Stay Strong: A Story Of My Life

By Katherine Gertz

Victim, survivor, and warrior in that order. This is her story. The story of how she was made to be a victim. Over time, she understood that she is a survivor then worked hard to become a warrior. Domestic violence, abuse, rape, or any tragic event is so common that it is almost as if we have normalized it as simply a part of life. She was a whole person once, but every time something happened, it took a piece of her that she will never get back, so now, she stands before you a broken person but a broken person who is determined to make a change, help, or at least make some kinda impact. This book is dedicated to all the victims and to all the survivors. May we all one day be warriors. You are not alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781637109236

Book preview

Chapter One

Hope

Since this book is about me and my life, I suppose I should start out by telling you about myself. My name is Katherine. I am thirty-four years old. I have four beautiful children: Landon is fifteen; Kaley, twelve; Julian, ten; and Mason, six. I have spent the last three years with an absolutely annoying yet perfectly amazing man named Simon; his age is irrelevant.

I was born and I have spent most of my life in Fort Worth, Texas. My parents are Buddy and Esther. I have one older sister named Liza and some of the best friends and family that I could ever ask for. I’m currently traveling around with my family, so at this very moment, we live in Colorado, but tomorrow, that could change. It’s very exciting to me because besides Oklahoma, I never saw much of anything outside of Texas. My sister moved when we got older, so I did get to see Wisconsin, but I never really traveled around and did sightseeing until the last couple of years. We have been all over the country. I have seen some beautiful places and some pretty cool stuff. I am happy now and living the greatest that I possibly can, but my life wasn’t always the great and seemingly normal one that it is now. I have been through a lot, seen more than I should, and gone through way more than I could handle. I mean, obviously, I was able to handle it since I am still here today, and I like to think that I am stronger now than I’ve ever been. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I shouldn’t have had to experience those hard times or, at least, not as much as I did, and that statement is not only relevant for just me but for everyone. Nobody deserves to go through something that breaks your heart, damages your spirit, or even make you cry.

For the longest time, I went through so much chaos that it seemed as though it was just part of life. Normal was crazy to me, and crazy was normal.

Every time another thing happened, the only way I knew how to process it was to bury it and tell myself, Hey, it’s just a part of life. It would not be till much later that I learned that tragedy is not just a part of life. I worked so hard to become a genuinely happy person, I mastered faking a smile, and I had a 4.0 in pretending like everything was okay. I was so good that people even believed it, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t happy, not truly. And after living like that for so long, I knew I didn’t have the strength to live like that for much longer. I worked hard, and I started to let the past go—not completely but the best I could. I couldn’t have done it alone, though. It took a ton of help and support, but if it was possible for me, then it’s definitely possible for anyone because I was a wreck, a mess, and a crazy head. I can go on and on, but you get my point.

Since I spent the majority of my life thinking that my experiences were normal and just how it is, I never took the time to stop and think about everyone else in this equally crazy and messed-up world. Is there anyone out there going through the same things as me? Oh my god, is there anyone out there going through WORSE than me?

I finally began opening up and talking about my life sometime around five years ago when I met this adorable and yet different young man named Jose. Everyone calls him Scar. I call him best friend. It really wasn’t until then that two pretty important things became clear to me: The first thing was that the lucky ones, as I liked to call them, these are the individuals who haven’t really had anything bad happen to them, they would always tell me how strong I am for going through what I have; they would always have a shocked look on their face when I told them a little bit about myself and my past—a look like I understand how sad your story is but I can’t relate. And the second thing that was made clear to me and really opened my eyes was that this world is not filled with the lucky ones. There are actually a lot of people with similar stories as mine, even worse stories than mine. I discovered that I am not alone, which is both heartbreaking but encouraging. There are so many others out there who have a story of their own to tell and so many who are also stronger than they think. I am not alone, and neither are you.

I mentioned it was about five years ago when I decided to open up and unleash nearly thirty years of bottled-up pain, anger, and resentment; and it is the best decision I ever made. We all have a story to tell. Each one of our stories will be different but also just as important as the next. Someone’s story might be easier than yours, and some might be worse. But I believe that if you have a story to tell, then tell it. And every person who tells you that you are strong, believe them because you are. Always remember that.

What you’ll find in this book is that it will be a little bit different; not your typical book, I guess, you could say. Over the years, the—let’s say—hundreds of people who I have told just parts of my life to almost always say the same thing: Wow, Kat, you should write a book.

