Break the Cycle: #writeYOURownstorymovement

By Melissa Telesky

Break the Cycle is a literary art, specifically created to openly and honestly share a personal life story with others, with hopes that each reader will embark upon their very own #WriteYOURownstorymovement. The author is passionate about encouraging as many people as possible to tell their unique and special life stories so that together, we can assemble a life manual, which most of us yearn for as we navigate through our own journeys. No other person can tell your story the way you can. You and only you have lived your experiences and felt the emotions involved with them. Your future generations will appreciate and cherish your literary art and will find solace in knowing the why behind their inherited traits. By sharing your story, you can be the conduit to your loved ones breaking cycles of behaviors that may be causing them harm. Get excited about your story and share away!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891305182

Book preview

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Break the Cycle

#writeYOURownstorymovement

Melissa Telesky

ISBN 979-8-89130-517-5 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89130-518-2 (digital)

Copyright © 2024 by Melissa Telesky

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Join the Movement!

BREAK the Cycle!

Chapter 1

Where and How It All Began

Chapter 2

The Attempts to Regain Control

Chapter 3

Embrace Change

Chapter 4

Accept Yourself, Others, and Circumstances (Just as They Are)

Chapter 5

How I Wish I Knew Then, What I Know Now!

Chapter 6

Temporary Vs. Permanent Change

Chapter 7

Daily Reminders

About the Author

Join the Movement!

Most importantly, this book was written with the primary purpose of sharing my personal life experiences with as many people as I can reach, with efforts to prevent some of the hurts I experienced from scaring others. Please join me on the #WriteYOURownstorymovement adventure so that together we can all create a life manual based on our stories and help each generation that follows us become more informed and have the know-how to navigate through some of life's biggest challenges!

BREAK the Cycle!

B—Begin (again)

R—Regain (control)

E—Embrace (change)

A—Accept (yourself, others, and circumstances)

K—Know (you are exactly where you need to be)

Remind yourselves that you are fully capable of each one of the above acts, that all the tools to achieve them are housed within you, and that we were all born with them. Manifest them and you will be able to break many cycles of behaviors you've fostered for way too long. We don't even realize the cycles we're repeating every single day. Why do we do that? We do it because, even as adults, we're nurturing our inner child. Mom told us we were fat, so we grew up believing we were fat forever. Dad told us we weren't smart, so we're forever incompetent in our confused minds. Our grade school best friend told us that the boy (or girl) we were infatuated with would never show interest in us because we weren't popular or attractive enough, so we convinced ourselves that we were unlovable and unwanted. Our coworker told us that red isn't our color, so we never wear anything red again, ever! Our child told us we're not good parents, so we spend the rest of our lives overcompensating to try to become who they want us to be. Our spouse tells us that we have dark circles under our eyes, so we're convinced we're old and unattractive.

And now, dear friends, I'll bring you through the breaking the cycle strategies I've painstakingly learned (and still learn every day) throughout my forty years of life (I'm counting each year because experts say the most formative years are from birth to age five); but first, please indulge my story as it is how I learned them.

I began writing this on November 11, 2022, and have dedicated somewhere around seven hundred hours to it, but the time and effort are totally worth it if I can even touch just one life! I owe a huge thank-you to God; mom, including step-mom, maternalistic figures, and mother-in-laws; dad; aunts; uncles; cousins; bullies; pastors; friends; music; ex-husband; ex-boyfriends; bosses; ex-bosses; teachers; coworkers; surgeons who have become more like family—the Stones, the Thurlows, Dr. Stewart, Dr. Trotter, Dr. Lee, and many others; therapists; supporters; naysayers; my AA group; Tony Robbins; Mel Robbins; Brené Brown; Martha Beck; Rachel Hollis; Esther Perel; Les Brown; Steve Harvey; Oprah Winfrey; Joyce Meyer; Joel Osteen; YouTube (thank God for YouTube); and last but certainly not least, my amazing little family!

To Andrew, my beloved and exceptional husband, my moon and my stars, you're my rock!

