T
he first part of my life, say
age 1-10, I was waiting for
the Prince on the white
horse to come get me out of the
hell hole I was living in. There is
nothing glamorous about liv-
ing in foster care, coming from
parents who neglected you and
abused you. And there’s nothing
more than a girl wants than her
daddy to come back and rescue
her. He was after all the Prince
on the white horse but he wasn’t
coming.
The second part of my life, say
age 11-16, I believe that if I sang
in the streets and held conver-
sations out loud, practicing the
lines from the next movie hit,
that I would be discovered to be
the next pop star or actress to
take the world by storm. But no
one was coming.
On one night in October 1988,
a boy a few years older than me
entered my room. He forced
himself upon me and as I laid
there begging him to stop, and I
realized even though there were
12 other people in the room, no
one was coming.
And then, at the tender age of
16, I met the most beautiful man
I had lever laid my eyes on. He
was tall 6’1, blue eyes with dark
hair and olive skin. My rescuer
finally came in the form of an
American GI. He swept me off
my feet and within 4 months I
found myself pregnant with my
first son, and he had orders to fly
back to the U.S.
Naive on many levels, I believed
he would one day return to Ger-
many and we would be the fairy
tale couple with a fairy tale life.
But within a year that dream and
the vision I had about our life
was shattered when I was giving
birth to my son and his father
unable to return to us.
He never came.
There are so many times in my
life that I believed someone
would come and provide the life
that would remove the abuse, the
trauma I had endured. I de-
served a break from all the shit I
had found myself living with.
At 18, I flew to the United States
with my then 8-months old son,
scoping out whether or not I
could live in this new and for-
eign country. And 24 years later,
I’d say I managed to adjust and
adapt as needed.
But life wasn’t all roses if any-
thing I continued to experience
emotional turmoil, a borderline
mental abuse of a marriage and
single parenting two children,
who longed for their father.
But he wasn’t coming.
In 2001, I drove a car into a
home with family and their
young child. My alcohol level was
just double of the legal limit and
at 5’2 the fact I didn’t kill myself
or anyone else for that matter, is,
in fact, a bit of a miracle.
For the first time in my life, I had
to really take a look at me, my
life and how I showed up. And
it was then that I also became
aware that no one was coming for
me if I didn’t even bother to be
present for myself.
No one could change my life for
me, but me.
No one could put a stop to the
trauma and abuse but me.
I needed to step out of the shad-
ow and the stories I had been
living with.
And this is where life started
to change because the moment
you take responsibility for your
actions, your behavior, and your
thinking pattern, you acknowl-
edge that no outside source can
do the things for you that you
need to be doing for yourself.
Taking a good look at yourself
and where you are not standing
in your authenticity and integri-
ty sucks because you have to be
honest with yourself where you
are hiding and diminishing your
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