Would You Have the Strength?

Would you have the strength to walk away if someone was physically hurting you?

Would you have the strength to walk away if someone was emotionally hurting you?

Would you have the strength to walk away if someone was mentally hurting you?

And by hurting you, I mean abusing you?

Abuse is never a subject to be taken likely. I’ve tip-toed around it for my entire life. Hitting, kicking, punching…hurting…those are the words that are substituted for abuse. But that’s what it was. It’s hard to admit it to myself, yet alone anyone else. No one likes to think of themselves in that manner, but to be clear, when you lay a hand on a child with the intention of causing pain and you continue to hurt them, it’s not punishing them for what they did. Punishing them with a smack on the bottom is different from a child huddled up in a corner while continuously being kicked. I know. I was that child in the corner.

I was also that child who learned how to fight back. And while I was never proud of it, I did what I had to do. I learned how to survive. I learned how to separate who I was a home from who I was everywhere else. As an adult, I learned to put what happened in the past behind me and try to make amends. I also learned how to set boundaries in order to keep myself safe.

Those boundaries have taken the form of concrete walls that work 24/7 to keep people out and protect me from anything and everything that could potentially harm me. A few friends have been able to break past them and I’ve opened up to them. It took a lot of trust building and be realizing that maybe, just maybe, these people were not going to run for the hills. Maybe they would stick by me through all the ups and downs and tears. And there have been a lot of tears.

I’ve worked my entire adult life to get away from the things I grew up around. It was all part of my childhood promise to myself – this is not how families behave, this is not how people behave, this is not how the children I want to have will behave, this is not how my future spouse will behave, this is not how I will behave.

Yet, I sometimes feel as though I’m sliding back down that spider web in my head of what if this and what if that. If everyone else I grew up with has been unable to escape it, why do I think I will be any different? Why do I think I can change it? Why do I think I won’t fall back into that hole?

Because I know myself. I know myself better than anyone else. I’ve spent years learning about myself and understanding myself. I know when something is bothering me and why. I know when a situation doesn’t feel right and why. I know I would be able to pinpoint a bad situation to me in and I know I would leave it. I know because I’ve lived through it all before and I will not put myself through it again.

Just like I know what I will fight to never have a relationship like my parents had – I will not spent the rest of my life fighting with someone and yelling at him all the time.

I will not treat my children the way my mother treated me – I can’t imagine ever laying a single hand on any child’s head and would protect them from anyone who tried to hurt them.

And perhaps one day, maybe someday soon, maybe someday not so soon, someone will walk into my life. Someone who I will feel comfortable opening up to and perhaps I could even love. Someone who will understand the past but not hold it against me and help me while I fight to have a healthy relationship. The concrete walls I have built so high and strong might just start to crumble overtime. I know they have to come down at some point. It’s a matter of if I trust the other person to not hurt me.

And do I trust myself to have the strength to walk away if I need to?

Yes. Yes I do. Because I am not my mom. I am not my dad. I am not one of my brothers.

I am strong even when that word brings tears to my eyes. I am independent and can take care of myself. I trust myself and my instincts to take care of me. I trust my concrete wall to protect me until the time comes that I start to chip away at it – maybe will a little help. I believe that God will take care of me even when I drift from Him because I am His Child. I know that certain people will always be there for me and will never look at me differently. I am certain that I will have the strength because I am made of it.

I am Chelsea.


It’s the Way I Grew Up…


“Do you know how many people I’ve told about you? About your story? You came from nothing and here you are…”

(end paraphrase)

It’s the way I grew up. The fights. The yelling. The hitting. The name-calling. The hurting. I thought it was the way everybody lived. I never doubted even for a second that my dad loved me – I knew he did. I doubted if anyone else did.

As a child, all my extended family either died or disappeared from my life. By the time I was 11, everyone seemed to have left. Our family was dysfunctional at best. My dad tried – he tried to be the peacemaker, tried to take us to church, tried to turn us into a functional family – but the damage was already done. Everyone had left and I didn’t understand why. I hated being home – it didn’t feel like home. Yeah, I survived and I’ve even learned how to deal with my family as an adult, but some scars don’t heal quickly.

