Bio.

Bio Then

I remember taking a General Psycology class in college. I was so excited about that class because I had known from a very early age I wanted to spend my life helping people as a therapist. Day one- Our professor walked in and welcomed us by giving us an assignment to write a paper about who we are. Awesome. I liked writing and figured this was a paper I couldn’t fail because I was writing about myself. The next week I got my paper back and was surprised to see that it was bleeding. I’d never seen so many red marks.

I looked around the class to see fourteen other people, confused, also with red ink all over their pages. I didn’t get it. I felt certain I understood the assignment. Write a paper about who we are. I mean, It certainly seemed easy enough. The professor started going around the room, “Tell me something you wrote on your paper, please.” One person said, “I wrote that I was CNA who worked with the elderly on weekends and attended college through the week.” He shook his head. “What’s wrong with that, class?” No one answered him. No one knew. “She told me about her work, about her hours here. Is that who she is?” I shrugged. It certainly seemed like it was a part of who she was. A few other people went. He had the same response, “This does not tell me who you are. You?” I said something about having a hunger to learn and a need to feel inspired.” Nope. “Dig Deeper, who you are is your identity,” he said. And with that we were dismissed and given an opportunity to redo the assignment.

I returned to the next class to turn in what felt like a book. I shared parts of my life I didn’t tell those closest to me, let alone a basic stranger. The professor said, “This assignment wasn’t about a paper at all. This is about learning to know yourself. The good, the bad and the ugly of it.” We got our papers back, that he didn’t even read, and was told we’d get full credit for the effort of knowing who we are a little deeper.

What I remembered from that paper was that there was good, bad and ugly in it. I’d identified having low self-essteem and feeling taken for granted by most of the people I knew. I was someone who was craving true friendships as I didn’t really have any then. I had people I’d hang out with now and then, but none that I really trusted. I grew up in a house in Mason Ohio where happiness didn’t exist. My Dad verbally, physically, and mentally abused all of us. He’d beat my Mom, and my older brother and sister. He did some physically abusive things to me, but we left him when I was eight. He didn’t beat me like he did them. But it landed me in therapy. This is where I learned that this wasn’t normal and families didn’t live this way. This was when I knew I would be a therapist. My brother and sister stayed in Ohio when we left. They are thirteen and fifteen years older than me so they were old enough to decide on their own where they wanted to live. My Dad moved to a neighboring state, thirty minutes from where we moved after we left him. This was when he emotionally and mentally messed with me. Once, I remember, he took two dollars out of his wallet, threw it at me and said, “That’s all your worth.” And you know something? For a long time I believed him.

At the time I worked through college as a residential staff for people in the DDID population. I loved it. It’s when I started to feel needed. I worked as often as I could because I needed the money, but also just because it made me feel good to be there. At this time my Mother started getting sick with COPD. I helped take care of her when she had to go to a doctor’s appointment or the store, but at that time, she was still independent. She did however date a man that reminded me of my father. He didn’t want me to be home because he was jealous of my relationship with my mom. At eighteen I told her she’d have to make a decision because I couldn’t go through living like that again. This man had abused my Mom like my dad did and raised his hand to me a time or two, and although he shoved me once, he never hit me. I remember like it was yesterday Mom saying to me, “Well, Beck, if I have to choose, I will choose him.” I was devastated. She said, “One day you will leave and get married and have your own family. And I don’t want to be alone. And the truth is when things are good with him, they are good and we are happy.” She failed to mention that when things were bad they were also bad. Very bad.

I moved from home at eighteen and into an apartment with my boyfriend of a year at that time. He was the second guy I had ever had real feelings for. The first died in a car crash the summer leading to my sophmore year, and he was buried on his eighteenth birthday. When I moved in with Jeffery, I felt like I had won the jackpot. He was so sweet to me and we had the most fun together. So it was clear when he asked me to marry him, I didn’t even need to think twice. But, after time, we were young and mistakes were made. I used to think, we were young and dumb and didn’t even really know what love was. But the truth is we did love each other. He’s still one of my favorite people. He did a lot for me as a person and loved me through the mess I was. I haven’t ever forgotten that.

I knew from working with people, I wanted a family. After my first real heartbreak I also knew I didn’t want a husband. I didn’t want to set myself up for more heartbreak of any kind. I wasn’t a confrontational person, I just avoided drama and things or people that might hurt me. But I knew I wanted kids. That’s where I was in life and what I wanted for my future. I wanted to help people, I wanted to be a therapist, and I wanted kids. Those things would have made my life complete. Get those things and I’d be set. I’d found a road to follow, and planned it to a T. Although I am very spontaneous, when I have my mind made up, it’s hard to steer me in a different direction.

Bio Now

I have two beautiful girls. A close relationship with God. Both of my parents have transitioned, My Mom to Heaven I believe and I hope that my Dad straightened his life out to where he is there too. My mom lived with me for almost ten years before she passed in 2017. I still grieve her loss. I found strength in it as well. I no longer avoid conflict and will advocate for anyone who needs it. I am a mental health therapist and feel like I really do make a difference in this world. That has always been my goal; to leave the world a better place than it was when I got here. I surprised myself by walking down the isle in 2021 to a man I met in those early college days. I have the family I always wanted. That’s a blessing.

Forty-five, and I am just now able to think of myself as middle-aged. I am happy to report that I am content in my life. And while there will always be aspirations that I chase, if none of those come to fruition I’d be alright with that too.

I have worked hard, and I mean very hard, to be the person that I am. It’s hard to be a parent, have a career that can be draining emotionally at times, and be a Christian living in a world that is filled with choas. I am forever grateful that God gave me the good sense to know what my blessings are. My kids are very happy and healthy. I have a husband who loves me and loves my girls like they are his own. My brother and sister are still living and have decent health and a good career. My Momma isn’t in pain anymore and I believe she is happy watching over us from Heaven. I have the best friend in the world. One that I trust, one who will not go behind my back and be someone else, and treats me like family.

So, this assignment did was it was supposed to do. I faced a lot of reality then that I had buried because I thought “repressed” was a safe state to be in. I thank the good Lord that I was wrong and that I now have clarity in my life. I figure if I am forty-five now, somewhere around the halfway mark, I could view it now as a success story. I am perfectly imperfect, flawed in every way, and in love with my life. I hope that someone reads this and can see a life that wasn’t great in the beginning, can change and be extraordinary.

All My love-