Ever had one of those days you just wanted to break down and cry. Someone asked you how you were doing and you have to change the subject as fast as possible so you could keep from crying… I cant take it. Not at the moment. I’m at work and feeling emotional. It’s a little overwhelming, but I have no choice but to take it. What other option is there?
God When is my change coming. I’m really trying to stay focused and not get stressed out. But life is stressing me the hell out right now. No one knows… and I don’t really want to talk to anyone about it because they will judge my life.
I don’t have anyone to talk to. I don’t have mentors well real ones because they don’t know me, Daymond John and Eric Thomas. My parents are unavailable.
Nothing about writing my life is easy. It’s been complicated for as long as I can remember.
Last year I decided to take charge of my life. I couldn’t take the constant struggle of dealing with family EVERYDAY. I have enough to deal with by myself, I don’t need added frustration.
Before you can help someone else, YOU HAVE TO HELP YOURSELF. It’s not selfish, it’s how to achieve a successful life. -Reality of a Preacher’s Daughter
We consume our lives with stress that’s not even our own. We can’t control everyone else’s lives and the decisions that they make. That is something I’ve taken responsibility for most of my life, other people’s lives. I felt that I could save the world, looking at families choices and saying that’s not a good idea. It’s difficult when you can see potential in the person and they do something else stupid… You want to cuss them out and say that was “dumb as hell”. I’ve had enough of that. I’m tired of giving advice and people do the opposite and want me to bail them out.
LEAVE ME ALONE
I have never had people concerned about my wellbeing. Are you ok? Do you need anything? You’re not feeling good, Let me bring you some soup. It’s always only been about everyone else. You will find out more in the book.
I’m editing my own book, so I can tell you right now, there will be grammatical errors, cussing, and a lot of things you wouldn’t think would be in a book called “Reality Of A Preacher’s Daughter”… but it is what it is. It’s my life and my life wasn’t sugar coated, so I’m not sugar coating what I write.
My book will be done before the summer. Flaws and all…
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
My mom is here. It’s like she never left, like she’s suppose to be here. It’s natural for me to wake up and know my mothers in the other room. It’s natural for me to go downstairs and fix coffee for the both of us. It’s natural for her to tell me to fix my hair and put on makeup. It’s natural for mommy to want to make biscuits and cornbread and clean clean clean.
What’s not natural is for my mother to be leaving me again the day after tomorrow to go to a place I know nothing about with people I’ve never met. It’s not natural for me to be 1500 miles away from her and to wonder if she’s doing ok, if she’s working on her books, if she’s drinking plenty of water and eating regularly. It’s not natural, because naturally I want her here with me.
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…