I didn’t really have friends in elementary school. I was smart and I knew I was smart and I held onto that. There was a group of girls I would play with outside at recess – until the day they told me they didn’t want to play with me anymore. I remember walking away feeling heartbroken – these people I thought were my friends really weren’t my friends. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. I cried and tried to have fun at recess, but my feelings were too hurt. I didn’t really make friends after that. I stumbled across one around the fourth grade – we had known each other in preschool and I feel like God brought us together when we both needed it. We both needed a friend at school and so He gave us each other. My mom would spend the rest of my school years comparing me to her. Everything was a competition and I had to win over my best friend. It made me feel like she wasn’t my friend at times – she was someone I had to win against. But she was my friend. Was being the key word – I lost her in October 2012. She’s fine – don’t worry – but I made some bad choices and we grew apart. Part of me wishes I would have reached out to her and told her what I was going though. Part of me felt an overwhelming need to protect her from my life. In the end – I lost.

I remember wanting to try out for volleyball. I remember my mother’s words. “You’ll never make the team – only the rich kids will make the team.” Way to crush my hopes and dreams. Everything was always about money – my family didn’t have enough, we were poor compared to other people, we were in debt. However, we never went hungry. There was always food in the house. We stopped going to the doctor and the eye doctor and even the dentist annually, but at least we never went hungry.

All the relationships around me were rocky. My dad’s relationship with my mom was rocky – to the point that I remember the day he asked me if I thought we would be better off if he divorced her. I remember the tears in his eyes – he was scared that if he divorced her that he would never find someone who would love him. I question sometimes if my parents ever truly loved each other. Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful they met and married or I wouldn’t be here and my little brothers wouldn’t be here – but I question what their marriage was built on. My mom’s relationship with everyone was rocky – there were more arguments than I could count. I remember the hitting and kicking and yelling. I remember the day I realized I was big enough to fight back. Most of the time I just wanted everyone to stop. The relationship with my brothers changed as often as the time on the clock. The relationship with extended family didn’t exist. I grew jealous of my classmates who talked about spending the weekend with their grandparents or aunts and uncles or cousins. I may not have had friends in school, but I hung onto every word my classmates spoke.

I remember my first crushes. Some of them went on to become really amazing guys. Others not so much. In sixth grade this boy asked me to the dance – I was crushing on someone else (hoping he would ask me) and so I said no. The whole class thought I was mean and that other boy never asked me. In seventh grade I asked an eighth grader to the school dance after art class one day. It had taken me days to get up the courage to ask him. He said yes and I was so excited. A day or two later he came back and said that he couldn’t take me because he had to take his girlfriend to the dance instead. Then I moved onto someone else who I would spent the majority of middle school and high school crushing on. He liked just about every other girl in school – except me. We became friends and we studied together. He started to attend church with my family. I admitted how I felt to him. He didn’t feel the same. We stayed friends for a while and then slowly drifted apart. I gave up on boys after that. Three strikes and I’m out. About halfway through college someone new entered my life. I wasn’t sure if I liked him or not – but he gave me attention and at that point in my life, I was craving some attention from a boy. We were good friends and I knew he liked me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. He would give me my first kiss. He would become my biggest regret. I guard my heart to this day because of what transpired.

Sometimes I drive people away before they can hurt me. It’s what life has taught me – that people will leave you and people will die and then I will be left heartbroken. The people who haven’t been driven away are the special ones – they’re the ones I realized were worth fighting for and will continue to fight to have in my life. The guys I’ve dated here and there though – those are the ones I tend to drive away before they can hurt me by leaving. My heart can only take so much heartache.

Losing my dad ripped my heart apart. I didn’t know it was possible to be in so much emotional pain until he died. It all still haunts me. I would give anything to wrap my arms around his neck once more. To tell him I love him. Sometimes I feel guilty when I laugh because he’s not here to share it with me. Other times I’m relieved that life is working out okay. It’s a struggle.

I remember the day Allison invited me to stay at her house. I didn’t know what to say or do. I had moved out of my mom’s house a couple months beforehand. Allison cared and was offering me what I needed most – stability. I remember watching how her family interacted and being amazed. They functioned like a “normal” family should. There wasn’t the fighting and kicking and hitting going on. I saw what it looked like when two people who love each other work together to raise a family. I was amazed every single day.

