The Quiet Storm: My Life, My Process, My Victory

By Stormy Wellington

Born to fail! That's what many would say about the beginning of Stormy Wellington's life. Born to a mother who wanted to abort her, Stormy didn't have the best of beginnings. Raised mostly by her brothers and family friends while her mother took care of her business in the streets, it didn't seem like Stormy had any kind of path to success. And for a while, Stormy found herself caught up in the life of hustling and drug dealing, scheming and stripping. But even in the midst of that life, Stormy had a dream. Inside she knew she would rise above it all. She was determined never to be a product of that environment. The Quiet Storm is the autobiographical journey of Stormy Wellington as she overcame all the traps of her life. Not even her pregnancy at the age of fifteen stopped Stormy from shaping her future and taking control of her destiny. Stormy endured a life that was filled with pain, but instead of being a victim, she embraced her past, understanding the entire time that every situation and circumstance was a part of her process and would help her along her road to success. Today, Stormy Wellington is one of the top network marketers in the country and for the first time, this renowned motivational speaker and life coach, shares her story. The Quiet Storm is a story of hope and purpose and will leave you feeling encouraged and inspired, knowing that by embracing your past, like Stormy, you can step into the magnificence of your future!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brown Girls Publishing
• Release date: Aug 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781625174888

Stormy Wellington

Stormy is one of the top network marketers in the country. And now, for the first time, this renowned motivational speaker and life coach shares her story.

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Chapter 1

If people really knew about the beginning of my life, many would say that there was no way success was going to be any part of my future - it was clear that I was born to fail. Born to fail because I wasn’t even supposed to be here! You see, my mother wanted me dead; dead before I was even born.

Not that my mother had anything against me; not at all. I mean, she didn’t even know me. It was just that she was all about business and I wasn’t a part of her business plan.

My mother was an extremely successful street entrepreneur back in the seventies and eighties. She ran a profitable drug enterprise across several states and when she found out that she was pregnant with me - her fourth child - there was no place for me in her world.

She had already separated from my father after she’d come home one day and found him in bed with another woman. That was the beginning of the end of their just-short-of-crazy, dysfunctional relationship. After what she endured, my mother was not about to honor my father by giving birth to his child.

So, she headed down to 42nd Street in Manhattan and met with a doctor who she’d heard took care of these situations. Only, there was a small problem.

You’re in your fifth month, the doctor told her.

That surprised my mother because with all that had been going on in her world, she hadn’t paid attention to the small detail that she might have been pregnant.

You’re really close to the point where it won’t be safe to perform an abortion.

I can handle it, my mother said.

Maybe I need to break this down for you - an abortion at this late date will put your life in danger.

My mother gave the doctor a blank stare.

You could very well die! he went on, trying to convince her to keep her baby.

But like I said, my mother was a street hustler. Her business was all about taking risks, she was used to danger. There wasn’t too much that scared her - and she had one objective…to get rid of that thing growing inside of her. She asked the doctor, So what do we have to do to make this work? We can take care of this today, right now if you want because I am not going to have this child!

It had to be my mother’s obvious determination that made the doctor finally gave in. Of course, because of scheduling, he couldn’t do the abortion right then and there. But he did schedule an appointment for the coming Saturday - just two days away.

Be here at ten o’clock, he said, sternly. Ten o’clock sharp or I won’t be able to do it.

Don’t worry, I’ll be here.

My mother hadn’t gotten two feet out the door before the doctor yelled out to her, I mean it. Ten o’clock sharp or else you’re having that baby!

Looking over her shoulder at the doctor, my mother threw her hand up in the air and sucked her teeth as if the doctor was getting on her nerves. Yeah, yeah! I’ll be here!

The doctor could’ve taken that to the bank because that was my mother’s plan. She was going to get up on Saturday morning and take care of this situation that my father had gotten her into. She’d get rid of that thing growing inside of her and my father at the same time.

Then, Saturday came and fate intervened - in the form of my father. He showed up to my mother’s house in the Bronx at seven that morning, banging on her door, demanding that she let him in.

Come on, Marlene! His yells echoed through the halls of the apartment where my mother lived. You better open up this door. We’re gonna talk about this!

But my mother wasn’t going to talk about anything. Not with him. As far as she was concerned, this was her body, her baby, her decision and that man on the other side of the door didn’t have a damn thing to do with this.

