My oldest daughter’s biological father had kept some photos that were taken when I was just eighteen years old. He gave them to her and she passed them on to me. Receiving the photos triggered a lot of memories for me. I wish I could say they were good.
Most of the photos were taken by my former roommate who was much older than I. This roommate and I used to drink together and we had some pretty good times. One night, however, I was passing out from too much wine he climbed on top of me and sexually assaulted me. He only stopped when I started to throw up. This was around the same time I started going out with my oldest daughter’s biological father. He never knew what my old roommate did and I didn’t talk about it for years.
After I moved in with my daughter’s biological father I started running around on him. I cheated, and lied, and manipulated the poor man. He was a good man but I did not treat him or the relationship with any kind of respect. I got caught cheating when I passed a sexually transmitted infection to him. I had also gotten unexpectedly pregnant. I had an abortion for a few reasons, not the least of which was that I didn’t know who the father was as I was also raped (by a stranger) at around the same time.
About six months later I found myself pregnant again and I knew the biological father was my boyfriend but he and I split up. Almost immediately afterwards I started going with a violent alcoholic (he was only violent when he drank-which was all the time) and we were homeless for months. I left him about a month before my daughter was born and crawled home to my parents with my tail between my legs. After she was born I left her with my parents while I went to live with another boyfriend who hit me (he only did it once) and I went back home again after just two months. It was at this point I made the decision to sign the adoption papers my parents had drawn up.
The memories are painful but I have managed to tolerate the sorrow and shame. It’s a very different reaction than I had a few years ago when he (my daughter’s father) contacted me to ask if she was really his daughter. I cried for five straight days. I couldn’t function. I was back there experiencing it all over again. Instead I was able to show my younger self some compassion and move on. I didn’t experience the self-loathing nor did I judge myself as harshly as I once did. I spoke to myself like I would to a dear friend. It was like looking at my history through a different lens.
My Phoenix Rising 