Deserving Of Love: A Woman's Journey in Search of Happiness

By Amanda Morash-Parsons

In her mid-30s, Amanda Certainly didn't plan to be sitting at the dining room table with Child Services for the 5th time. Why did her path get so screwed up? At what point did the conductor decide to do a 180 and send her back toward the hell that she was trying to leave in her past?
Heartbroken and contemplating suicide, she found herself at the mercy of the universe, and this time it was going to take her on the roller-coaster ride from hell. She would be faced with a choice: get off the ride or keep allowing the pain, anguish, and ridicule to continue until she put an end to her life. But getting off the ride meant leaving her family and possibly her children behind; how could she do that? No, chasing her own dreams, seeking a life of happiness, was not a possibility for her. Perhaps reliving her family history was her destiny after all.
Deserving of Love is a tell-all, uninhibited look at one woman's determination to break the family cycle-to stop hating and fighting-and find the love she was desperately seeking.
With a burning will to survive, Amanda starts a journey that will not only bring tears to your eyes but also make you laugh along the way. Her search for love and happiness will take you through a turbulent life filled with divorce, alcoholism, mental illness, and desperation. Her story will be an inspiration and source of hope for every person who has felt desperate and alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Morash-Parsons
• Release date: Dec 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311655042

Amanda Morash-Parsons

Amanda was born in 1977 in a small fishing community in Nova Scotia, only a few kilometres from the famous Peggy’s Cove Lighthouse. Her early childhood was spent exploring the coastline and gaining a deep respect for the ocean.At twenty-one, she was divorced and a single mother of three beautiful daughters. With determination, she went from working three jobs to become a successful entrepreneur by the time she was twenty-six. After four years of constant fighting with her business partner, she found that she had to start all over again.Her new husband, Scott, encouraged her to get her real estate licence, and eventually she rose to be one of the top three in her office. A deep regard for those less fortunate motivated Amanda to involve herself and her family in the local Legion, Relay for Life, and Feed Nova Scotia. She is proud of having completed several marathons to raise money for those suffering from arthritis.Despite a troubled childhood, which involved family alcoholism and mental illness, today at thirty-seven, Amanda is embracing her new life in Calgary—with her family, which includes her four dogs. She is now making time to love herself first and help others chart their own course and discover their true purpose.

Book preview

What others are saying about

Deserving of Love

A Woman's Journey in Search of Happiness:

OMG . . . My first instinct: I want to read more; I want to know more; I want to know how this woman stands up for herself, gets knocked down, yet finds the heart and the will to write such inspiring words, and STILL get back up.

I have never endured the emotions, the anxiety, the hatred, or the heartache that Amanda is writing about. But I know what it's like to wear my heart on my sleeve; your emotions are there for everyone to see, hear, and feel. Amanda, however, has gone beyond that, and is telling us that no matter how painful something is, there is always something better, something worth fighting for. I love that she has written about and is sharing her struggle in order to encourage others, to help others, and most of all, help herself.

I've only just started, but I can't wait to read the whole damn book!!

Terri Baker, Nova Scotia

In my experience, some stories change the way you look at others, some change the way you look at yourself, and some truly inspirational books do both. Deserving of Love fits into the last category.

The words my heart won't be on my sleeve; it will be well protected inside my chest, surrounded by a blanket that love created had me hooked. I know the community Amanda grew up in; I know its history, strengths, weaknesses, and many of its secrets. Amanda's willingness to share her story makes this a book I can't put down.

Libby MacLean, Nova Scotia

Deserving of Love had me hooked from the first sentence. This woman had me intrigued as I read on about the heartbreak she had endured. Her words, so powerful, with so much feeling.

Marie Boutilier, Nova Scotia

Fighting and hating are just two of the habits we often take on to get through life, but they can be broken and changed with the power of our thoughts.

I believe so many of us can relate in some part to Amanda's story. And best of all, Deserving of Love gives us insight into how to break free from the past, live in the present, and look forward to a wonderful self-directed future.

Can't wait to finish reading this story of a life, not flawless, but transformed by the woman herself—not by miracles, but by seeing new perspectives.

Stephanie Leach, Alberta

From the beginning, Amanda creates a captivating tale of her life with a real worldview. Whether you are at the top of your game or at the lowest point, it will encourage a change, one that you will be thankful for.

