My Life, My Trauma, My Marriage, My Truth!

By Shela Poke-Williams

For what gave me strength was the Word of God, the Bible. Read Psalm 91, the book of Proverbs, and the book of Ecclesiastes. Heck, just study the Word; it will give you strength beyond measures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638814689

Book preview

My Life,

My Trauma,

My Marriage,

My Truth!

Shela Poke-Williams

Copyright © 2022 Shela Poke-Williams

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-63881-467-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68498-498-5 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63881-468-9 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To my earthly angels you know who you are, thank you all for everything you have ever done for me!

LW—Lady of Grace and PW—the Man of Honor

Growing up as a little Black girl in the dirty, dirty South, restrictions were placed everywhere. Getting up at the crack of dawn to go to the tomato fields, picking peas, throwing watermelons, and hoeing weeds was my normal spring and summer breaks. This region is known as the Bible Belt, yet there was so much racism going on it was unreal. We, as God’s children, should all be giving love and not hatred, but in Alabama, that was not the case in the ’80s. And in Big Queen’s house, you were going to serve the Lord. If we thought about boys, we got a beating (a whooping, we call it) with whatever was nearby—switches, belts, cords, pots, or pans. No exceptions. We were not even allowed to wear pants, only dresses and skirts; no phone calls, no visitation, and no courting.

So one of my excitements to escape was going to school and learning that terms being said as I’m fixing to go, Wha ya doing ova der, and I ain’t done nothing was a regular accepted part of speech. But one thing I do know, I couldn’t wait to be grown and to do what I wanted to do. There was no prom, no school activities, no clubs I could join. Even if I did try out and get in, I had to quit because it wasn’t of God as we were taught. There were no summer vacations, church, school, and as we know, being from down South working in the field. Because while living in Big Queen’s house, it was her way or the highway; your voice was never heard—it was called talking back. Oh, and that cherry tree with them switches tied together was never off the plate. I wanted so bad to cut that shit down, but the fear of my mom kept me away from that tree.

I was excited within myself and was so anxious to get this adventure started on being grown and finding love, to be able to do what I wanted to do with whom and how, and had grown wrong attitude. I didn’t care about nothing else; there had to be more to life than working in the fields, going to church, and babysitting my brothers and sisters. So I kept that dream going in my head that one day I would be gone off to the big city to look for what I thought was love; little did I know the lessons that would come along with such a rush.

Now with my dad, it was a completely different ball game. I got away with murder; I was spoiled to the nine, but I was also taught that education was the key. When other little kids had wagons, I had horses, the newest of bikes, go-carts; anything I asked for it was given to me by my dad. When I got expelled off the school bus for the remainder of my school term, the following week I had a car. I wore name branded clothes and shoes at a very young age; money was never a not-having-any problem. In my eyes, the way we were living, we were rich without question. Blessed beyond measures, if we suffered, I never knew. But what was missing was that love and rush of desires for myself from a man.

I always tried to find a way to get out of the house, go places, and look for more excitement. Now I can’t tell you how many times I got in trouble for lying, sneaking around, and talking back to my mother, especially about boys! However, every chance I got I was rebellious—rebellious to the point that at one time my mom even threatened me with girl’s reform school. Umm, that didn’t scare me; at least I would be out of her house and so many harsh rules. So no matter what I did, we were all made to attend church and school, so if that’s what I must do, let me do it.

I began to play the waiting game. The only break I did get was when my mom started working at the power plant and was on twelve-hour shifts from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. Baby, I thought this was my moment to shine and show how grown I was. I would put my brothers and sisters to bed and sneak boys over. We would talk, smoke, drink, and have fun. Get them out the house in due time and act like nothing was ever done. I thought I was getting away with my grown self. Nope, it was like she had eyes in the back of her head, not to mention the next-door neighbor who told her everything. Back then, the neighbors beat you, told your parents, and you got another beating. Hell, I was sick of these beatings.

Damn, can I get a break? I stated out loud in my mind all the time. The first chance I get, I’m out of here.

I almost got caught one morning when we had fallen asleep, and I heard the car pulling up in the driveway. Boy, you should have seen me running around the house to get it right and to get the boy out the back door. Around the house, I pretended to make friends with my love of stuffed animals because they were my go-to, to tell my secrets. I even practiced kissing and touching with them just to get in practice and be ready to know how when that time came.

Oh how I wanted to be grown. Can’t do nothing, living in this small town of the South. The only heartbeat was the high school and looking forward to Friday night football games. Then I had to lie and sneak out the house to even attend a three-hour school event. The only other excitement that was offered to me weekly without feeling was church! Church, church, church—every Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Sunday evening.

So of course, you know by now a sixteen-year-old girl is becoming interested in boys, and since my only outlet of meeting them was at church or school, I fixed my eyes upon one at church. His name was JB. Yes, he was tall, dark, and handsome. Come to find out he was into me as well; talented with all the church instruments and was a heck of a good kisser. We were both scared at first to even hold hands, but we did every chance we got. When it came down to expressing our love further, I was nervous; even though I had practiced on my stuffed animals, it wasn’t the same. Lord, when that kiss came, I was in love. I felt I was grown; this had to be love that I was feeling. Just one thing—well, one person—that stood in between me and this love was my mom, Big Queen. Lord knows if she found it would be lights out for the both of us.

We snuck around for years like we were fooling someone, and then it happened. My mom found all the love letters we were writing to each other to express our feelings. I got the worst ass beating you could imagine. From then, I made a promise to myself—get grown and get the hell on! A ponderosa was called between the two families, and we were forbidden to even see each other. Like that was going to stop us, well me, anyways; I was in love and wanted nothing more than to keep that feeling going. So