Rising from Ashes

Being granted in my divorce… the right to use my birth name.

This was a tick on a box for the Judge.  For me… it was like this huge… thick wooden castle door that had been secured with one of those heavy… rusted… box locks that only one skeleton key could open.

That Judge had the key that opened that old lock.  He did that… for me.

This was the gift of having my identity returned to me.

When I mention the word ‘Identity’… I’m not speaking only about a name.

I spent my childhood growing up looking in mirrors… trying to figure out who I was.

I didn’t look like anyone in the family.  They all got sunburns.  I got suntans.  They all had freckles.  I didn’t.  So… who did I look like?

And through those years… I dealt with frequent blows of emotional abuse that really destroyed me from the inside.

The worst part about that is this.

Each and every day I stood in front of that mirror… getting ready for the day… I gave time to trying to figure out who I looked like… and who… I… was.

And every moment of mental and emotional abuse that came along… ended up being embedded into that vision… that was being drawn in that mirror… every single day.

I wasn’t even allowed to use my name.  I’d never seen my birth father.  I was 9-years-old when I first found out about him.

My Dad insisted on being the one to give me the story… even though he’d never even met the guy.

And God help me… if I dared to just whisper a question… to even that 14-year-old girl that gave birth to me.

Nobody… in my corner.

Once again… one more reason why she never should have been allowed to bring me home from the hospital.

She was just a kid.  She had no sense about her.  She had no clue about standing up for a child… defending a child.

She ended up out in the world… having to defend her own self… as a child.  And nobody ever bothered to instill any good… positive values into her psyche.

The Domino Effect was real.  And in my case… completely destructive.

I’ve worked so hard… over the past 5 years… trying to go find Teresa… and reclaim her.  And stop the cycle.

Years of damage can’t be fixed in a couple years.  Open wounds show up for others… as well as myself.

I can only say this.  I’m aware that it’s my responsibility to heal myself.  Anyone else has free will to choose… whether or not… they want to heal themselves.

It all comes down to how much you truly care about yourself.  How much self-respect means to you.  How badly you want the pain to go away.

And sometimes… the work load required for achieving that… requires total separation from all things that awaken all the pain.  A human can only handle so much.

I’m being a mother to myself.  Because I never had one.

And on a side note… THIS is something all you so-called Pro-Lifers need to consider.

Because you’re really no Pro-Lifer.

You disappear after the births.

As I just said… NOBODY in my corner.

I had my aunt and uncle as an infant… until my Dad came along when I was only 16-months-old.  Why?  Because of the laws… of course.  They couldn’t be there as much as they wanted.  But they were there for me as much as they could be.

And they were just a young newly married couple, themselves.

So get off your Unicorns and get real.  Either get all the way in.  Or… get out!!

Because I’m living proof of the leftovers from the devastation.

Chew on that… while I get back on topic.

I’m protecting and defending my Identity… giving it a safe place to heal… and finally… gain a chance to develop… grow… mature.

In a world obsessed with labels… I choose my surname for that umbrella I’m standing under.

What am I?

I’m becoming.

And I now have that shell needed for encasing all that I am.

Teresa Marie Tavares.