Yesterday I was reminded what my potential is. My life isn’t what I see, because this isn’t what I want and isn’t what I’m working for. I’ve been scared to finish the book and post my music because what people will think… But out of the 300 friends that I have on Facebook. 30 people probably actually read the posts and 2-8 people “like” it. So why should I care. It’s a mistake to care so much about what People think. It holds us back from our true selves. The person who can really make a difference.
Make mistakes. At least you’re trying. If it’s a mistake for me to be a business owner, preacher’s daughter, artist, older sister, wife and spill my life like this… I guess it is what it is. I will be successful anyway.
My work is my life. My skincare line is my life. My art is my life. Writing is my life. These things balance me because I can be creative in different ways and I will use what I have to achieve the level of success I’m reaching for. Made a mistake and told someone what I’m striving for and they shot it all down. That’s why I keep my thoughts to myself. No one lives in my shoes and can do what I can because we are all different with different goals.
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…