It must’ve been their stubbornness that had brought them together in the first place because even though my mother didn’t open the door, my father didn’t leave. With the October wind chilling even the hallways, my father stood outside that door and banged and banged and banged while neighbors opened their doors, wondering who was making all of that noise so early on a Saturday morning. He banged until a half hour went by and my mother finally gave up and let him in.

That was when the fight really started. Now, without a door separating them, my mother and father went at it. My father told my mother how she was gonna keep his baby. My mother told my father to go to hell.

That was their whole conversation. They argued and fought in a way that was normal for their insane relationship.

One hour passed, two hours passed and before my mother knew what happened, she glanced at her watch and it was ten a.m. - exactly the time when she was supposed to be downtown, in Manhattan at the doctor’s office. Even if she was able to get my father out of her apartment right then, it was already too late.

So, a fight saved my life!

Now trust, to say that my mother wasn’t happy would be an understatement. Not only did she want my father out of her life, but she had no emotional attachment to me, the baby that she had to have because of him. My mother was pissed.

That’s why when I was born that following February, early on Ash Wednesday morning, and the nurse asked my mother what she was going to name me, my mother hadn’t even thought of a name.

I don’t even know, my mother said, sucking her teeth, still disgusted that this had not turned out the way she’d wanted it to.

Well, you’re gonna have to call her something, the nurse said, with an attitude before she turned around and marched away. In just those few seconds that passed, memories rolled through my mother’s mind. She thought about everything that she’d been through with my father - all the struggles, all of the conflicts, all of the battles. She thought about the missed abortion - that was his fault - and the money she’d lost during her months of pregnancy - which was his fault, too.

Before the nurse got to the door, my mother yelled out, Stormy! Name her Stormy!

The nurse looked at my mother as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard her right. As if she wanted to ask my mother, ‘What kind of name is that?’

But to my mother, Stormy was perfect. The perfect way to describe life with my father.

Okay, the nurse said, you got a middle name for her?

My mother shrugged. Put down Nicole, she said, giving the nurse the first name that came to her mind.

And with that, I, Stormy Nicole Wellington was officially welcomed into the world.

Chapter 2

Without realizing it, my mother had given me a very noble name – Stormy Nicole Wellington - but my life was so, so far from royalty.

I was born in New York, but my earliest memories are of living in San Francisco. I was just a toddler when I lived there, and I only remember little details, like the big house, lots of nice furniture, having my own room, and my mother…who was hardly ever there.

Giving birth to me didn’t slow my mother down. She was still in the streets, still hustling drugs, and thinking that what she was doing was fine because at least she was providing for her children. But when I say my mother was never there…she was never there! She would leave us alone for four, sometimes five days at a time. My older sister was long gone by that point, but my brothers Bobby, who was nine, and Niles, who was seven, were the ones who were in charge.

But then, a bad situation got so much worse.

Our house was broken into, we were robbed and my mother lost her entire stash of money. She didn’t know what to do; yeah, she could take care of herself in the streets, but she didn’t want to drag us out there with her.

So for the first time since I was born, she called my father for help. Up until that point, my father, Ken, had nothing to do with me or my life. He didn’t provide for me in any kind of way; in fact, I’d only seen him a few times in my life until then.

But with nothing else to do, my mother had no other choice.

You need to help me take care of this child, my mother demanded when she called him.

Of course, the two of them fought like they always did, but for a reason that I will never understand, my father gave in and my mom and I flew to New York, where my father was living with his wife.

There is not a lot that I remember about the moment that my mother left me there, but my mind is still filled with horrible memories about what happened after she was gone.

I was supposed to be in New York with my father, his wife, and her two children. But just days after I arrived, my father went away. I later learned that he’d gone to the island of Jamaica, in search of another child, another daughter. So, while he was over there looking for her, he left me with his wife, Virginia.

Looking back, I realize there were lots of reasons for this woman to resent me. But I was only four at the time, so there was no way for me to understand her hostility.

Where they lived was already something that I was not used to. The Bronx apartment was small and cramped, the furniture was old and broken-down, and the walls were dingy, really dirty. This was nothing like my house in San Francisco.

I no longer had my own room; I was stuffed inside a bedroom with Virginia’s son and daughter who weren’t nice to me either.

