The Book of Jo

By Acasia Olson

Acasia Olson's The Book of Jo is the story of transgenerational trauma and the journey towards healing. At the center is Jo, a precocious little girl, adopted at infancy, into the loving arms of Opal, a God-fearing, older Black woman who can't have children of her own. Jo lives in a world of grand opposites. Her mother loves her sacrifi

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Jun 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885041515

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THE BOOK OF JO

By Acasia Olson

New Degree Press

Copyright © 2022 By Acasia Olson

All rights reserved.

THE BOOK OF JO

ISBN

979-8-88504-500-1 Paperback

979-8-88504-602-2 Kindle Ebook

979-8-88504-151-5 Ebook

DEDICATION

For my babies L.S, L.G., my granny, and all survivors of childhood sexual abuse.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.

Psalm 23:4 (Authorized King James Version)

Time heals all wounds, but history never forgets.

Dakarai Jelani-Miller

Trigger Warning Statement

This book contains sensitive subject matters including rape, incest, child abuse, and racism.

Disclaimer Statement

This work is a fictionalized account of true events. Details such as names, places, dates, and order of events have been altered to protect the privacy of people involved and have been marked with an asterisk where changed.

Letter from the Author

Dear Reader,

In November 2018, I became a mother and within my daughter’s first week of life, I hosted my mom and grandmother at our home in Spain. In the weeks leading up to my new identity, I found myself reflecting on several things: motherhood and specifically my inheritance of motherhood; an inappropriate encounter by a former spiritual mentor and elder; and the legacy of childhood sexual trauma specific to senior survivors.

The first point of reflection was a natural manifestation of a life-changing event. The second incident occurred in the wake of the #MeToo movement

My last thought was inspired by my grandmother’s survival story, how her experiences shaped her world and how she used those experiences to protect her progeny.

In March 2019, I returned to the US to visit my parents with my four-month-old daughter. My mom was in her final round of chemo treatment for her battle with breast cancer, and my grandmother, who I affectionately call Granny, flew up from Alabama to spend time with us. We were four generations under one roof. As a new mom, not only did I want to learn more about my granny’s motherhood journey, but I also wanted to learn more about her childhood. She had a fascinating life and a vivid memory, and I didn’t want to forget any details. Because I like storytelling and documenting things, I asked her permission to not only record her story but also to write it.

I knew that Granny was adopted as an infant, raised in Birmingham, Alabama, and came of age during the dawn of the civil rights movement. I knew she was a teen mom, had all three of her children by the age of eighteen, and later became a registered nurse. I also knew that she was a survivor of childhood sexual trauma and incest at the hands of her adopted dad, but I didn’t know the full extent of her abuse. With her permission, I set out to document her lessons on life: her trials, trauma, and triumphs. Granny’s life was worth knowing and celebrating even if she didn’t think so. My initial goal was to create something as an ode to Granny in honor of what she endured and overcame. I figured I would present it as a historical account of the family matriarch ripe with invaluable wisdom for future generations.

This is the story of a girl whose childhood was stolen from her by a man who she still calls Daddy, though he was no blood relation to her. He died before fulfilling his promises of doing the unimaginable to his adopted daughter. This is the story of a woman who is the mother of three remarkable humans, grandmother of six incredible grandchildren, and three beautiful great-grandchildren. This is the story of a person who survived but a soul that still battles the unresolved trauma of sexual assault amidst the racist terrorism that sparked the civil rights movement.

I wrote this book to honor and cultivate greater compassion for my grandmother. In becoming a mother, not only did I want to examine the mothers before me, but I also wanted to revisit their childhood. We all come into this life as infants, but what happens when that childhood is stripped away at the hands of a parent? And what happens if that assault on a child’s body occurs in a time and place where the child lacks a voice and agency to fight back?

This goal of writing my grandmother’s story has evolved as I think about the millions of senior survivors of childhood sexual trauma. Granny grew up in an era where conversations about sex were taboo and girls were blamed for seducing the grown men who raped them.