A magnificent inspiration for the beginning of a new age.

Nicole Hodson, Calgary, Alberta

This is a beautiful memoir, an unembarrassed account of heart and mind . . . Every page is a must-read.

Ryan Carroll, Tattoo Artist

Calgary, Alberta

Deserving of Love

A Woman's Journey in Search of Happiness

Amanda Morash-Parsons

Copyright © 2014 by Stand Tall Publishing Company

Distributed by Smashwords

ISBN: 978-0-9937412-1-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote limited passages for review purposes. For more information, please write to the publisher at:

Stand Tall Publishing Company

80 Prestwick Drive

SE Calgary, Alberta T2Z 4K8

Credits:

Cover photographs by Rita & Leo Smiliansky

www.lucid-photography.ca

Cover by Dominique Petersen

www.AuthorConsultants.org

Ebook formatting by Adrian Low

www.ebooklaunch.com

To my soulmate forever, Scott,

and to my loving mother, Pauline,

And

In memory of my father, David Morash.

Acknowledgements

There are so many people I want to say thank you to. The list could go on forever.

First and foremost to my daughters, Taylor, Lexus-May, Abagail, and Joslynn. All four of you are the inspiration and purpose behind my every breath. This book came to be because of the love I have been blessed with because of all of you.

Tiffany Morash, without your love and encouragement after reading the first ten pages, I would never have continued; but the excitement in your voice made me push on. The positive words you provided gave me the strength to see this through.

Suzy-Q! You taught me to add a little sugar to my life. You loved me despite my faults and pushed me to be my best! From the stories of your own life, you taught me to stand for what I believe in and not allow others to create doubt! If it wasn't for your unwavering love and support of my becoming my one-true self, I would never have taken on this journey. My blue-eyed, blond-haired, bombshell friend you will always be!

Stacey, my own personal guru. Your wisdom and insight have had more effect on my soul than you will ever know. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Peter, you have been like a second father to me. Without your persistent nagging, I don't think I would ever have had the courage to take the steps to be true to my heart!

Last, but definitely not least, to my editor, Jens Petersen, and my book designer, Dominique Petersen. Thank you so much for taking my dream and making it a reality! Without your finesse and expertise, this book would never have come to fruition!

Table of Contents

Preface

Introduction

Chapter 1: The Day I left Hackett's Cove

Chapter 2: Introduction to the Captain

Chapter 3: Teenage Years

Chapter 4: Emotional Cliff

Chapter 5: Turning Tables

Chapter 6: Earth Angels

Chapter 7: The Monster Who Stole My Mother

Chapter 8: Squeak

Chapter 9: Stowaway

Chapter 10: Hello, Alberta

Chapter 11: Leaving on a Jet Plane

Chapter 12: The Sea Dreamer

Chapter 13: Hell or High Water

Chapter 14: The Red Piano

Chapter 15: Reflections

Chapter 16: The Truth Shall Set Me Free

Afterword

About the Author

Preface

Over the years, I have known many people who have quit smoking. Accounts of their struggles differ; each person faces his or her own struggle with this addiction. However, there is one experience they all share when they quit—food has never tasted so good. Within a matter of weeks, they become euphoric as they experience the flavour, texture, and even the smell of food. This experience is unknown to me, as I can barely remember a time in my life when I didn't smoke. But struggle, now that I understand.

For twenty years I had been filled with more heartache and hate than anyone should experience in a lifetime. Finally, there came a time when life just didn't seem worth living. The pain was so excruciating that I was unable to take a deep breath, feel love, or see hope anywhere on the horizon. Desperately I started looking for an answer, but no self-help book, no words of God, could bring me comfort.

Depression is like a death grip on the soul. It is not until you are on the other side of it, when you can finally fill your lungs completely with air, slowly and calmly, that you realize just how sick you were.

If only I could put my finger on the exact date and time that it all became clear to me, but it wasn't like a hammer blow to the head. More like the melting of snow in the spring. Each day brought a little more peace until the realization came to me: all of this pain was for a purpose.