You ain’t supposed to be here, girl, her daughter growled at me every single day. She would stand over my bed and stare down at me, snarling until I was trembling in fear.

But as bad as her daughter was, nothing was as bad as the way her mother treated me. She made sure that I knew I didn’t belong there. From the way she snapped at me every time she talked to me, to the way she glared at me whenever she took the time to look at me. Even down to the food – she would pile her children’s plates high with all their favorites and I would be given a little bit of what looked like leftovers. She would take her children shopping for clothes and toys, then make a big deal of it – opening the packages right in front of me. But never once did she buy me anything. Not a toy, not a new dress, not a new pair of shoes…nothing.

At four years old, all I wanted was to be included. I did everything I could to get her to like me: I tried to be good, I remembered to speak softly and politely, I never got into any kind of trouble. I did all those things that my mother had taught me. But nothing changed - she just hated me.

At night, I would lie in the bed, cry, and ask myself all kinds of questions: Why did this woman hate me so much? Why had my mother left me there – didn’t she care about me? Where were my brothers – why didn’t they come to save me?

I was too young to understand any of this and began to wonder if my mother was ever going to come back or was I going to be left in this apartment with these people for the rest of my life.

But even though I cried at night, I never cried during the day. I didn’t want to get in trouble, but also, I didn’t want any of them to know how much they were hurting me. So, during the day, I just lived inside of myself. I became strong - at least on the outside. Inside, I was crying all the time. But, no one knew that. In front of people, I held my head up and kept on moving - which is something that I do to this day.

Even though I was suffering, I never stopped my prayers. I kept asking God to please, please, please bring my mom back. I begged Him to make this all go away.

And finally, it did.

If there was a day in my life that I can remember clearly, it was the day when my mother finally rescued me. I remember the phone ringing and my father’s wife talking to someone. It didn’t sound like a good conversation – she was really mad at somebody.

After she hung up the phone, she snapped at me, Come on! Grabbing my arm, she dragged me through the apartment, yanking so hard that I thought she was gonna pull my arm off. I had to run to keep up. My head was spinning with thoughts. Where was she taking me? What was going to happen now?

I was scared.

When we got outside the building, I wondered if she was kicking me out. Was she going to just leave me out here, go back inside her apartment and lock her door?

The sun was so bright, I had to squint to see. But when my eyes got adjusted to the light, I saw an angel. It was my mother!

I had never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life. My mother hugged me so tightly – it was the first time I’d been touched in that way in months.

Thank you, she said to Virginia, and then my mother handed her some money.

My father’s wife, who I had lived with all that time, didn’t say a single word to me. She just counted the bills that my mother had given her, turned around and stomped right back into her building. No good-bye at all.

But do you think that mattered to me? No! I was with my mother. And for the first time in a long time, I was as happy on the inside as I was on the outside.

Chapter 3

Marlene Barclay

I didn’t want to leave my child in New York while I was in San Francisco, but I had to. Times had gotten rough, and I was still on the streets. The only way I knew how to take care of business, was to be out there. So, I had to let Stormy go, until I could get myself together.

And anyway, her father needed to step up. He had fought so hard for me not to have that abortion and because of him, I had missed that appointment. So, he needed to help me with his child.

I was absolutely sure that I was doing the right thing, flying to New York and leaving Stormy with Ken. I had no idea that he would leave our child alone with her! When I found that out, I went straight to New York to get Stormy.

I had already started to change my life anyway – at least where I was living. Miami was my home now and my life was more steady. So, it was time for Stormy to be back with me.

The day after I found out that Ken wasn’t even in New York with Stormy, I jumped on a plane and flew to the city. I checked into a hotel on 34th Street and the next day, hailed a cab in front of the hotel and had him drive me all the way to the Bronx.

When I got to the block where Ken lived, I told the cab driver to pull over.

Stop in front of that phone booth, I said.

He swerved the car to the curb; the moment I put my hand on the door, he yelled, Where are you going? He glared at me through the rearview mirror like he thought I was trying to run away with his money. You have to pay the fare, he shouted as he jabbed at the meter.

I was on a serious mission and this joker was slowing me down. I’m gonna pay you, but I want you to wait! I want you to take me back to the city.

You pay some of it now! he demanded.

