What Made Me Become a Stronger Woman

My Past Made Me A Stronger Woman

As a child my life was a hard one. When I was nine years old, my mother became pregnant with my younger brother Dimas. After Dimas was born, my mother made me the responsible mother; she should have been. She was never home to take care of us; she was always working. My brother used to call me mommy. When my brother was taken to a doctor appointment; the doctor would assume I was the mother and my mother the grandma; I thought it was kind of funny, but my mother sure did not. I was the one to get up throughout the night to feed and change my brother. I was responsible for everything around the house. My day routine would be to get up; make every bed in the house; change, and get ready for school; change, and feed my little brother. Then, I would walk down the street to drop off my little brother at the babysitters. I had to carry my backpack, the diaper bag, my violin and, of course; my month year-old little brother. After having to drop off my brother at the babysitters, I had to walk about a mile to get to the bus stop and go to school. After school I would walk a mile again, and pick up my brother from the babysitters; go home; get dinner ready, clean the house, and start doing my homework. When my mother would get home from work, the house would be spot less, and have the smell of pine-sol; it still would not be good enough for her. She would make me start all over again, and clean once more. I grew up believing my mother did not love me. She never made me feel special; everything I did was never right or good enough for her. When I turned 15 years-old, I had my Quinceañera party. This was the first time in my life, I truly felt special. This was one of the best days in my life. Two days later, my mother informs me; she and my father are getting a divorce. The reason they did not mention it before is because; they did not want to ruin my birthday. The divorce takes its course; things went from bad to worse.

Become Stronger

In August of 1997 my parents were divorced. My brother and I moved in with my mother because my father is an alcoholic; he would not be able to raise children by himself or would want to for that matter. Even though my mother never truly showed me any love, I used to look up to her. I once admired how hard she used to work to help support our family. I honestly believed I had to be responsible for taking care of my brother to help her. After my parents divorce; the relationship between my mother and I, went from bad to worse; she was now a free woman. She decided to start a whole new life without us children. My mother had bloomed into a want to be a teenager again sort of faze. She started to date different men and bringing them to our home. I never had the chance to go to the movies with my friends or nothing for that matter. I always had to stay home and be a mother to my little brother.

Things Happen For a Reason

On July 9, 1998 my mother introduced me to one of her so many, so called boyfriends; she was dating four men at the time. This one was named Agustin. The following morning around 5:00a.m my mother was off to work; an hour later the phone rings, it was her boyfriend Agustin. I mentioned to Agustin that my mother was not home and suggested for him to call her at work. Agustin states he was not calling to talk to my mother, but wanted to speak to me. Agustin said he liked me, and that he wanted to start a new relationship with me. What a sick man, I was 16 years-old that day, and he was 35. Of course I blew him off. I also mentioned to him in detail my mother would find out about this situation as soon as she arrived home from work. When my mother arrived home from work, I mentioned to her what had happened earlier with Agustin; she called him, and he totally changed the story around in his favor. Agustin told my mother I had called him, and that I started to flirt with him. Agustin said I had asked him out. My mother knew this man for as long as two weeks, and took the words of this man over her own daughter. This was the worst day of my life. I felt so lonely; if my mother who brought me into this world did not believe me; who would? I was so depressed, and committed the worse thing someone can do. I tried to commit suicide with an over dose of pills. I thank God today nothing happened to me; my soul would have been lost. That was the day of my sixteenth birthday it was on July 10, 1998. My mother kicked me out of her house and into the street on my birthday. She only allowed me to take the clothes I had on my back. I called my mamita and papito; they are like my second parents. They took care of me since I was two days old. My mamita Rosa and Papito Felipe took me in their house. Months later I moved in with my now ex boyfriend Jesus, and lost my virginity. That year, I finished my junior year in high school to then drop out, and help Jesus pay the bills. When I turned 18 years-old, I became pregnant with my son Alexandro. I was so happy. Finally someone would honestly love me. Jesus beat up on me throughout my entire pregnancy, and was jealous of every one who would go near me. All though he was the first man I had ever been with, he would say our child was someone elses.

Have Courage

In May 2001 my relationship with Jesus worsens. My son and I had nothing to eat. I was not allowed to work nor had a babysitter or car to look for one. At this time my mother and I were sort of talking to each other again. She had now remarried with her husband Martin. The day I finally said this is enough; was when I gave Jesus some money to go to the store and buy our son some baby powder milk. Jesus comes home with a case of beer; he tells me he did not have enough money for our son's milk. The following morning I call my mother. My son Alex and I moved in with her. Not even two months later; my mother once more tells me, I have to leave her house do to her demented husband Martin being jealous of my nine month year-old son. Martin said my son Alex took all my mothers attention away form him; he told her it was either us or him. Once more, I am out in the street, and this time with a child. My father had also remarried; he was not living at our old house anymore; the house was vacant. My father said it was fine if my son and I moved in.

Always Keep Trying

Not even a month later, I established a reasonable employment. I bought a new car, and was truly working hard to support my son, and pay for daycare. Three years later, I find an employment which paid a much better wage. I also went out, and received my high school diploma. Now I am 27 years-old, and currently attending college at National American University to obtain my degree. I have come a long way. What makes me so proud is the fact that I never let my personality change; instead of becoming weak, I became a much stronger individual. I did not become a gangster. I did not start doing drugs or start feeling sorry for myself; instead, I became a survivor. The situations from my past are the weapon that made me into the woman I am today. I am proud to say; I also have no worries about my son ever having to feel ashamed of me. Every time he hugs me or tells me that he loves me, I know my life is worthwhile. I will do my best to graduate from college and give my son the life my parents never gave me.