Tracey Hallberg Introduction, Part 3

Tracey Anne Hallberg is my Monday Guest Contributor.  She is a survivor of Family Crisis, and proof positive that there is light on the other side.  She shares from her heart, leaving very little to the imagination.  

Her story is valid, important, and needs to be shared.  My personal journey is very different from hers, but on my journey, I have come upon many...many...who have had to live through horrors similar to the upbringing Tracey was forced to endure.  

Tracey is one of the most courageous women I have had the privilege to know, and I am honored to share Wings Like Eagles with her every Monday.

Tracey's account is graphic and raw, and is not suitable for young or sensitive readers.  I give her posts a strong PG-13 rating.

The Hypocrisy of the Christians and How the Judgement of Others was Just as Damaging as What Was Happening at Home

You can see Part 1 of Tracey's story here.  To see Part 2 of Tracey's story, you can click here.  Her story today continues right where she left off, in Part 2.

The longing for stability would soon be real, and my resentment would creep in, with darkness to follow.

Something inside me was brewing.  A war.  A spiritual war.  A war between the truth I had come to recognize, and the unknown.  The hope of the unknown.  A better life.  Many contradictions kept engulfing our lives.  People would tell us one thing, how wonderful God was, then cast judgement on us and Mama with labels, horrible names and condemnation. 

Mama even tried to take us to church once.  It didn't go well.  She was a single woman in the 70's , in the Bible Belt of Louisiana, unmarried with two kids.  Neither she, nor Dana owned a dress.  I was all dolled up.  Natural red curls hanging down, while they had on their only pair of good slacks.  I remember that day, cuz I felt special.  But, God forbid you are single with kids AND you are wearing slacks.  I remember she said, "Their eyes cast spears and there were no welcoming gestures, hugs, handshakes or loving voices."  We never went to church again.  I was, at that point, beginning to think Christian was a horrible word.  They were the worst!  Mean!  Love?  Yea, right. 

 We were judged by our neighbors, cast out by the Clevelands, Mama's cousins, father, uncles, and any other associated relatives.  Auntie Tina, the wife of Mama's little brother Neal, had her own two kids to raise.  Mama's little brother, Neil, had committed suicide when I was 6.  Mama adored her brother.  It was also when she became hopeless.  He had put a bullet in his brain after one of my granpa's rants. "I will kill your whole family!" Granpa would say.  My grandpa was an angry, horrible man.  Twisted with demons. That was also when Mama's drinking had gotten the worst.

Uncle Neal used to be a Sunday school teacher. 

My mother's terrible pride and pain ruled our existence.  When Uncle Mickey finally said, "Babysister...No more," I felt abandoned by my Uncle. They had their family to think about. They could not keep disrupting their normalcy by takin' us in.  I didn't blame them.  I was torn between loving my mother and resenting her behavior.  I felt guilt.  Lots of guilt.  For makin' her life so hard.  For hating her.  For being alive, really.

Shuffled, confused, lost, cast out, abandoned, humiliated, abused, hated, we treaded on.  The three of us.  "Us against the world," Mama would say.  We fell from room to room, town to town, man to man. Sorrow to endless sorrow. 

School was horrible for me.  Always the NEW kid.  Always a freak.  Dirty, smelly, rotten weirdo. Teachers even used to spray Lysol on me in the back of the room cuz once we lived in a pig shack with no electricity or indoor plumbing.  That meant no showers.  The whole third grade took in a clothing donation with soaps and deodorants.  While the other kids were laughing and playing at recess, I will never forget, I had to sit alone, writing those Thank You notes to each and every family who donated. When I would wear the clothes given to me, the children would laugh and yell out, "Hahahahah!!! That is what I wore last year..!! It doesn't even fit you right!! Hahaha!!!"  Most were small for me, being tall like Mama, but, although it was clean and I was grateful, it was entirely humiliating.

I had no friends.  I would sit and cry in a corner, bullied and defeated.  Mama would come to pick me up in her half rusted up car, hair in pigtails, just out of the garden, low cut tank top, brown with sweat, cig hangin' out her mouth & her dirty feet in flip-flops.  It's somethin' worse, being poor and dirty in America than in a 3rd world country.  We judge here.  Crippling judgement.  I am sure Jesus was even appalled that day.  I hung my head in shame as the kids said, "Oh my God!! Is that your Mama?!! Hahahahah!!!!" These were the Christians I knew. 

Worthlessness set in like an old long lost friend.  Like Mama, I would come to feel...worthless.  My worthlessness, at least it is mine.  That, they can't take away.  I will be worthless if that is what they say.  Then it is so.  I am hated?  Then let me give them something to hate.  Want to make fun of me?  I will make fun of myself, before you got a chance to.  I isolated myself from the crowd.  I became what the world said I was.  But still, somethin' was brewing inside.  Uncle Mickey's words.  "You are worthy.  You are loved.  You are adored.  What you girls are being forced to deal with, I wish I could take you out of that place." But, he couldn't.  He had his own family who was, in my view, more worthy. There was still that.

I tried sharing my feelings with my mother once.  It did not go well.  She would either say, "That is stupid."  Or, "You shouldn't feel that way."  I am sure it was her inability to empathize because her childhood was more horrible.  So that became my self-talk.  I took over many adult years with that, where she left off.  You are stupid.  You shouldn't feel...anything.

 As the years dragged on, same ol' same ol'.  Endless darkness.  Pills, booze, sex, card games, new towns, and more booze.  Uncle Mickey's voice was still in my head.  "You are worthy, you are strong. Stay in school. You will overcome." He was, in my view, my God.