Sucking my teeth, I tossed him a twenty, then stepped out of the cab and into the phone booth. From that booth on the corner, I could look right up into their apartment and when Virginia answered, I didn’t go through any of the niceties…I just told her that I was there to pick up Stormy.

When you comin’ to get her?

Now!

What do you mean now?

I’m downstairs. You can bring her and her things down right now.

Ken didn’t tell me that you were coming. I don’t know nothin’ about this.

I glanced at the apartment building, looked twenty-two floors up and had to hold my breath. In one of those windows high above me, I could see my daughter, Stormy, with her face pressed against the window. It wasn’t until then that I realized how much I had missed her.

It was true that I didn’t want Stormy before she was born, but once she got here, she became my heart. I still wasn’t going to change my ways - the streets were my life. But, I did love my daughter and was so glad that she was going be back with me.

I don’t care what Ken told you or didn’t tell you, I said, letting Virginia know that she wasn’t going to play with me. Bring Stormy down here right now; I’m waiting. My eyes were still on the window when I slammed down the phone and suddenly, Stormy’s face disappeared.

Good! That meant Virginia was doing exactly what I had told her to do. And she needed to, ’cause I was only gonna give her fifteen minutes to get Stormy together, pack her bags and bring her down…or else, I was gonna go up there myself.

I didn’t have to go anywhere - it didn’t even take Virginia five minutes to bring my daughter down to me. Virginia dragged Stormy out of the building and the moment Stormy saw me, she snatched her hand away from Ken’s wife, and ran straight to me. She wrapped her little arms around my legs and hugged me as if she never planned to let go.

Virginia’s face was all scrunched up like she was mad about something, but I didn’t care. I took three hundred dollars out of my purse, and gave her the money.

She stood there long enough to count it, then turned around. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized that she hadn’t brought down any of Stormy’s things. She’d given me my daughter with nothing but the clothes on her back.

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I had what was most important to me…I had Stormy.

The two of us slid into the cab and I told the driver, Take me back to the city. Take me to Macy’s.

On the ride back to the city, I wrapped my arms around Stormy as I told her that we lived in Miami now and tomorrow, we would fly there, and she would see her brothers.

Will I have my own room? she asked me.

All I could do was hug her tighter. By the way she looked, I could tell that the last eight months had not been good to her. It wasn’t just her dingy clothes that looked like Virginia had barely kept her clean. It was the look in my daughter’s eyes – sad eyes, dull eyes – as if she hadn’t smiled one day since I’d left her with her father.

Well, I was going to make sure that she smiled today.

The cab driver let us off in front of Macy’s and for the next two hours, I bought Stormy anything she wanted. I bought her all kinds of clothes, and several pairs of shoes and she smiled the whole time.

But when we got to the toy department – Stormy laughed. Can I have this, Mom?

She had picked up a Cabbage Patch doll and was hugging it as if it already belonged to her.

Yes, and we’ll get this one, too, I said, adding another doll.

By the time we walked out of that store, I had spent eighteen hundred dollars on my daughter and that was a lot of money in 1985. But every single dollar was worth it to me.

I took Stormy to the hotel where I let her order from the room service menu and then she slept so deeply, so soundly, I began to wonder if she had been sleeping at all? What had those people done to my baby?

But I pushed all of the bad things that I was thinking out of my mind. She was with me now; she was safe. I watched her sleep, curled up in the bed with that Cabbage Patch doll wrapped inside her arms. My baby had a smile on her face and that was all that mattered to me.

Chapter 4

Freedom!

I was only a kid, but I’m telling you, once you’ve been locked up in a prison, you know what freedom feels like. From the moment my mother rescued me from that messed-up apartment and those messed-up people in the Bronx and took me with her to my new home in Florida, I felt like I had been freed!

My life in Miami returned to normal - or what it had been before my mother had left me with my father’s wife. That meant that my mother was back on top and we were once again living the life - in a big house, yellow, this time. With three large bedrooms, and once again, I had my own room with brand new furniture - all pink. And a big bed.

My mother was still out on the streets, handling her business, sometimes being gone for three and four days at a time. The thing that was real, though, was that I never had to wonder what my mom was doing. She never kept her business away from her kids. From the moment I was old enough to understand, I knew how my mother made her money. She was transparent like that, and told us what was going on with her all the time.

I can remember being in my mother’s bedroom, curled