Forged in Fire

I was working on my second version of my autobiography a few years ago... this time with the intention to publish it. This is as far as I got:

Ivy Rose, aka Yvonne Glasgow

I Was Raised a Single Child, But I Wasn’t

I was born early in the morning on a day in mid-November. I don’t remember it – who does? I know that my birth certificate says I was born in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and that I don’t have a dad. We all have someone who donates sperm to our mom in some way to conceive us – I am pretty sure immaculate conception is a farce made up by the weirdos who wrote and rewrote the bible over the years. I grew up with a dad, so I never understood why he refused to claim me on that piece of paper... You'll learn more about that if you keep reading.

Why Am I Writing This?

One may wonder why a person would rehash the painful things from their childhood – especially when that person already wrote a memoir about all of the people who hurt her throughout the years. Nope, I didn’t publish that one, and it no longer exists – it was a great healing mechanism and, I think, made it so that this memoir could happen. This one focuses on my parents, strictly. Because, if it weren’t for them and the upbringing I received under their roof and at their hands, I probably wouldn’t have allowed all of those other people into my life … in fact, I’d likely be a completely different person than I am now. I wouldn’t have learned what I've learned. I wouldn’t know all of the things I now know … things that can, I hope, help others who are in abusive relationships or have lived with a history of abuse themselves.

So, while I am not writing this one for myself, for my healing, I am writing it for you, the reader. There’s a reason you picked this book up – something in the title piqued your interest. Something in the description told you that you might be able to relate, to learn something, to find healing through the pages inside.

Introduction: (noun) the action of introducing something.

It’s too bad we don’t get to pick our own parents, as they allude to in the movie “Witchboard.” I have to believe that, had I had an option, I would have picked someone other than the ones I got. I am sure there was some sort of lesson to be learned from one of my past lives that offers up a reason as to why the Universe chose to place me in the care (or lack thereof) of the people I called my parents.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I didn’t let the poison my parents tainted me with ruin my life. But it hasn’t been an easy path for me, and a lot of it has to do with having parents who didn’t want me. I was starved for attention as a child. I was fearful as a child. I was sad and lonely as a child. And I was lied to as a child. I was neglected in nearly every single way.

History: (noun) the whole series of past events connected with someone or something.

One may wonder why a person would rehash the painful things from their childhood – especially when that person already wrote a memoir about all of the people who hurt her throughout the years. Nope, I didn’t publish that one, and it no longer exists – it was a great healing mechanism and, I think, made it so that this memoir could happen. This one focuses on my parents, strictly. Because, if it weren’t for them and the upbringing I received under their roof and at their hands, I probably wouldn’t have allowed all of those other people into my life … in fact, I’d likely be a completely different person than I am now. I wouldn’t have learned what I learned. I wouldn’t know all of the things I now know … things that can, I hope, help others who are in abusive relationships or have lived with a history of abuse themselves.

So, while I am not writing this one for myself, for my healing, I am writing it for you, the reader. There’s a reason you picked this book up – something in the title piqued your interest. Something in the description told you that you might be able to relate, to learn something, to find healing through the pages inside.

One of my side hustles is doing oracle readings, and I was doing readings at a festival event in 2022 where I was set up next to a magnificent person who painted people’s energy – similar to an aura, but not the same. I'd recently started on a path to making the biggest and most important life changes I would ever make, and during this process I sat with this intuitive psychic. Much of the painting is red and orange, and then she painted some parts with black. Once she was finished, I had something that looks like either a skull on fire or a dolphin with a bright glowing eye, depending on which way you hang the art. She started by telling me that she doesn't often use black in these, and then that the words “Forged in Fire” popped into her head. She said she felt like I had to fight for a lot coming into this world, and I explained my situation with my mother.

As far as the rest of the history leading to me sitting here typing this now, it's been a long and painful process. To share everything from deep down within your soul and to show people such vulnerabilities about yourself is no easy task. However, it's one I feel like I need to share with the world. Whether it helps you heal or shows you how you're hurting others, if you get anything from this book, I hope it brings positive change to your life.

Uncross: (verb) move (something) back from a crossed position.

I'd been working on an uncrossing spell after learning that I don't have any past life karma to deal with (according to numerology). As a fairly decent human being (I've made my mistakes, but I've never intentionally tried to hurt someone), this made me wonder why I have suffered so many pitfalls in my life. I work hard. I love hard. Yet I struggle. When things look up, they suddenly crash down. I determined that I must be hexed or cursed, and it's been something that's stuck to me for quite some time. The uncrossing spell I did was meant to happen over the course of a couple of weeks. It was the time before the last that I worked through the spell that led right to a major realization. That night I had a dream about my parents, and in this dream my mom told me she cursed me. The dream ended with me burning the house down with them inside and me standing outside watching it burn. Of course, I did not kill my parents, although they both have been dead since 2014.

That following day, 11/11, I was at a spiritual event. Once I put the dream out of my mind, it came to me that the fire was a message – I needed to do a cord cutting on both of my parents. It also pushed me to make the final trek through my uncrossing spell aimed specifically at my mother. I also learned, in a conversation with the event host, that perhaps my mom cursed me while I was still in the womb. Once I share with you the story of my mom and my birth, you'll understand this a little better.

Cut the Cord: (phrase) cease to rely on someone or something protective or supportive and begin to act independently.

Let's talk about cord cutting because I believe this is something anyone can do to help them break free from negative people and habits. All you need are a couple of chime candles, a small dish of sand (I think this works better than two candles and is safer), and a piece of cord. You don't have to put a lot of pomp and circumstance into this spell. Put the candles in the sand so they sit sturdy, tie the cord around both candles, leaving it slightly loose between the two. Pick which candle represents you and which represents the person or thing you are cutting off from your life. Light each candle while picturing your connection being severed. Think of it like burning a bridge. Let the candles burn. When the cord burns away or breaks, understand that is the end of the thing you're moving on from … but let the chime candles burn all the way down so they extinguish themselves.

