Instead of getting upset I put my energy into writing. Those months in
the shelter taught me something. Do what you love. Well writing has been
my therapy. I started it then when I was scared to death about my
future. Was he going to find me? What was I going to do? Does anyone
care? Most of all was he really going to take my baby from me? I raised
him by myself. Most of things were a need to know basis. I was his wife
didn’t I need to know? It was after that first prenatal appointment that
I realized. It was my job! You do what you got to do just do it! I
remember that trip home. It was than I truly realized I was on my own
from there on. The air was icy with the first silent treatment.

Your situation is different he never hit you. The words rung in my head
for days. I had no idea what they meant. But the words what about them?
I wished I had never forgotten that notebook. It had everything in my
head written down. Never to forget the pregnancy. The first few days of
motherhood. The fight with my mother I wish I never had. Don’t fucking
tell me it is different! "Girl don’t let anyone walk over you." was a
piece of advice given to me. I was a PK in the raw world. I was a
single mother fighting for her pride and title. The worst thing he
could come up with was feeding our son cake for breakfast. What the
hell? I was stunned. I cleaned the house, did laundry, and was a full
time stay at home mom.

Before all of that I was a military spouse. That was an title I never
dreamed of having in my life. It was a lifestyle with a price. I kept my
word till the end. It was either grow old acting like it was normal or
take the divorce card. After things changed I thought I could grin and
bare it all. My body was worn out and my mind afraid of everything like
being left behind for being late. I was far from home, friends, and
everything familiar. Would anyone ever believe me? Would I be judged by
the same community that was kind to me before?

So you see with all this in mind that is why I write. I was prepared for
the haters and mean words. It hurts, but I have heard worse. I left
because of the words and looks. They told me to be strong and live life.
So dammit you need to know that someday these words might help someone
else in my shoes. That same child I cradled has my blood in him too. He
will jump and play like his cousins. I assure you he will have the
blood of his Ethiopian ancestors flowing through his veins. We are a
proud family. His aunts and uncles love him with just an image in their
mind of a sweet energetic loving boy I gave birth to.

Phrases I hear from the Ethiopian community:
"He will come looking for you." "He will ask about his mommy."

Sent from mobile phone.