Later I found out that she was worried I wasn’t going to graduate college. I had shared with her everything that was going on and she spent a while worrying about me. She would also introduce me to the college therapist and I would spend the next thirteen months trying to figure out life in that office.

I cried a lot in therapy. I tried to work through everything that had happened. I tried to figure out how to move forward. I tried to make good decisions. It was a struggle. There were so many things to talk about, so many things to work through, so many things that I needed to say.

I was a very independent person – even back then. My therapist saw it, but he also saw how guarded my heart was. I was trying to protect it from being broken again and I was willing to protect it at any cost – even if it meant being a loner. I still hear his words to this day. “You don’t need anyone to save you, you can save yourself, but someday, it might be nice.” He’s right. I don’t need anyone to save me. I can save myself. One day maybe it’ll be nice. One day maybe I’ll be willing to take a chance with my heart. One day maybe I’ll find someone who’s worth the risk.

My guilty pleasure from high school onward was Walker, Texas Ranger. Gosh – I still love that show to this day. But it was never the action that pulled me in. In was the way that the good guys always won. The way you knew everything was going to turn out. It was the way Walker protected Alex and how you could always tell how much they loved each other. I was never drawn to the fighting scenes – I was drawn to the way Walker loved Alex and I often wondered if anyone would ever look at me the way he looks at her. I understood it was a fictional television series, but in my childhood world of wondering what it was like when two people loved each other, Walker and Alex were the example I found and hung onto.

I’ve loved animals since the beginning of time. Have you ever looked into an animal’s eyes? You can see straight into their souls. Each one has a story and each one has their own moods and emotions and attitudes. I wanted to go away and study pandas as a child. Then I wanted to ride free on the back of a horse. I thought about becoming a vet but science and I were never friends, I decided against it. Now I have dogs with dreams of recusing and fostering more one day.

I love writing. Inspiration doesn’t always strike, but when it does, I can spend hours upon hours writing. Sometimes it’s a story that’s popped into my head. Sometimes it’s something that someone says to me. Sometimes it’s just how I’m feeling. I drift away from writing from time to time, but I tend to always find my way back to it. It’s the hobby I won’t let disappear, no matter how much time lapses.

I want to get healthier. I want to finally run a mile without stopping. I want to look in the mirror and love what I see. I want to see what other people see in me. Sometimes I’m just not sure how.

God and I have drifted apart many times throughout my life. I aim to be a good Christian, but in fall short daily. I will go periods of time without going to church or reading my Bible. I haven’t prayed daily in years. Yet, I know that despite all my struggles, God doesn’t leave my side. He walks with me and talks with me. He’s my comfort when I lay awake at night crying. He protects me when I can’t figure it out. Most of all, He loves me – despite everything that has happened in my life.

And after everything that happened I only had one option left – I had to become an independent woman and then I realized that I always had been. There’s nothing wrong with gaining independence as a person ages, but I was forced into it and forced into it at a young age. I had to become a person who could separate who I was at home from who I was a school and work and church. And when the church started gossiping about what was going, I had to separate myself again. I didn’t like asking for help. I still have a hard time asking anyone for help. It makes me emotional when people offer to go the extra mile for me – what have I ever done to deserve such kindness? It’s the kindness that makes me cry. After years of feeling almost worthless at points, it’s the kindness or the mere thought of someone’s kindness to me that is enough to bring tears to my eyes. Allison’s kindness continues to make me cry and I can never thank her opening her arms and allowing me into her family. Jan’s kindness gave me the mother figure I longed to love. Jody’s kindness has brought me to tears more than once and gave me the sister I needed. Numerous co-workers have accidentally made me cry just by being kind – and not on a work level – on a personal level. They call when I’m sick to make sure I’m still alive, while asking if I need anything at all. They’ve run to stores to get things when asked out of the blue. They’ve taken care of my puggies without a second thought or question. They’ve been there to listen to me cry because I’m sad or just overwhelmed by the love they show me. And my heart starts to ache as it struggles to understand the kindness of those around me with its desire to stay the independent woman that is has grown so protective of – what did I do to deserve such kindness from everyone around me when most of my own family hasn’t treated me that same way?