Resources, data, and programs for child survivors of sexual assault and incest didn’t exist because those terms weren’t part of the lexicon. Trauma wasn’t as widely researched and understood as it is now (Cook et al., 2011). Furthermore, African Americans weren’t part of the conversations on trauma (Bryant-Davis et al., 2010).

Black people were considered disposable—neither citizens nor fully human—and were thus considered incapable of feeling pain, let alone being worthy of resources reserved for victims of assault (Miller-Clayton, 2010). Even now, Black patients often receive less powerful pain medication and access to mental health resources due to a history of being seen as histrionic and superhumanly strong enough to endure discomfort (Harrison et al., 2018) (Oladipo, 2019).

Given the legacy of racial terrorism coupled with sexual assault and abuse against children and women, there’s a wealth of research to be done on the trauma found at the intersection of racial and sexual terrorism both within and outside the Black community (Oladipo, 2019).

This book seeks to shed light on this reality while also inviting family members of survivors to examine how they view, engage with, and respond to their loved ones. It’s a reality experienced by so many who had insufficient access to mental health resources, let alone therapy modalities that considered the history of racism as the root causes of social determinants of health and social buoyancy.

Fast forward to modern times, when mistrust for medical and mental health establishments is influenced by the history of abuse against African Americans by said institutions. The fear of further damage to the Black community by pseudoscience and grand stereotypes likely kept mouths shut. It’s no surprise that these traumas are not only dismissed but passed on as the norm from generation to generation.

Though the #MeToo movement has since spurred pivotal conversations and policy changes, not all survivors speak up for fear of the consequences. So what of children and people of color? And how do we convince a generation that believes victims are to blame for their abuse to speak up about their experiences?

My grandmother’s story is heavy and painful and wrapped in betrayal, abuse, and displacement. And I have often asked my Maker why my grandmother endured such hardship and at such a young age. The only hope I have is in how I will raise my daughters and challenge institutions that suggest abuse is at the fault of the preyed upon.

As a result of her assault, my grandmother was not only vigilant in her parenting and vocal in protecting her children from experiencing such abuse, she was also transparent and open about topics that, in generations prior, were seen as taboo and private. If her children were going to learn about sex, their bodies, and relationship dynamics, it would be from her and not from lecherous people, the streets, or their peers.

I learned this from my mom, who was vocal and transparent, and I also learned that I had a voice and permission to speak up without fear of retribution. This is something my grandmother and most of her peers didn’t have while growing up, and it’s something many women today still don’t have despite grand social advancements in women’s rights.

As a mother of two girls, as a daughter, and as a woman, I have grappled with generational pain and the unresolved issues it has caused. I also consider the lessons learned and taught. I opened this letter with things that I grappled with the year I became a mom. These things were motherhood as it was handed down to me, the inappropriate advancements and betrayal of trust from a male religious mentor, and the long-term, multigenerational impacts of childhood sexual trauma. One of these situations resulted in me expressing my disgust and disappointment directly to the person who harassed me. Another resulted in this book, which is my way of calling my grandmother into a loving space of healing while calling out a society that bruised and abused her and other survivors of childhood sexual trauma.

This is the story of my grandmother, an adopted daughter who came of age during the civil rights movement in Birmingham, Alabama, a mother of three, grandmother of six, retired nurse, and survivor of childhood sexual trauma. This is The Book of Jo.

Chapter 1

Hi, Mrs. Booker. My name is Dr. Cassandra O’Neal. The voice on the recording sounded young, professional, and inviting. I’m a social worker and licensed therapist, and I received your message that you would like to schedule an appointment to talk with me. Please give me a call as soon as you can.

Jo listened to the message a third time. A knot calcified in her stomach as she sat with the weight of each word out of Cassandra’s mouth. Jo wanted to feign memory loss or call back and tell this nice woman that she had gotten the wrong number. But Jo kept hearing her granddaughter’s words:

Granny, have you ever considered going to therapy to process your trauma? I really think you deserve to heal. You’re retired but your mind and body still carry the weight of your abuse. That little girl inside needs to be healed and made whole, Amaryllis* implored.