I had always assumed the role of protecting those who were vulnerable, but not always carefully considering the way in which I was attempting to help. Be it threatening to throw a Cuban off his yacht or kicking a 200-pound man in the knee for pushing my niece, my actions were ruled by my spitefulness, most times in the worst of ways.

But that is who I had allowed myself to become. I allowed my past to dictate my present. By lashing out, I continually gave more power to those who caused the pain. Only when I accepted the reason for the pain did it become clear. My purpose is to protect the weak from those who wish to cause them harm, but not through violence, not through hate, but rather by giving the beaten and weak a voice.

I can relate to a crushed heart, a broken spirit, and an overwhelm-ing sense of helplessness. I can see pain in the eyes of those who don't speak a word of the anguish they feel. I have walked many miles along the same path; perhaps we wore different shoes, but in the end, hell is hell. Physical abuse is the same as mental abuse, emotional neglect is the same as physical neglect, and gossip is not harmless—it is damaging and cruel.

Events in my life and the hell I have experienced have given me the gift to see through the veil people hide behind. And when I find a way to help them, my heart fills with joy. This is my heaven on earth.

Like those who quit smoking, I had to quit hating, quit fighting. And the new-found sweetness of love is beyond anything I have ever tasted before. There are no delusions of grandeur in my mind. Just as I'm certain that summer will follow the spring melt, I am confident that I will have to face the bitter coldness of winter after the fall. Only this time during the inevitable, blustery, cold nights, my heart won't be on my sleeve; it will be well protected inside my chest, surrounded by a blanket that love created.

Introduction

December 27, 2012

Hon, hon, it's seven fifty. Are you getting up?

My eyelids seem to be fighting every attempt I make at opening them. But I can hear my husband's gentle prodding, trying to bring me back from the depths of sleep into the reality of the day ahead.

Yup, just give me a minute, Scott. God, it feels as if I only closed my eyes five minutes ago. Finally I give up trying to force them open. Where are my cigarettes? My hand fumbles across the nightstand until my fingers are rewarded with my package of smokes. I draw one from the pack; hmm, it appears to be the last one. Well, that will be our first stop. There's no way in hell that I'm going to take on this morning without a full pack of cigarettes. Okay, now where's the lighter? I swear, having a cigarette and no lighter is worse than having a lighter and no cigarette! Ah, there it is. This would be a much easier process if I could just convince my eyes to open. Fuck it! I can smoke with my eyes closed. Mmm, the first haul off a smoke in the morning is always my favourite; it still gives me that head rush that I got so many years ago when I first started smoking.

As I luxuriate in total relaxation, a thought crosses my drowsy mind—Christmas Night. My eyes fly open, and a sudden rush of anxiety and panic washes over me like an uncontrollable tsunami. Oh, my God. Did it all really happen or was it just a dream? Please tell me it was just a bad dream. But I know that it wasn't—I know because this is the second night that I have not managed to get more than a couple of hours' sleep. How the hell am I going to get through this day? Every single cell in my body is feeling erratic from the overwhelming stress, and there is not a single thing I can do to stop it. I had every right to say what I said; I did nothing wrong!

But no matter how much I tell myself this; no matter how many times I rerun the events leading up to the Christmas from hell; no matter how much I assure myself that I was justified in my actions, my body continues to tremble in complete defiance of what my mind is saying.

It is all your fault, you should have just ignored it, you should have just kept your mouth shut, took one for the team, and said nothing! As I lie on my bed, feeling paralyzed by the conflicting thoughts that torment my mind, a new thought comes to me: if there is a God above, please make this stop.

The bright red numbers of the alarm clock read 8:37 a.m. I know that it is probably more like 8:17. I always set my alarm twenty minutes fast. It sounds ridiculous, but it's my way of tricking my morning brain to get me jumping up and moving so as not to be late. And even if I am late by the alarm clock, I always get a pleasant surprise once I get upstairs and discover that I have an extra twenty minutes. I like to think of myself as quirky, but maybe the asshole who called me a schizophrenic may have had a point. Oh, give it up, Amanda, why do you always doubt your-self, why do you believe what idiots have to say?

It is always about you, all about you all the time. I will never forget those words; they cut through my heart like a razor blade. How could she say that to me? Did that stupid bitch honestly think that I wanted this crap to happen? And none of it happened to her—it happened to me!

