was a teenager.
Her father was a frightening figure, prone to drunkeness. He wasn’t a happy drunk, threatening to explode at every turn. She was strong willed and defiant, not willing to let him push her around while her mother would look on.
She had an instinct to protect the ones she loved, taking care of her sisters, buying them gifts.
She married young to escape her father’s house. She said, If I don’t get married now, I might kill him.
When I ask about her childhood, she laughs about it. But this childhood shaped her. She raised 3 children of her own based on what she learned. She didn’t do a perfect job, but she did the best she could. She was not particularly affectionate, but she took care of her children very well. She didn’t harm her children the way she was harmed as a child. And that’s so worth something.
She is my mother.