"Urban Life" Blog by Sista Sho' Nuff Voices

My Gift to My Children

• by Sista Sho' 'Nuff
• January 16, 2017

As a mother, my number one goal has always been to protect my children. I left their dad because I didn’t want  my kids to grow up thinking that it was okay to hurt someone that you are suppose to love. I’ve made it a point to not flaunt men in front of my kids because I didn’t want them to have a negative image of women. I also made sure to tell them that I loved them, that I was proud of them and that I thought they were the most beautiful human beings walking the planet everyday because I didn’t want them searching for it in other people. I do these things because it was what I always wanted, from my own mother. It was the words that I thought would have made me stronger and less susceptible to the negative in the world. Parenting is trial and error really, there is no book or outline to tell you how to do it right. And even if you try as hard as you can, it doesn’t mean your kids will automatically be successful at life. But what I have done is created two souls that have grown up to be intelligent, handsome and well mannered boys. And before I pat myself on the back, I have to tell you that with all the good I have tried to implant and nurture in my children. I have also given them my bad… When I was younger I had a very negative self image. I constantly doubted my worth, questioned my intelligence and my looks. I didn’t feel smart or pretty, I suffered from depression. I spent a lot of time thinking about ending my life. I constantly put myself in unsafe situations and did things that I am not proud of in an effort to end my suffering. But when I had my children, my life changed. It didn’t happen right away and it wasn’t that grand. But one day I made a conscious decision to live better for them. I wanted them to have a healthy outlook on life. I wanted them to see themselves, as I do; smart, strong and intelligent. I wanted to be sure that they knew their worth so that they wouldn’t roam this earth looking for acceptance and completion in someone else like I had. But some things are out of my control. My children are both dealing with emotions and situations that are taken an emotional toll on them. My oldest son is dealing with a life change, he is having difficulty adjusting. I have spent his whole life telling him how handsome he is and now when he looks at himself, he sees something or someone that doesn’t exist. His mind has started to attack his way of thinking and I don’t know how to help him. He was once a child who didn’t worry about the thoughts and opinions of other people. Now he doesn’t like to leave the house. He walks with his head down, trying to disappear into the background. He can’t tell me what triggered this and I have no idea how to help him. We are doing vitamins and medications but at times, I don’t even recognize him. He seems so unsure of himself and so lost. I am nervous to leave him alone for long periods of time. I hover when he’s at home, because I just don’t know. And I’m ashamed to share this struggle with people because I don’t want him to be looked at any different than the sweet, caring and giving person he is. And I never want him to think I’ve given up on him getting better with this. And I wish it was all that happens in my house but I also have a teenager who has been battling depression for almost 8 years. It’s a type of depression I know very well because it is almost identical to what I dealt with as a child.  It happens suddenly and with no warning. It shuts you down, you can’t eat or sleep. And you just don’t feel like participating in life. With the death of my dad a few years ago it has become so much worst. We have tried counseling and prayer, he doesn’t want to take medication and I am constantly worrying that I will come home to a “lifeless” teenager who couldn’t fight of his demons. He made a lot of progress with therapy but when his therapist relocated, he stopped wanting to go. He doesn’t want to see someone new but I’m not sure that is what’s best for him. But I don’t want to push him and he just shuts down on me. It takes so much trust to open yourself up to a stranger about your inner most thoughts and fears. He blossomed with therapy, he learned to express his pain and feelings and it was so good for him. Now he’s just kind of floating through life. His grades fluctuate, he’s not really eating and I am so stressed out about him, I can’t focus. This is my life now, I wake up every hour or so and I watch my children sleep. I go from room to room and I watch them. I make the dog watch them. And then I lock myself in the bathroom turn on the shower and I cry. I cry a lot more lately, probably more than I have in my entire life. I feel out of control, I can sit here and list all things that I am doing wrong; bills are behind because money is short. Money is short because I am unable to meet the basic needs for myself or my kids at this point. There is no outside help. My son is now a college freshman and without a grant from a state program we wouldn’t be able to afford him being in school. I work as much as any other