Well, I’ll tell you now that it’s not the hundred people or so who motivated me to write this. Nope, the motivation to write my story for all to read isn’t the hundreds of people who suggested it. It’s just one person. And who is this one person you’re writing your story for, just in case you asked yourself? Well, I don’t know. I have no clue who I am doing this for. I’m gonna put it all out there, throw my privacy out the window, probably make some people mad, and share things I’ve never shared with anyone. All because if my story helps one individual—just ONE person—then everything will have been all worth it. And I mean that. Every traumatic event, every tear, every black eye, and every heartbreak—it will have been completely worth going through as long as this story of my life helps just one person.

Hopefully, that person is you. Maybe it’s someone you know. Maybe it will be someone having a hard time coping and moving on from their past. Hopefully, it’s someone afraid to speak out. Hopefully, it’s someone going through similar things now and beginning to tell themselves that this is normal and just a part of life, like I did.

But please, whoever is reading this, just know that you are not alone in whatever you’re going through. Rather you think it’s big or small in your eyes. You are strong, and you are important.

Don’t ever convince yourself that you don’t have a purpose or that you are a mistake. An accident is driving down the wrong way on a one-way street in Downtown Fort Worth because the roads there are so damn confusing. I’m not saying that I totally did that, but I’m not not saying that either. Well, you, my friend, are not a crazy, confused female driver such as myself. You are not any type of accident or mistake. You matter, and you are here for a reason. Find your reason, or at least promise me that you will stay around long enough for you to find it.

And finally, if you have your own story to tell, don’t ever, ever let anyone, including yourself, tell you that you are weak or define what you have experienced as your worth. The fact that you have gone through something or somethings that break people down, be strong and build yourself back up. And while you’re at it, tell whoever hurt you to kiss your strong ass because you will not let a messed-up person or situation take you. That is exactly what it wants to do. Don’t let it. I’ve spent so long living as a poor little victim, and yes, we are victims, but we are also survivors.

I won’t lie to you or deny that it hurt writing a book about my life and my past. I forced myself to remember every detail that I could of things that took me years to forget just so that I could write this for you. There were a lot of times that I cried while typing. There were also times that I got so mad I slammed my computer shut and didn’t write again for a month or so.

This was an emotional journey I decided to take, but I truly do wanna help people like me see how wonderful they truly are. I have spent damn near my whole life wishing that I could save the world. I know that I can’t, but if I can just make an impact, help someone find their voice, or help you see your strength, then everything that I’ve ever struggled to achieve will be worth the fight I fought to achieve it.

I hope you trust and believe me.

Chapter Two

My Beginning

Iwas born on January 26, 1986, at JPS Hospital in Fort Worth, Texas, and even though I was just a bunch of growing cells in my mother’s body, my life still didn’t even start off ideal.

First, let’s start with my birth, well, kinda. There are two different sides to the story of how I made my debut in this world. Again, I was born on January 26, 1986. It was during the Super Bowl XX, the Chicago Bears versus the New England Patriots, the Bears won forty-six to ten. My dad was rooting for the Bears. He was not a Bears fan or anything. He just hated the Patriots.

So if you ask my mom about the day I was born, this is what she will tell you: It was the afternoon of the twenty-sixth. My parents were watching the Super Bowl together at the house, when suddenly, my mother’s water broke. She informed my dad of this, only for him to ask her if she could please wait until the end of the game to go to the hospital. She understandably told him no, so he then began the bargaining process.

He asked her, Okay then, can you at least wait until halftime?

Again, her answer was a furious no.

Well, at least, I imagine the no was a furious one. So against my dad’s wishes, he loaded her and, technically, me up into their car and headed for the hospital. Apparently, upon arriving to JPS, my dad took her to the ER area of the hospital instead of labor and delivery, where she was supposed to go. Regardless, he was desperately attempting to find the nearest TV so that he might continue watching the game despite being in the wrong side of the hospital. Well, because of the delay from my dad’s bargaining if he could watch just a little bit more of the game and them not leaving in record time, not to mention the attempts of finding a hospital TV that just so happened to have the Super Bowl on, my mom was far enough into labor that I was born before they even put her in a room. So yup, I was born in the waiting room of the ER that day, thanks to my football-loving father.

Now if you ask my dad how this day went, he will tell you that it was a fine, normal day. My mom’s water broke, so they immediately rushed her to the labor and delivery area of JPS hospital, and I was born a few hours