How to find your inner strength when your life is a complete disaster. 

Sometimes we discover strengths within ourselves we never knew we possessed when being strong is the only option you have left.

I always promised myself that I wouldn't turn into my mother. There is no way I would be so weak that I would let someone else talk down to me, insult me, belittle me, or put me in a corner in any way. I was too strong of a woman to let anyone control me. 

Let alone the person that is supposed to be my life partner, equal and other-half. Not me. I would NEVER let my life succumb to that. I refuse to lower my standards. 

My father was a generous, kind, loving soul, gentle as a teddy bear. As long as he was stone-cold sober. As soon as Jim or Jack came into the picture, Mr. Nice Guy turned into El' Jerko real quick. It was like a light switch that flipped into the "on" position as soon as the corn mash or liquor hit his stomach. 

Once Dr. Jekyll turned into Mr. Hyde, that's exactly what I did.

Hide. 

I knew I only had a few short moments until my dad would think too hard about something that pissed him off, or went wrong, or the wind would blow the wrong way, and his voice went from 0 to 10 in a matter of seconds. Then went from loud voice to physical violence and force.

It was always my mom. She always made sure she was the one who absorbed all of the violence. He never laid a hand on me. She had to deal with the monster my dad became, and there were times I couldn't recognize her face because she spent the entire night appeasing the monster. 

Lots of times she had to spend hours coddling him until he either was completely loaded and passed out or he was on his 3rd day straight and had to go to bed to recuperate until he was ready for another bender. 

I remember times from my childhood lying in bed, promising myself that when I grew up and got married that my life wouldn't be this way. 

My husband wouldn't scream and shout at me. He wouldn't talk to me like a child or punish me like an animal. My husband would be kind and caring. Not Loud and mean. The man I chose as my life partner wouldn't have his children afraid of him. They wouldn't avoid their father in fear of saying something wrong or angering him causing an unnecessary outburst. 

By the time I got to high-school, I learned how to block out the noise of my parent's constant fighting when he was drunk, and him being the awesome man I knew him as when he was sober. I had already met and fell in love with my now-husband. 

 I was young and dumb. But I still knew waaaay more than my parents. I was smarter and stronger than my mother. I wasn't going to allow myself to get stuck in the same situation as she did. Financially and physically obligated to a man who didn't treat me like a princess. 

I wasn't going to marry an unpredictable drunk. I had my life together. We were in love. We were going places. My life was going to be different…. or so I thought.

Hit the Fast Forward button 4 years and I was getting married. (So excited and in love, we wed the very day I became legal, before Prince Charming could change his mind, My 18th Birthday.)

FF another 2 years. We became pregnant with our daughter. Things were a little rough. My Prince Charming started to become not so perfect. He became friendlier and friendlier with my dad's old pals Jack and Jim. 

He began to come home later and later each night he came home after dark he was more inebriated than the night before. I even did the wifely duty of bringing him a pillow and blanket, then locking him outside lying wherever he decided to get drunk and puke, then pass out. 

It bothered me to some extent but I was stubborn in my mission to put my foot down and not end up a helpless housewife of the neighborhood sort. I was not becoming the wife of Otis Campbell the town drunk or watch him walk a cow into Mayberrys county Jail. 

After a while, I grew tired of taking care of all the household duties on top of all my wifely duties, all while holding down a full-time job and I finally had had enough. 

Our constant bickering and his late-night fiascos got the better of me and I had had enough, I finally gave him an ultimatum. Either he gave up the bottle or the only family he would have would be his loudmouth friends located at the local bar. We would let the bottle could keep him warm at night because we wouldn't be around to. 

Naturally, he saw that I was dead serious and wouldn't have a problem packing up, leaving. Or taking our daughter and his entire world that he had grown so accustomed to with me.

 He made the right choice. He decided we were too important to him to lose, and stopped drinking and all the habits and hobbies it entailed to hold on to his family. 

He remained clean and sober for another ten years before he got comfortable enough to try his luck again and picked up the habit once again.

This time it grew in intensity much more rapidly than before. It is like he went from a warm and loving husband to a physically, emotionally, verbally abusive monster in what seemed like the blink of an eye. 

This time he could turn it off and on anytime he wanted. He knew when he had taken it too far and he had pushed my buttons to the point of leaving him behind, and when it was time to turn on the charm just enough to reel me back in and convince me he had changed and didn't mean any of it. 