"Urban Life" Blog by Sista Sho' Nuff Voices

Being their mother…

• by Sista Sho' 'Nuff
• December 28, 2015

I’m not sure if it’s the weather or maybe because my sons have begun to “smell” themselves, but lately things have been really…intense, at my house. I hate when I have to go 3/4 crazy lady and 1/16th “my mom” (she’s bat shit crazy) on my kids. It hurts me to be upset with them or to feel them being upset with me. I’ve worked so hard to have a good relationship with them that I truly HATE to have to regulate. My oldest is going to be graduating from high school in June and heading to college next year. My youngest is at the tipping point in life where manhood is quickly approaching and as hard as that may be for the both of them. I am in a complete standstill with my life and not quite sure how to pick up the pieces. So with three different personalities and attitudes, my house is level orange and slowly approaching a code read situation. And I’m not sure how to prevent it. I guess the first thing I have to do is admit that I am mostly to blame for this. I have spent the majority of their lives trying to give them everything I didn’t have. I needed them to have a home with nice furniture; I wanted them to have the clothes and sneakers that I didn’t get growing up.  And no I’m not committing crimes to get these things but I am working HARD to provide them with as much as I can. Somewhere in this process I think they forget that I am not a millionaire. I’m not looking for a medal. I don’t need Facebook posts about how I’m the greatest to ever do it. I just need them to do the things for themselves, which will prevent them from making the same mistakes I have. I’m frustrated that at their ages they seem to not grasp how hard all this is. I’m not able to give them the world. I’m single. I work a lot. I have responsibilities. But I am trying so HARD to give them everything they need and most of what they want. So when I get resistance and attitude about what I’m asking from them. It infuriates me. I’m not perfect. I have made so many mistakes in the process of raising them, I can only pray that when they are old enough to truly understand, that they will take it all in and respect my choices. This is not the plan I had for us. I wanted to give them so much more. I was NEVER going to be a single mother. I never wanted to have my sons see me with any man other than their father. I wanted to give them a home with the picket fence and the dog. I wanted family vacations and memories that would last them a life time. Not this. Not continuously living from paycheck to support check to second job paycheck. Constantly sacrificing one thing for another or having to explain to them how I can’t give them gifts for Christmas because I only have enough for family. So they are forced to agree to wait, so I can give them my gift cards that I receive as well as getting things after the New Year, sometimes tax season. And although I know they appreciate the things they have. I don’t feel like they appreciate what I have to do to get them. And maybe they shouldn’t. They didn’t ask to be here. This was a decision that was made by me and their father. We chose to have two children that we were not equipped to raise and I don’t know how you raise MEN. As a woman it is completely idiotic to think I can. But I am attempting to raise good people. You know the smart ones, who will not want for much in life like they may right now. I am hoping they will be good providers and hopefully great fathers one day. I’m trying to make sure my Sons are successful. That they graduate ON TIME with no drama, jail time or babies. I’m fighting to make sure they are productive and have a better life then I’ve lived. One I’ve tried to protect them from. I never even thought about what happens if we didn’t work out as a family. Could I depend on him? How often would he be there? How much would he participate in their lives? Unfortunately more times than I would like to admit, that answer has been no. But I’ve been here every day, for every bruise, fever, stomach bug, every x-ray, E.R. visit or school meeting. You don’t get extra credit for that! It’s just a part of the job. So when I look at them and see the anger and the frustration in their faces, I feel like a failure. And as mad as it makes me, as much as it hurts, I just wish I can show them their future. The one I see in them. Maybe then they will understand why I go so hard. Why I push so much. Why I be on the “psycho” setting when things aren’t getting done. And maybe then they will get it. Then they will see how hard this is but also that it has been worth it. I LOVE being their mom. If there was NEVER anything that I accomplished in life, I’m ok with that, just because I had them. And it breaks me when they don’t see the hell I walk through daily, until I realize they are not suppose too. I’m here to guide them, teach them and love them. That’s all. So I’m learning to not hold on to the hurt when I have to punish them or yell. To not hide in my room and cry when I can see the hatred in their eyes because my answer was no and not the yes they

