Sometimes I need to write. Sometimes I need to talk. Sometimes I need to draw. Sometimes I need to paint. Sometimes I need to sew. Sometimes I need to sing. Sometimes I need to rap. Sometimes I need to burn. Sometimes I need chemistry. Sometimes I need math. But all the time I need to Fuckin Create shit! -RealityOfAPreachersDaughter
You have to love yourself enough to say “No” to everyone else and “Yes” to yourself. I want a damn Bentley Bihhhhh! -RealityOfAPreachersDaughter
I thought it would be forever, I guess forever is only temporary -RealityOfAPreachersDaughter
I just watched Tony Robbins Nextflix special and realized one of my problems. I’ve never been acknowledged for anything by my family and it gets kinda old fast.
It started a long time ago and it hasn’t stopped. I’ve looked for recognition from people all around me and it hasn’t been that easy to get. I can’t believe I’m still having issues.
I think about all I’ve done for people and family and it just hurts for no one to care. They expect it because I’m the older sister, oldest child, the responsible one, the one that will help, the strong one, the one who will figure it out, the one that tries to keep the peace… The pushover. That shit sucks. But I realized something today. I have to be the best me for me, and in that, I’ll be able to help others. Help isn’t always handouts and pep talks. Sometimes it’s doing and saying nothing at all… RealityOfAPreachersDaughter
Ironically, I’m writing this on a Sunday. In the modern day “Christian” religion, it’s known as the Sabbath.
When you’re a Christian, you’re suppose to remember to always choose the Bible first. Reading other books related to Christian history and other religious books can damage your views of “Christ” and the bible. Well at least that’s how I was taught.
When I was a little girl, I remember saying “I’m not a Christian”. I never wanted to be. I watched “Christians” struggle, judge, lose themselves, hide, manipulate, hate, distort truth and consider themselves an untouchable being.
That’s not even all… Why in the world would anyone want to be like that? I recognized that as a little girl and decided I didn’t want to be “religious” or labeled to be anything other than myself. Now I recognize that even more. I’ve allowed myself to go a little deeper in the history of Christianity and learn history of Africa. Now I’m wondering what’s going on? Things aren’t adding up. I haven’t devoted enough time researching to talk about what I’ve learned so far, but to anyone with an open mind, you’d be wondering about “Christianity” too.
As a “Preacher’s Daughter”, and growing up with strict teachings, people will say all types of things about the person I’ve become.
“She’s a backslider” -What does that mean??
“She’s running from her call”
If my mom knew what I thought, she would be horrified and probably go on a fast for my soul.
My dad would probably say since I don’t talk to him anymore I’ve turned my heart from God. There’s a word for that he’s use before and I can’t think of it. I remember! He would say I have a “reprobate mind.”
Bottom line, I hate religion. It’s because of how I was raised, but you will read about that in my book.
Everyone has had a broken heart, I guess. It’s just worse when it’s the person you call father. The news I’ve been hearing lately about him has me very concerned (more like driving me nuts). I’ve tried time after time year after year, and he just makes . It’s like he just doesn’t care about his life anymore. There is nothing I could say to him because he would never listen anyway. So maybe, JUST MAYBE, when I finish this book, he will still have time to bounce back and turn his life completely around. Maybe I can save the father who could care less about me. #Prayforme
I’ve been crying for days. I wish he would just listen… It will never happen.
I’ve been messed up for years, but no one would really know. Covered it up quite good. I just wanted to have a relationship with my father that I never got. Since I was a little girl it was all about being tough, not being his little princess. I just wanted my daddy. The one who would hold my hand at the park, or tell me how proud he was of me. Tell me how beautiful I was, kiss my forehead and pray with me at bedtime. I cried a lot. I cried myself to sleep a lot. No one knew. I had to be the strong one for my siblings, for my mom. I had to be strong in front of my dad because when he saw a weakness he would irritate it, nag at it, scratch at it, until I fought back. It always ended badly.
As I grew up, I had to put on an armor. Changed my outward to look harder than I actually was. People who knew me when I was younger know how I use to dress. I was a tomboy. Boys clothes, worked out everyday, push ups, sit ups, running, boxing in the mirror. It kept the pain at ease and I had to make sure I was strong enough to fight my dad back.
I watched how he treated my brothers. One was the Favorite, the other was not. My mother and I would try to take up for him, but Dad was too overpowering. He never listened. It was always “his way”. His way was horrible. I prayed all the time that this would end. EVERYTHING WOULD END. It didn’t. It just got worse…