And to you, my dear baby girl, Gaby, my absolute pride and joy—the one who has kept me going when all seemed doomed and the one who has replenished my strength and literally picked me up off the ground on multiple occasions. The significance you both bring to my life is invaluable. I love you to the moon and back a gazillion times. You bring hope and purpose to my world! Buckle your seatbelts and enjoy the ride, my friends!

Chapter 1

Where and How It All Began

June 27, 1983—this is the day this complicated human entered the world via a small town named Port Jervis, Upstate New York. I am taking a wild guess and saying mom's pregnancy wasn't embraced. After all, I was born six years after my one and only brother, Shawn. Neusa, my mom, an immigrant from Brazil, came to visit my aunt (her sister) who had immigrated to New York to create a better life for herself; and at a party, she met this tall, handsome, blue-eyed, blond American man. A dream come true!

I know little about the dating period, but I do know my grandfather made it abundantly clear that his daughter would need to return to Brazil if marriage wasn't part of the equation, so that led to future mom and dad tying the knot lickety-split. Mom spoke zero English. I was told she would point to things like canned black beans to try to figure out what Dad wanted to be prepared for dinner each day. Many Brazilians eat rice and beans every day, and Dad is a hot-dog-and-mashed-potatoes kind of guy, so that must have been interesting! Dad spoke zero Portuguese, apart from some curse words, naturally. I know little about their married life before Shawn was born, but I do know they partied because I have found some fun photographs over the years.

I have also heard some stories about Dad and his bar incidents from back in the day. I don't ever recall seeing him with an alcoholic drink, so he likely quit many decades ago. I remember little to no happy moments growing up in either our first house in Swan Lake, New York, or the second one on Hamilton Road in Monticello, New York. We never ever sat and ate dinner together as a family. Honestly, I don't remember one single time. Mom was a waitress at the popular Kutsher's Hotel and worked all the time. Her English was broken and far from perfect. Dad was a residential and commercial painting contractor who also worked all the time. He owned, and still owns, his business and is very well known by most of the population in Sullivan County, New York as Randy the Painter. Mom and Dad slept in separate rooms as far back as I can remember.

The five of us (you'll read about the additional family member in a bit) lived in a small two-bedroom bungalow for a few years while our magnificent home was being built on the twelve acres of land we owned on Hamilton Road. Seeing the house be built from the ground up at the ages of four and five was exhilarating. The anticipation of living in what I considered to be a mansion at the time was beyond exciting! It was a two-story house, with a full-size finished basement; very tall ceilings; five bedrooms; a huge front glass atrium; a fireplace; several skylights; a massive back porch and backyard; and a four-car garage.

I would walk over to the construction area and bury Dad and his worker's tools in the dirt, just for fun! He was brilliant with each home he built (a total of four in my lifetime) as he would barter with his electrician, carpenter, and plumber friends each time. They would do his jobs for free, and he would do theirs for free. He always got his hands dirty and worked hard on each construction project. Dad was also a deer hunter, and I'd look forward to hunting season when he would plop me onto the back of his red ATV and have me spread apples around the woods near his tree house the night before the opening day of hunting season. It was a big event.

Mom and I would all wake up at the crack of dawn to prepare breakfast for dad before he headed to the woods for several hours. One time, I climbed the tall wooden stairs into his tree house deep in the woods and spotted a bottle of Mott's apple juice with a red plastic cup turned upside down onto the top of the bottle. I went to flip it over to pour some juice inside, and Dad yelled, No, no, no little girl! I later learned that is where he peed during his many hours awaiting his prey. He had an entire room wall in our basement adorned with deer heads he proudly showcased. Dad mostly hunted with his bow and arrow, but he also owned many rifles. He always donated deer meat (venison) to the poor, which I appreciate so much more now as an adult. Mom hired a nanny (we called her Madrinha, which means godmother in Portuguese) from Brazil to stay with us for the first four years of my life. Madrinha would speak only Portuguese to me, so that was my first language. By the way, she was the fifth family member I mentioned earlier.

