If you were to ask my 30 years ago why I was so passionate about writing, you would not get the same answer I will provide you today.
Imagine being 5, and told that you were going to visit your first love and second best friend, which is your Daddy. But in actuality, you were being dropped off to live with his mother, so that your mother could get herself together while being in love with a new beau who was not interested in being a stepfather. You can’t go to Daddy’s house because his new wife doesn’t like you, and wants him to focus on their new family. And to make matters worse, for an entire year, you were subjected to the world of incest by your older male relatives. And in that season of your life, you learn the craft of mentally and emotionally going into another world, as your molesters afflicted you.
Imagine being 8, content living in a house without lights, gas, or water because you still have candles, your favorite books, your imagination, and most importantly, your caregiver. But it is short-lived. One day, you have to go next door to use the neighbor’s phone. You call your grandparents to come get you because your parent has been gone so long, that mental health can no longer stomach living in darkness and your body can no longer accept hunger because you ran out of food and candles.
Imagine being 9, and a peer shows you how to ‘feel good’…and in a sick and twisted way she does because she didn’t make you feel ‘handled.’ But at the same time, that moment added to correlating men with unsafe and painful feelings and experiences and females being a safe comfort.
Imagine being 11, and forced to live to with your mother permanently because Granddaddy died, and Granny was not mentally capable of caring for herself, let alone a child. And instead of your mother being sober, her own addictions and life’s disappointments infuriate her to the point she despises you and looks you in your face and says, “I don’t like you.” And the devil (the enemy over our soul) convinces you are better off dead.
By the age of 13, you don’t see yourself as a gifted writer as my teachers often told you, you are just confident in your ability to communicate my words on paper, where my secrets of child trauma, feelings of inferiority, hopelessness, and low self-worth are safe.
By the age of 14, you are homeless and a high school dropout.
So why am I passionate about my writing? The answer is simple. God gave me a gift to help be a solution to an overlooked, and even as intentional unspoken social problem. Child abuse in any form does not discriminate. It effects all genders, races, religions, and social classes. It helps perpetuate the cycle of trauma, (gender) confusion, perversion, criminality, unhealthy addictions, and other destructive fruits.
I am a not just a writer. I am a proud Christian writer that conveys the goodness of Christ; I can give innumerable accounts of His grace and mercy over my life despite my shortcomings.
Yes, I have some not-so-good events that happened in my life. However, I am writing you all as a testament of being a fragmented temple whose broken pieces have been turned and continue to be turned in masterpieces of testimonies. Testimonies of how I have been able to tell someone it doesn’t matter your past, God has the final say. I should have been dead at the age of 11 from a drug overdose, but I am still here telling my story of being a overcomer and not a victim. I have four natural children after being told at an adolescent age, I would never have children. I went from living in the projects to being a property owner. I went from being a high school drop off, to preparing to receive my 4th college degree. I have been able to assist abused and neglect children, addicted parents, and disabled people for nearly 20 years. I went from having a creative imagination to escape the harshness of life to become an accomplished published writer discussing the goodness bestowed unto man, which is Christ. With all that being said, that is why I am a passionate writer!