-He was only "angry", he didn't mean any of it. He never "meant" to hurt me, or hurt my feelings. He was only trying to "let off a little steam". He didn't "realize" what he was doing. 

It took almost 2 years of that before I connected his problem, my husband my very own father, and the fact that they were one and the same. I had allowed myself to fall victim to his endearing, captivating false charm. I had begun to live the life that I had always promised myself that I wouldn't allow myself to get sucked into. 

The kind of life that I detested. He had become the man I made him vow to never become. I had seen the hurt and pain that this type of life caused my mother, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was appalled that I had let my life stoop to this level. How could I let myself become so weak? Why am I letting a man run over top of me? 

I bet I had a million questions racing through my head. I needed to call my mother. I didn't know what else to do. Maybe she could offer me up some advice. After all, she had been living through it for damn near 40 years. Maybe she could tell me where I went wrong and how to fix it. 

Or if there was even a fix to it.

I dialed up my mother frantically with tears filling my eyes. With each number my finger tapped, the rage inside of me grew deeper. 

The man I once loved more than life itself had become the fuel that lit the out of control raging fire that burned within me. 

I finally gained enough wits about me to press the tenth number. It started to ring for what felt like an eternity but in actuality was only probably about 10 seconds. 

Click.. " Hello". The familiar sound of my mother's voice calmed me but caused a lifetime of horrible memories to come flooding back to me in a flash. 

"Mom" That was the only word I managed to stutter out without bursting into silent tears. 

"Yeah, it's mom, Lou Lou". 

My mom always called me Lou Lou when she knew I was troubled. She always knew when something was wrong. I never had to tell her when I had done something I wasn't supposed to or knew she wouldn't approve of. Or when someone had wronged me. 

In that instant, I completely changed the view I had of my mother. The fact that my mother possessed this superpower, the ability to read me, know that something was wrong, the skill to comfort me without uttering a sound, and throw herself into MOM mode in a split second without me telling her ANYTHING, hit me like a runaway freight train. 

 I couldn't tell her anything. I opened my mouth, but no sound would come out. My stubborn pride refused to allow me to let her know that my life was literally falling apart at the seams. That her daughter had become just like her, minus the boss, badass tact, and class that my mother somehow managed to keep, no matter the situation. 

"Sorry mom, I'll have to call you back in a minute, one of the kids have broken something and now they are fighting and I have to go referee before they break each other." 

I lied through my teeth. Sank down on my bed and sobbed uncontrollably. I felt more shame than I had ever felt in my entire life. Hell, I even felt guilty for things I did when I was a teenager that managed to slip past my mother's superhuman lie detector. 

But wait…… That means she knew I was lying just then… Hopefully. 

For years I had prided myself on ensuring I never became like my mother. I had insisted that she was this weak, frail woman who never stood up for herself. A helpless woman who had to have a man in her life to validate her existence. I mentally used her as an example of who I didn't want to be. 

I thought back on my life and all of the things that my mother endured during the years I could remember. I saw my mother cry twice my entire life.

The first time being the day she got the horrific news that my sister, my mother's firstborn child, had been killed in a car accident by her P.O.S boyfriend. Who happened to be a drunkard, forced her in the car and hit a telephone pole, down a busy street in Louisville Kentucky. She was forcibly ejected out of the vehicle via the windshield at 24 years young and perished on the spot. 

The second time being the day she found my father's body in front of their outdoor building where he used to spend most of his free time before he was stricken down by the cruel sickness known as dementia. A single self-inflicted gunshot wound to what used to be his skull. At least that is what the coroner that later examined his body informed us. 

The man she spent her entire life with. The man she bore 7 beautiful, stubborn, selfish daughters to. The man she loved with every fiber of her being. The man she devoted her existence to taking care, of and making happy. Gone. Without a word, without a reason, without squat. Gone. 

Those were the only two times I witnessed my mother shed a tear. I'm sure there were countless other times maybe, but she never brought herself to be weak in front of her offspring. WOW. 

I know my children have seen me cry more times than I care to remember. Her not showing her emotion is not the strength I am speaking of. I'm talking about the example of the amazing outstanding woman that is incredibly brave, courageous, and loving she decided to set for her 7 daughters. 