As crazy as this sounds, I remember exactly how she looked. She was black, nearly six feet tall, and I am guessing she was in her early sixties. She wore glasses, frumpy floral grandma dresses, and had mostly white hair. Although I remember her appearance, I remember absolutely nothing about what she did. I don't remember if she cooked, cleaned, drove—nothing. But up there in heaven, thank you, Madrinha for helping me be fluent in Portuguese until this very day!

I loved McDonald's Happy Meals very much, and I quickly learned the strategy for getting them from Dad was getting injured. So I would climb trees and fake falling so that he would get them for me. I would be equally as excited for the toy inside the box as I was for the nuggets and french fries I devoured. The obsession became so bad that my mom had to scheme a plan, which I didn't know was a scheme or a plan at the time because I was five, but here it goes.

She took me for my annual visit to the pediatrician and asked him to tell me that I was allergic to McDonald's. I never ate it again after that day. Brilliant. Since I was a chunky kid, I didn't quite excel at any sport. Mom signed me up for ballet and tap classes, but other than some cute pictures in tutus, that wasn't my calling. We also tried gymnastics, but I was no acrobat. I wasn't even good at riding my bike—hint, hint, riding it down a hill of pebbles, which led to the scar I now have on my lower chin. The big yellow school bus would pick me up for school some days, and I looked forward to my mom waving to me from our huge wraparound back porch as the bus circled around the back of our house. The school was a pleasant escape as things weren't so pleasant at home. I don't remember seeing my brother Shawn much; he was usually stuck to my dad's hip, and they shared a bedroom downstairs. I would often go visit Dad and Shawn in their room, where they were usually watching the show Married with Children. Dad would cover my eyes and/or ears if Al Bundy said or did something inappropriate on the show. My pink carpeted, pink walled bedroom was near Shawn and Dad's shared bedroom, so it made me feel somewhat close to them. Near my room was also the play room/music room, where my brother had his keyboard and saxophone, and I housed my dolls and toys. Shawn was musically and athletically talented unlike me. He played baseball, the piano, and the saxophone. He was also artistic, popular, and smart. Seeing it from my eyes, Shawn had it all, and he was the favorite. I have a fond memory of attending one of his baseball games with Dad at Monticello High School.

I vividly remember the fights Mom and Dad had; one was in our dining room, involving Dad with a baseball bat and Mom with a box of Tide laundry detergent to block the swings. I have no idea what they even fought about. All I know is that it was common to hear yelling, screaming, tears, violence, and aggression when they were under the same roof. The second most traumatizing fight I remember was one evening (at about age six) when my mom prepared a bath for me and she submerged me in it. As soon as my little body touched the tub water, I screamed because it was excessively hot. This led to my dad coming to the bathroom door, with a tape recorder in his hand, to ask my mom why she was bathing me in boiling hot water. Their screaming and yelling led to the police arriving at the scene. Thankfully, I slept at home that night, but I was definitely scared. Dad even sang me his signature Frère Jacques song and created a random bedtime story until I fell asleep. I cherished those nights, but they were seldom.

Mom would drop me off at one of two places either the night before or very early in the morning on school days when she had to work, which was basically every day. My drop-off spots were either at the mobile home where her Brazilian friends, Irene and Paulo, lived, along with their two children Rebecca and Paulo Jr., or the bungalow where the sweet Italian elderly couple, Emma and Patsy lived. It was a tough choice on my drop-off preference as Emma and Patsy fed me the most delicious food. I remember they had ornate crystal dishes filled with walnuts and that old-school metal nutcracker tool scattered throughout the house. They also spoiled me with the most delicious Italian cookies ever! Did I mention I was a chunky kid?? At Irene and Paul's house, I slept on the white metal daybed in the living room until it was time to get ready for school, and that was fun because I had Rebecca and Paulo Jr. to play with. We were all the same age. Oh, and Irene made the absolute best grilled cheese sandwiches too! I would often stand with my back against a wall, cross