I grew up in the town of Mount George, Arkansas. Population: Like 20 and 87 dogs. It's an unincorporated town in Yell County that neighbors the cities Danville and Dardanelle. You could call it a 'sleepy little town' but honestly, sleepy isn't what my descriptive word would be. 'Impoverished' is more fitting.
My earliest memory is my mom holding me up at the window that sat above the single sink in our kitchen. I vividly remember my dad pulling up from getting off of work, and I was waving at him through the window, so excited that he was home.
We lived in a single wide trailer house on highway 154, just on the outskirts of the already meager town. We were poor, to put it plainly, and although there are definitely people on this earth that had it WAY worse off than we did, it didn't make our situation any better.
The roof in my room above my closet leaked. Not just like a little 'drip, drop, drip, drop' kinda leak, either. Every time it rained; my mom would put a large metal bucket up there on the shelf in my closet, so my stuff didn't get ruined (again). I can't even count the times that it happened. Sometimes the rain bucket would fill up in the middle of the night or while we were at school during the day, and it would spill over. Sometimes, my mom just forgot to put it up there entirely or empty it. I successfully emptied it a few times as I got older and stronger, after having lost so many of my already miniscule collection of clothing, I took it upon myself to make sure it didn't happen anymore.
Our home was infested with fleas, from our sweet chihuahua, Cricket. My mom got Cricket before I was born as a gift for my sister. She and I both had asthma very badly, and chihuahuas were known to 'take away a person's asthma'. (This myth was busted years ago but you couldn't tell my mom nothin' back then, or even today.) I also woke up to a baby possum on my head in the middle of the night once. No, I'm not joking. Our mobile home was pretty old and my step-brother had killed a momma possum that apparently had babies...and those babies wanted a warm place to sleep.
When I was probably 6 or 7, my mom and dad split; meaning my dad left. He was an alcoholic and he was not contributing to the development of a happy, healthy home, if I had to guess. I can't say whether this hurt me at the time, because I don't have any memory of it all happening, but I do know that I was my daddy's girl all through and through until the day he died. (July 22, 2022)
After that, I only have bits and pieces of my childhood up to around 13 years old that I can recall. My mental health NP calls it, "Dissociative Amnesia". It's basically where your mind just decides that it doesn't want to remember all the bad stuff that happened during that time of your life, so it says, "Bye, Felicia!"
What I do know is, I have grown in to a beautiful, smart, strong woman who is learning her strengths and weaknesses each day. Regardless of the hand I was dealt with my childhood, I decided a very long time ago that I would do everything in my power to become the person that I knew I could be, and not the person I would've become had I allowed my situation at the time to become my overall mindset. The mother that is attentive, nurturing, patient on most days. The friend or, stranger even, that makes you feel seen and heard. The partner that loves so hard that it hurts sometimes.
I encourage you to look further than what the present is holding. Do not allow anyone to make you believe that you are only worth what you are given or what you presently have.
You are your biggest fan. Don't let her down.
Taylor ♡
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Strong and Brave
People are far too quiet about things that should be discussed. Makes everyone think they are the only ones struggling. Tell your truth, heal and help others doing it.
I can relate to your story, as if you were writing my memoirs. Only my mind has block so many childhood memories too. I was not a daddies girl, he was very abusing ,an alcoholic and a atheist
Taylor!! This is amazing! I ❤️ u