We’re brought up with the notion that families are supposed to be there for each other. Even I understood that and I didn’t have the greatest family. Aside from my dad, no one was ever really there for me and when I lost him, I wasn’t sure if anyone ever would be again. I spent childhood building walls around me that only me dad could unlock through a single door. I spent the year after his death reinforcing that wall and pouring concrete over the door. I was determined to never be hurt again. Never let anyone get even remotely close to me. Never feel that pain again. Then something started to changed. People were suddenly there for me in a way I’d never let anyone be there before. It took every ounce in me not to run away when I started to consider these co-workers my family. When I realized that maybe, just maybe, some of them will always be there for me even years after we no longer work together anymore. And yet, every time someone shows me the kindness that no one else really ever showed, I fight the urge to run while my emotions start to get the best of me. I’m scared to let anyone in. I’m scared of having even close friendships. I’m scared that everyone will leave.

Which leads me to here – what is the point in me writing all of this now? My friend said she wanted to understand why I’m so scared – she wanted to help. I don’t understand myself sometimes and I didn’t know where to start so I figure I’d start at the beginning. Sometimes it’s hard for me to sort through all the feelings running around my head, but it’s easier to sort through them when I write.

I’m scared of falling into financial trouble like my dad. I’m scared I’ll marry the wrong person and have a marriage like my parents. I’m scared I’ll never have kids and if I do, they’ll lay awake at night questioning if I love them. I’m scared I’ll raise them the way I was raised, despite my promises to myself that I would never do that. I’m scared that I’ll never find a group of friends who I can rely on and will always be there whenever I need them. I’m scared of leaving my comfort zone and I’m scared of falling. I’m scared that I’ll always hear the words ringing in my head that I’ve heard all my life. I’m scared of having my heart broken again – I’ve barely survived it every time before when it’s broken. I’m scared of being in a loveless relationship. But most of all – I’m scared of missing out on wonderful things because I’m scared.

There are people around me who I know will always be there for me. I’ve discovered which family members will be there through thick and thin; and which ones I need to set boundaries with. I’ve discovered co-workers who have become family. I’ve discovered a family I never knew I needed but always wanted.

Sometimes I feel guilty for this – for loving the people in my life. I’m on this path because my dad died. I’ve met most of these people as a result of this death. I wish I could say I would give all of them up to have him back – but honestly, I don’t want to go back to my childhood life. I just wish he could be here and I could keep them. It makes me feel guilty most days. But I can’t feel guilty for living.

It’s often easier for other people to realize how strong you are as a person. When I look at my life, I don’t see myself as someone who is strong. I see myself as someone who has learned how to survive but at the expense of being fearful. Other people see a strong person who has overcome so much to get to where she is.

Perhaps it’s easier for others to see our strength. We don’t see it within ourselves because we are too busy trying to figure out how to survive. Maybe it’s about taking a step back and realizing everything that you’ve overcome. Maybe it’s about realizing that there’s still a fight left within you. Maybe it’s about fighting for the life you’ve always dreamed of.

It’s not always easy to keep fighting for what I want, sometimes I need a nap from all of it. It feels like an endless battle. I’m not sure if I can see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore.

But maybe if I fight long enough and hard enough I’ll finally have the family I’ve always dreamed of.

“A warrior is the woman who gets up despite the enemy trying to destroy her. A woman who declares her victory before seeing it. A woman who believes she will receive her miracle because she knows the Lord she serves is alive and by her side.”


Almost is one of the saddest words ever. 

I almost got the job. 

You almost finished the race. 

He almost loved her. 

She almost made it. 

They almost saved that person. 


So close, yet so far away. 

Close enough to reach out, not close enough to touch. 

When your best truly wasn’t good enough. 

But almost can also be the happiest word ever. 

I almost quit – but I didn’t. 

You almost failed – but you didn’t. 

He almost lost her – but he didn’t. 

She almost didn’t make it – but she did. 

They almost didn’t cross the finish line – but they did. 


You were so close to not completing the task, but you did. 

Quitting was not an option. 

You can try and almost make it, but then you’ve failed yourself. 

You can try and almost not make it, but you do make it. 

Almost – the saddest and the happiest word.