"Urban Life" Blog by Sista Sho' Nuff Voices

Family matters…

• by Sista Sho' 'Nuff
• July 3, 2014

Growing up I considered my mother’s family as very “upper crust” clan, filled with educated home owners, with respectable jobs who basically lived the American dream. Just not us. From what I saw my grandmother had successfully raised 4 ½ out of 5 of her offspring. One of my uncles had three children they lived out of town and when he would visit during the summer or holidays he would always take us all to the fair, bring lobsters and his pet ferrets for us to play with. For some reason at the time I equated those things with success. In my eyes HIS life was the one my family should have been living. Both parents in the house raising three “privileged” children, I know no matter how my brother and I tried to hide it we were green with envy. My other uncle was a teacher at the local high school. Before I attended school I thought it would be cool to have a relative that would look out for me. He had no children of his own so I thought maybe he’d be like an extra dad to my brother and I.  I imagined that he would help guide me and keep me motivated to do better. He worked with special needs children, and lord knows we were especially in need of attention. My mom’s youngest brother always seemed to be the cool one to me growing up. He was political and it always looked like he knew a lot of important people. He always knew the ends and out of what was happening with education and the law. He also was a bit of a gadget geek so it was always cool to see what new things he would expose us too. He also had no children and I found it kind of fascinating how he was always so passionate about what was going on in the world. Rounding out the bunch was my aunt who was the baby; I looked at her more as a big sister growing up because she was just everything in my mind. I wanted to be her. I even changed my name to hers when I was little (it didn’t go over well with my dad).  She would babysit us and we would have movie nights. It was the greatest experience of my young life. As a child I could tell there was something different about my mother in regards to her siblings. They were all high school and college graduates where she struggles to get her GED. We lived in the projects, we had roaches, and we were on public assistance. My mother had two emotions and those were mad and pissed. Mad was every day. She yelled she cussed, she threw things, pissed was a little more creative, she’d pull, punch, and belittle then. It could go on for minutes, hours or days. You just never knew who you where waking up too. The leader of this clan would be my grandma. She was always classy. She stayed dressed and it seemed like her and my granddad made a power couple in my eyes. They threw parties and cookouts and it seemed like half the town attended. My granddad was always quiet, his voice was a little louder than a whisper and it was always so hard to understand what it was that he was saying. But he was cool. And you can tell he was loved. When he passed away years ago there was a church full of mourners to celebrate his life. I thought that was an important moment to know just how many lives he had touched. With all this greatness floating around us I think it’s fair to say my brother and I felt like aliens. Or maybe I think we felt like orphans who were adopted into a well to do family. Well maybe that’s not fair to say. I can’t really speak for him, I felt like an adopted orphan alien. For all of the great things that you saw when you looked at my family there were things that people didn’t see, things that too this day causes me to hold on to anger. My uncle with the “privileged” children and I had an argument when I was about 16 years old, I complaining about his children’s laziness and he about my mouth; I wasn’t surprised when he grabbed me, slammed me into the refrigerator and told me how I was never going to be shit. I believed him. And just that simple, I closed the door on him, his children and any attempt for a better understanding. When I entered high school I’ll be the first to admit I was a borderline alcoholic. I’m sure my behavior was disgusting and I had to be an embarrassment to my uncle who worked there. He would let me know every chance that he got. So one day when he called me into the office to tell me how I was failing most of my classes and how I was a complete embarrassment to him. He said things that I’m sure at the time were meant to motivate me to do better. They just didn’t. So as I walked out of that office with some flip comment rolling off my tongue, I ran to the bathroom sat on the floor and I cried. I gave up the notion that we would ever be more than what we were in that moment. And I closed the door on us also. Almost a year after high school and moving out my life changed quickly. I had begun a relationship that would eventually lead to permanent scarring. I wanted out but I didn’t know how. I was lost because my friends were all living their lives, in college and being teenagers. I was the fool who wanted to grow up quickly. I wanted to turn to my aunt but I didn’t know how, she was married