Chapter 1:

The Day I Left Hackett's Cove

I spring out of bed and jump to my feet. My heart is pounding as if the house is engulfed in flames and I only have seconds to get out. In a weird way, I guess there is some truth to that notion. My world seems to be burning in an inferno I can't escape. Every move I make, every word I say, just adds another dose of gasoline to the situation I've been put in. No time to think about that right now. I have to get dressed.

Goddamn it, Amanda, you have to get this weight off: the leg-gings are fighting my attempts to pull them up over my extra plump rump, and my frustration is growing by the second. Finally I manage to get them up, and I slip the sweater dress down over my head. It's so soft; cuddly really. Makes me feel safe and hidden, the extra pounds well tucked behind it. I feel a bit better.

One last drag before I have to butt it out. Bittersweet, as the warm smoke makes its way down my throat to my lungs. Why didn't I slow down on the smoking last night? Now I'm out of cigarettes, and I know better than to do that to myself. My anxiety is now peaking in full atomic-melt-down mode. Hold on, Fukushima, I'm about to one up ya, here in little old Nova Scotia. What a horrible thought, Amanda, all of those people that died. How can you compare your emotions to such a tragic loss? Get to the bathroom, brush your teeth, and shake your head clear of all this self-pity.

You're going to wear those boots?

Yes, I swell when I have to sit for long periods, and tight leg-gings and boots help. I know Taylor doesn't believe me, and she is right to question my choice of attire as it does seem pretty stupid to be dressed to the nines to drive across the country. But I need to get some strength back; I need to feel strong, and since I can't talk myself into it, I figure dressing the part might trigger some spark that will bring me back from the depths of despair.

As I fumble in a half-assed attempt to latch my earrings, I notice out the window that my niece, Tiffany, is pulling into the drive-way in her grey Mazda. Thank God I haven't burned every bridge. Tiff is always there for me, wise beyond her years at twenty-four. I know the girls will be in good hands with her on watch. I turn to Taylor once again.

Where's Abby?

Taylor nods toward the living room, and it occurs to me that she must have slept on the couch all night. She had been watching her Criminal Minds DVDs when I came up to get a drink. It was nice to sit with Abby on the couch, her legs slung over mine. I don't get a lot of one-on-one time with the girls, and even if it happens at three thirty in the morning, I am always grateful when it does.

I hadn't noticed at first when I crept up the stairs last night that the other girls were also spread out on the furniture. I forgot that I had given them permission to have a camp-out in the old games room—my mind too occupied with all the chaos from packing, tearing down the Christmas tree and decorations on Boxing Day, and stuffing as much as possible into the little U-Haul trailer.

This just doesn't look like my home anymore. Where Scott's pool table once stood—a symbol of four years of memories with friends and family—an old couch, loveseat, and chair take its place. Furniture that I planned to take to the dump has now become our only furnishings. All the work we put into turning this home into a place to be proud of seems so foolish now. Perhaps it never was our home, just a place to rest and then move on. Who knows? One thing is for certain, it has lost that feeling of being a safe haven. With only one opportunity to take with us as much as Scott and I can, the kids and I will just have to make do once I get back from Calgary. Hopefully I will be able to rent this house out and move into our summer home, The Sea Dreamer, with the girls. Way too much to think about now!

Can't sleep? I had asked Abby.

No, I can't, she said in her mouse-like voice, trying not to wake the other two.

I had quietly made my way across the tiny makeshift living room, toting my ashtray, a cigarette, lighter, and glass of pop. Her legs rose like a drawbridge and lowered again as soon as I had taken my place on the loveseat.

This must be the new season.

Yup. Her response made me smile. Typical Abby, no extra words, just the answer, straight up. Worried about the drive? she asked.

Nope.

Just mad?

A pang of sadness struck my heart, and I frowned at her. I never wanted my daughters to see that kind of anger in their home. Home was supposed to be a safe place, one that you could retreat to at the end of the day. Not able to muster the courage to explain the situation to her, I just answered with a Yup.

She looked at me, nodded in an accepting way, and returned her focus to the TV. Dazed, Taylor looked up from the other couch and then turned over and fell back into dreamland.

Where's Lex?

Bed hours ago.

That made sense;