Until this moment in my life, I never realized what an incredible woman that birthed me. How many times I was ungrateful and undeserving of the love, compassion, and strength she showed me as a mother.

hero:

A man or woman who devotes themself to their cause, and often does not expect anything for what they are doing, therefore becoming a hero.

Merriam Webster defines a superhero as a person who is admired for great or brave acts or fine qualities. The CHIEF MALE character in a story movie or play.

Come on! A mom deserves way more recognition than that. That definition sounds like it was written by my 13-year-old know it all son. Who thinks that his mother is the most ignorant creature on the planet. Him being the most intelligent. Which pretty much I relate to my way of thinking. 

Being a mom of 3 teenagers I feel so ashamed at my narrowminded way of thinking. All women regardless of relationship should be building each other up instead of gossiping, judging, or assuming they are a certain way because of the way that they look, their situation or beliefs. 

I took what little information my peers, father, and media portrayed a strong woman to be and thought that was what I had to or needed to be in order to consider myself a strong independent woman, or be labeled brave, courageous and respectable. 

I automatically assumed that my mother fell into the category of a weak woman who had no mind of her own, fell into my father's shadow and used him as validation of her character. Looking back that was the biggest insult I could have made against the bravest, most loving, unselfish, caring woman God ever could have hoped to create. 

My mother chose to honor her love, commitment and vows she made before God with my father by choosing to stick out the bad times, relish the sweet memories and love him for the wonderful man only she knew him to be. Despite his many character flaws, she saw him for who he really was on the inside and elected to filter out the bad. 

Some say she wore rose-colored glasses to cover up the fact that he was emotionally, sometimes physically abusive with narcissistic tendencies. I believe she knew they existed but chose not to let those prohibit her from enjoying the true love and respect she had in her heart. 

Even though my father celebrates their anniversaries in heaven they have been married nearly 50 years now. My mother stood by his side through thick and thin, good and bad, richer and poorer, as her wedding vows she promised read. 

Am I saying it is right to stay in an abusive relationship? NO. I am not. I think it is every person's own choice as to what works for them and how they truly feel or what makes them happy. My father was the source of my mother's happiness. He was her true love. 

I think marriage today is not taken seriously or honored as it is meant to be. Everyone has their own limits and thresholds of tolerance and dealbreakers in a marriage or relationship. They know what is best for them. I just think people give up on a relationship when it gets tough or a person doesn't fit inside their neat little box of who they want or think they should be. 

My mother never once tried to change my father. she loved him for the outstanding man she knew him to be when he was sober. She accepted the bad but still chose to see the good in him because she felt it was the best for her children to not grow up in a broken home. 

I have mixed feelings about this. I always promised myself that I would make smart choices in the man I chose to be my children's father so that they wouldn't have to grow up in a broken home, witness, r be subjected to some of the terrible things I did growing up. 

Now that I am grown and have children of my own that are my responsibility to make sure that they grow up as non-disfunctional as possible and be decent well rounded human beings with love and compassion for others, I respect my mother's decision. 

I want my children to see past other people's flaws and shortcomings and be able to accept themselves and others for who they truly are. I can only hope to become an iota of a fraction of the strong, heroic, saint of a woman and mother as the beautiful woman I am blessed with the honor of calling mine. I hope I can instill the same character values in my children as my mother modeled for me.

I hope that someday my daughters will understand the reasoning behind some of the decisions I have made in my life. I hope they know that I always had their best interest at heart in each choice I made. Each punishment I dished out. Each moral lesson my husband and I attached to every lecture, disciplinary measure,or reasoning behind rules we enforced were to prepare them for the real world. 

I hope that they know even though I wasn't the perfect mother, I gave 110% of myself to them. I can only dream that one day my children will see me as I saw my mother. I hope it is not due to the same situation as my epiphany of character judgment is, but I hope they have the epiphany just the same. It is humbling. 

So to all the mothers out there who are trying. Those who feel like they are failing at being a role model for their children, know that you are doing one hell of a job. Next time you see a mom in the store with a screaming child throwing a fit, don't automatically assume she is a bad parent, or isn't disciplining her child. You never know what battles she may be facing or the ns she is fighting. Be kind. Say something nice, or keep your damn mouth closed and your comments to yourself. 

Just because my version of bravery and compassion comes wrapped differently than yours, don't assume that it is any less special. Go call your mom, tell her you love her. Tell her thank you and you appreciate all the things she did for you and all the sacrifices she made. You never know what dream she gave up, to make yours come true.