Claiming My Soul

By Mary Gonzalez

Have you ever asked yourself the questions: Who am I? What makes me happy? Questions that we dare not even ask because we don't deem ourselves worthy or deserving. Maybe we were waiting for someone else's permission to do so-spouse, significant other, "friend" or family member. I was guilty! Those were

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Gonzalez
• Release date: Jun 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734610642

Book preview

The Woman I Used To Be

Have you ever asked yourself the questions: Who am I? What makes me happy? Questions that we dare not even ask because we don’t deem ourselves worthy or deserving. Maybe we were waiting for someone else’s permission to do so–spouse, significant other, friend or family member. I was guilty! Those were questions I never really asked myself. I didn’t know who I was, much less what I wanted. You only know what you know. Right? At some point in our lives those two questions often come at the lowest moments in our lives. Incidentally, they are the questions that MUST be answered.

In order for you to get to know me, and have a better understanding of who I am, you need to know who I was and how I came to be. I grew up in a very strict, overprotective household. Our family was small and consisted of Mom, Dad, my maternal grandparents, and my younger sister of two years. I LOVED spending time with my grandparents. I was always closer to them than my parents. I remember packing my little suitcase on Fridays when I got home from school and my grandfather would come pick me up and I would spend the weekend there. It was routine for my grandfather and I to take an early morning walk to the 7-11 and pick up the Spanish newspaper called, La Opinion. By the time we got home, my grandmother had breakfast ready for us. She would make some of her famous beans, fried eggs, fried cheese with some café con leche (milk with some instant coffee), and a bollio (like a French roll). Oh man, Abuelita’s cooking was AMAZING! There’s nothing like a grandmother’s cooking! It could be the simplest of meals and boy did she make it taste delicious! My grandmother owned a restaurant when she lived in Nicaragua where she was known for making the best traditional meals. As for my grandfather, he used to work in the president’s house in Nicaragua. He would send telegraphic messages throughout the country. They never talked about their childhood years, and I never really asked–now I wish I had. In regards to my father, he never talked about his family or his childhood. I met a brother of his, heck I never even knew he had a brother, until he came to stay with us for a couple of weeks and then left as quickly as he came. My sister and I were raised to be respectful and obedient. You did what you were told, period; no questions, no talking back, and tantrums were unheard of much less tolerated. All Mom had to do was give us that look'' and it was understood! Oh yea, you know the one I’m talking about! The one that was followed up by a very painful pinch in the arm or that hand gesture that translated into, just wait until we get home!" I wasn’t allowed to spend the

night over at friend’s houses, because Mom used to always say, why sleep in someone else’s bed when you have a bed of your own? All said in Spanish of course! Oh, and that speech that my sister and I got just before we went to someone’s home. You know the one: Don’t ask for anything and don’t interrupt adult conversation. Whatever you get served to eat, you eat it and like it. Did that take you back a little? We can laugh about those things now, but back then, we didn’t understand the lessons and values that were being taught. Never asking questions and just doing what you’re told is something I carried over from childhood to my teens, adulthood, and eventually into my marriage. There was a certain naivety in my upbringing. I didn’t experience the things that most teenage girls did, like wearing make-up, dating, or school dances, because I wasn’t allowed to do those things, and besides, I was a tomboy, and all I wanted to do was play softball. But in high school, I met a boy that I truly liked, and he liked me. He was the first boy I had ever kissed, and I can honestly say he was my first love. I like to refer to him as the one that got away. With him, I felt my heartbeat for the first time, and that scared me. And I began to do things to turn him away. I had never had those feelings before, and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to act. So instead of embracing the emotion of love, I began to turn him away. I can honestly say that if he were to read this book, he would know I was talking about him, lol! You see, in our home, we never talked about love. I never really saw my parents or my grandparents show affection to one another or hear them say, I love you. I never saw them hold hands or hug one another. With all of that being said, my sister and I were always shown love and told that we were loved. So, I did have some idea of what that was supposed to be like. I don’t ever remember having that ever so uncomfortable conversation about the birds and the bees. It was taboo.