Jo made the call at two in the morning. Truth be told, she was on the fence about the idea and didn’t know if she really wanted to talk to anyone. But she also knew that she’d been feeling stuck and overwhelmed by frequent memories from her past. She thought she was over it all but now she knew better. Who could she trust?

She didn’t want her husband, Reggie*, to know her plans. Of course, Reggie didn’t even care and wouldn’t have known what she was talking about.

What did it matter what he thought? But she knew he was also a divisive and discouraging character, not the most sensible source of marital support, and Jo didn’t want to invite that into a decision that she had avoided for decades.

Jo remembered the day she became serious about therapy. She had just returned from an international trip to Naples, Italy, where she visited her granddaughter, Amaryllis, and new great-granddaughter, Evangeline. Maryland*, Jo’s oldest daughter, sponsored Jo’s first trip out of the country. When Jo finally told her husband, Reggie threw his dishes in the sink, slapped the table, and stormed out the door, calling out obscenities. During his tirade, he admonished Maryland for not asking his permission to let his wife leave the country.

After twenty-five years of marriage, Jo anticipated this reaction. In fact, Jo delayed applying for her passport for fear that it would arrive too early and set off a firestorm of verbal attacks. But things became even more stressful when she found out her passport application had been rejected due to an error with her birth certificate. After a lengthy conversation with the Jefferson County records department, Jo learned that Opal Clark*, the woman who adopted and raised Jo as her own flesh and blood, bypassed a few key steps in the adoption process.

Now, seventy years later, this old loophole triggered alerts in the modern digital system and put a hold on Jo’s travel plans. She had less than seven weeks to correct the error and resubmit her paperwork. So Jo let out the greatest sigh of relief when, one week before her trip, her passport arrived in the mail.

Jo replayed the details surrounding her first international trip. To minimize conflict with Reggie, Jo waited until the week before her trip to share her travel plans with her husband, leaving little detail and opportunity for drawn-out confrontation.

Chile, I can’t believe I’m going to Italy to see my first-born grandbaby and great-grandbaby! You’d think we were going to see the Christ child! Jo exclaimed after settling in next to Maryland on the plane.

Mama! I’m so glad you could make it! Maryland exclaimed, hugging her mom’s arm.

Eight hours later, language barriers and fatigue led Jo and Maryland to get lost in Rome’s massive international airport and miss their connecting flight. They would have lost their luggage had they forgotten their baggage receipts. Through it all, Jo was grateful that Maryland invited her on this trip and that they could travel together.

That she could take this grand, international trip without Reggie made for a sweet reprieve that Jo hadn’t felt in a while. Jo enjoyed one week bonding with her newest addition to the family and returned to the US to assist Maryland, who underwent breast cancer treatment. After five weeks, Jo’s vacation ended, and she had to return to her flawed reality.

And return she did. Like a foghorn, her first twenty-four hours back home jolted her out of a deep and delicious sleep. Jo and Reggie got into a shouting match that first morning. Jo forgot to cook Reggie’s sausage just the way he liked it. Or maybe the eggs weren’t runny enough. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good enough for him. No matter how much she worked to serve and love him, Reggie was never satisfied.

He often bragged about how much he took care of Jo when everyone knew it was the other way around. A retired nurse living with a retired bus driver in a shoebox house on the edge of town was not what she had hoped for in her later chapter of life. Come to think of it, Jo didn’t know what she had hoped for in retirement and found herself both restless and complacent from week to week.

The taste of freedom from her trip abroad whet her appetite for more adventures. But the weight of her physical body, heavy past, stale marriage, and older age made the prospects of a repeat trip unlikely.

Jo was tired of Reggie’s shenanigans, and she often threatened to divorce him. Most days they’d argue until he threatened to go find him another wife or visit his other family. He would storm out the door and stay away