"Urban Life" Blog by Sista Sho' Nuff Voices

For My Ex’s

• by Sista Sho' 'Nuff
• May 26, 2014

So today I was told that basically I was a HORRIBLE girlfriend back in the day (high school). I was mean, bossy and insensitive to people’s feelings. (Which was also a turn on I guess.)I was told that I was selfish and left people feeling used. In truth he was right. I had no regard for the hearts that I “broke” I was only feeding on the emotions of any young man that I could trick into caring about me. It wasn’t something I did purposely, I didn’t set out on a daily mission to find a heart, capture it and then slowly break it. What I do realize now was that I was using these poor unfortunate souls to fill a hole in me that was left by the lack of attention or affection that I needed from home. My experience with men for as long as I could remember had been violent and inappropriate. So by the time I was 14 or 15, I had what I felt was a complete understanding of what was on most men/boys minds…sex. But what I realized very early on was that I didn’t HAVE to give them what they wanted to get what I needed. Like a predator I would seek out boys that were probably just as damaged as I was. And I would give them the thing that they really wanted…attention. I’d listen to their fears and life stories. How their mothers were on drugs or caught up with different men, how they basically felt invisible. Boys who longed for the attention of an absent father and a mother who just never had time, I sympathized because I understood those feelings. I would let them know that I could see them. That their hearts where safe with me…and I would destroy them slowly. I tried to care. I tried to love them the way I could see that they loved me. Some people will say that a teenager knows nothing about love. I disagree. I think that when you’re young you experience the purest form of love, because it hasn’t been tainted with lies and distrust yet. You haven’t been cheated on or dumped. No one has left you for a younger prettier model of yourself yet. So it’s not that I didn’t love these gentlemen, I just didn’t know how to show it. From the time I was about 14 I had what I would call a steady boyfriend. He would get my attention and my time. I’d care for him deeply but never would give all of myself to him. I didn’t want to be weak. And from what I saw, sex made women weak. So I would have another boyfriend to balance out that feeling. Always on the other side of town and at a different school. And usually there would be an older gentleman somewhere in the middle of the mess. Someone who would buy me nice things and give me compliments tell me how special/ beautiful I was. Because all he wanted was sex…so all I wanted was what I could take before he figured out it wasn’t going to happen. For the four years I was in high school I had what I would consider three long term relationships. Two that lasted about two years and one that lasted a year. I loved these three gentlemen. Two of them I still love to this day. But it didn’t stop the 12 other “relationships” that ran concurrent and also consecutively around them. I justified my actions that they more than likely where cheating on me because I wasn’t having sex with them. That’s what helped me to not feel guilty. I remember my brothers saying that I needed to sit down somewhere before one of them broke my neck. I’d basked in the attention I got from them and their friends. I was a “beast” as they put it, being that I could have two or three guys at the house one after the other, sometimes introducing them, always collecting from at least one of them, be it money, alcohol to drink or weed to smoke. That was my worth. The cost to be in my presence, I suffer for that now. I never considered myself a pretty girl. I just knew what to say to get guys attention and got very good at keeping it. I learned very quickly that the sooner I took sex off the table but left the “conversation” of sex in the room; it was all I needed to get what I wanted. Didn’t matter if it was a teenage boy, an older married man or a true love. Not everyone is ruled by their genitals when they are in love. What I never considered was that once I gave into what a man wanted the power would shift and I would become the one who was in competition for love and affection. I was so good at making people feel desired and wanted that when my time came I fell for the same trap I’d set for so many people so many times before. I let a familiar face and friendship mislead me. And I paid for all the pain I caused. I spent a lot of my life trying to make up for the terrible things I’ve done. I broke a boy’s heart; I know I did because 18 years later he still can’t look at me. I lied and mistreated a few. All because what I needed from them was more important than what they may have wanted from me. I have even tried to revisit my past relationships. Hoping that the love they once had for me still dwelled in their hearts; still wanting them to fix my brokenness. In the end I think I only got back what I gave. My high school sweetheart who I loved for years after we broke up took me for a ride. And I felt used, cheated