At the age of 23, I met someone I fell head over heels in love with on the day we met. Knowing what I knew in high school, I wasn’t going to let this one get away. From the moment we met, we were inseparable. We talked every day for hours and hours. I met his family within the first week and felt very welcomed. My parents welcomed him into our home as well. He would be invited not just into our home but to my grandparent’s home. He became a part of the family. We both felt undeniable chemistry, and in a couple of weeks, he was first to say, I love you. Everything felt so beautiful, so right. In a short time, we became intimate–he was my first. Needless to say, I became pregnant. I was terrified! I knew how disappointed my parents would be, and I also knew how furious my father would be. I had considered terminating the pregnancy because I was so afraid of what my father would do to me, so I scheduled an appointment. As I began to fill out the paperwork at the clinic, I just couldn’t put pen to paper. I kept thinking and thinking about it–this went against everything I had been taught, both from home and in religion. I just couldn’t go through with it. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. So, I gathered my things, gave the receptionist the clipboard, and I just walked away. Instead of driving home, I went to his house. He asked if I was ok because I would never just show up unannounced. I began crying and told him how scared I was, and blurted the words, I’m pregnant. He wiped my tears, looked into my eyes, and told me that he was very happy. He held me so tight and told me everything would be ok. He promised me that he would take care of us. He told me he loved me, took my hand, and took me inside the house, where he told his parents about the pregnancy. They smiled and congratulated us and said they would not only be there for their son but for me as well, and their home was just as much mine as it was his. Because as far as they were concerned, I was already part of the family. Hearing that gave me so much comfort because we now came to the hard part. I had to break the news to my parents. He asked to wait until that weekend to tell my parents because he wanted to be there when I told them. That was the longest two days of my life as I thought about how my parents would take the news, particularly my dad. That man had a temper, and I had no idea how he would react to all of this.

The week before Thanksgiving, and all I was hoping for was that all this would be over already. The day of reckoning was Saturday, and just as he promised, he was on time. I heard a knock at the door, and there he was with a big smile on his face. Seeing that smile let me know, at that very moment, that everything would be ok. My parents were already waiting for us in the living room. My nerves began to take over but having my hand in his made it all better. He began to speak, and the conversation ensued. He expressed the love he had for me and all that I meant to him and his family. He promised to take care of me and that I would never want for anything. Before I could say anything, he asked my parent’s permission to marry me! I was in shock!! Not just about asking my parents, but the fact that my father said yes! I was stunned! As soon as he was given consent, he turned to me, pulled a little crystal box from his pant pocket, dropped to one knee, and proposed. I, of course, said yes! That was one of the happiest moments in my life. We celebrated with a meal my mother made. We talked and laughed and never once mentioned the pregnancy. Later on, he called me and explained that he didn’t want to tell my parents about the pregnancy because he didn’t want me to feel like I disappointed my parents. We wanted to get married as soon as possible for obvious reasons. I wasn’t one for dresses and fancy stuff. I just wanted to start a life and be with this man for the rest of my life. So, he made arrangements, and we went to a courthouse and got married. I went from my parent’s house into marriage. This was the first time I left home, the first time I was apart from my parents, and the first time someone other than my mother and father was going to take care of me. Was I scared? ABSOLUTELY! Here I am, now 23, leaving my home for the first time, and now I’m married. I didn’t know how to be a wife, much less a soon-to-be mom, but this baby was on the way, and we just had to figure things out. I was now living in my in-law’s house. It didn’t take long to get adjusted. For me, I was excited about living in a new place. Part of me felt like it was an escape from the only home I’ve ever known, away from all the rules and the freedom to do as I wanted. The funny thing is, I was raised so well that I carried over all that was instilled in me into this new home. Maybe even more so because this was someone else’s house; it needed to be treated with much more respect if that makes sense. I now moved into his room, which he reorganized to make space for not just me but also for our daughter born in May of 1992. We were so happy, and things were going so well, so well, that five months later, I discovered I was pregnant again. My first thought was, what was everyone going to say and think about me? I had a way of making mountains out of molehills. Everyone was a little shocked but so happy for us. I was always well-loved by his family, and so they were excited. The family was growing, and we were outgrowing our little room. So, we looked around for a bigger place and found a nice apartment complex. Within a couple of months, we moved in, and by August of 1993, our son was born. Family life was a little challenging. Here we are in our mid 20’s with two children and an Astro van. Yes, that square-looking minivan that looked like a box, lol. Good times! Everywhere we went, they went. It was never a question, nor was it ever a thing about having someone babysitting for us. It was a simple fact that we are now a family and we did things together, so it was that way. Life was great; we were raising our kids together and just living our lives. He had a great job, and I stayed home with the kids and absolutely loved it! All was going well, and we felt like nothing could ever keep us from being this happy. But life has a funny way of stirring the pot.

My Nightmare Begins

In 1995, his favorite uncle passed away and that devastated him. That was the moment when things began to unravel. Deep down, I felt like it was more than that, I just didn’t know what it could be. He began to drink a little more than a couple of beers, which he was having on the weekends. The drinking increased more and more, it was as if he was given permission, an excuse to drink more. Months after that, he started missing days at work because he was hungover. He frequently called in sick and as a result lost his job. He soon got another job and all seemed to be getting better. I understood he was still grieving the loss of his uncle. There aren’t time frames when we mourn but I also knew we had responsibilities that needed to be taken care of and those didn’t wait for anyone no matter the circumstances. Several months later, the kids and I came home from an errand only to find an eviction notice on the door. I thought that was a mistake. There was no way this notice on the door was for us. I didn’t know what was going on. So, when he got home from work, I asked him about that and he said it must be some kind of mistake and that he would take care of it. And so, I trusted what he said. Remember, I was raised to do what I was told and to not ask questions and so that’s how it was.

The day before the end of that month, he was packing up things in