Pain: (noun) physical suffering or discomfort caused by illness or injury.

I've been a survivor my entire life. From what my mom told me, her appendix burst while she was pregnant with me. Then I was born with one of my feet twisted at an odd angle. I was diagnosed with scoliosis in elementary school – luckily it wasn't that bad, but as I've gotten older, I've dealt with more pain from this.

Healing: (noun) the process of making or becoming sound or healthy again.

One of the things I got out of my shitty childhood and upbringing was a need to help, love, and nurture others. While I see so many tales of people with similar stories to mine where they turn into serial killers or, on a less dramatic end, aimless wanderers who continually follow in that negative path their life began in, I went the opposite way and got my degrees in Holistic Life Coaching and Spiritual Counseling because I had a drive to help people find a better life, no matter how poorly it started. And it all starts within our own minds … but before we figure out how I trained my brain, we’re going to look at my childhood and all the damage I have had to heal from to get to where I am now.

Natality: (noun) the ratio of the number of births to the size of the population; birth rate.

My dad was married four times, that I know of. He had no children with his first wife, one with his second (that wife died during childbirth), and four with his third wife. And then there was me. He didn't marry my mom until I was 18. I am sure there was some reason for that – probably something revolving around the reason his name was not on my birth certificate and that I spent most of my life wondering if he was actually my dad. That was one of the life changes I went through in 2023 – doing a DNA test through Ancestry, where I found out that he was, in fact, my birth father.

My mom had two children, but I wouldn't know about that until I was a teenager. I spent most of my childhood thinking that my sister was my aunt. How fucked up is that? And, again, there was me.

I was raised as an only child even though I had a plethora of siblings. I was an only child and the youngest child. What does that say about me?

An only child is said to be a confident leader; they mature faster, but can be very sensitive and curious. They're also cautious but loyal. Those seem to fit me, as far as I am concerned. I've never been much for following others, but I struggle with confidence. I am overly sensitive, but I am an extreme empath, so I always just blamed that gift. As the youngest child, I should be an outgoing risk-taker who is charming but dependent. I could be both persistent and easy-going, but also a fun-loving free spirit. And, of course, spoiled. My parents never spoiled me – far from it. While I am often an easy-going free spirit, the rest of those do not describe me at all. So, even though I was the youngest, being raised as the only child in the house made me a stronger person – but there was a lot more that pushed me to be strong and kicked in my survival instincts.

It's weird being an only child when you weren't actually the only child, on either side of the equation. It's also a bit odd and stressful to grow up with a dad but no father's name on your birth certificate, continually wondering why he's there with you but seems not to want you. Why you're under the same roof, but you don't have his last name and don't have his name on your birth certificate.

I’ve always had fun calling myself a bastard, even though I’ve read that only males born without a father claiming them are bastards – females are just plain ole’ babies without a dad.

Siblings: (plural noun) each of two or more children or offspring having one or both parents in common; a brother or sister.

I never felt like I belonged when it came to my dad's children. They pretended to include me when visiting, but they were always there for him, not for me. It wasn't until after my dad passed that I learned how at least one of them really felt about me. My so-called half-sister told me that it was my and my mom's fault they grew up without their dad. Her words were that we “stole” him away from them. As far as I know, my dad and their mom were already divorced when he met my mom and knocked her drunk ass up. If he refused to be on my birth certificate, however, could that mean they were still married? Who knows? And no matter, what right does that give someone to blame an innocent child for their father leaving? That's just mean.

I don't talk to any of them anymore. I don't really talk to anyone in my dad's family. I never felt much like a big part of it, so I don't feel like I am missing much now. Plus, I feel like not having a father's name on my birth certificate was an omen of what life would be like when I was older.

My sister, who I share a mother with, and I see ourselves as siblings now. She has been my saving grace in some instances, an idol in others, and a close friend always – at least since we both became adults. She is the only blood family I talk to.

I never thought much of it, but my boyfriend has more than once pondered how being given up by my mom may have affected my sister throughout her life, especially when she and my grandma lived in a duplex right next to me, my mom, and my dad. I just figure she's happy she didn't have to suffer the constant hate and abuse from my mom. It wasn't enough to verbally and emotionally abuse me … she loved the physical part too. But we'll talk more about that later.

When I was young, before my grandma and sister moved next door to us, my sister was pretty mean to me. She was my aunt, to me, then. She and a cousin used to do all sorts of mean, childish things to me. That's part of being country kids (as they were), and part of having your younger “niece” being forced upon you when you didn't really want her around.

Once I knew that my sister was not actually my aunt by birth, we started to connect. Mainly, I just hung out with her and her friends sometimes when they were getting high. I remember lots of nights with salt & vinegar chips and laughing until we cried. I am sure I had a contact buzz every time.

History: (noun) the branch of knowledge dealing with past events.

I don't know much about what happened in my father's family when he was younger, but I can only guess there was some sort of abuse history on my mom's side. And perhaps it was that abuse that made her the way she was with me.

I heard some things about how my grandpa possibly abused the boys, but never the girls. But also that perhaps he was abusive to my grandma too. I wasn't there, and neither he nor my grandmother is around to tell their stories anymore.

My theory? Mom was a promiscuous drunk in her early 20s. I know the drinking part to be true from her own words to multiple doctors when she was first diagnosed with liver disease. She was 20 when she had my sister and 23 when she had me. She was young and still wanted to have fun. She was able to “re-home” one child, but was then stuck with me. She treated me like she was stuck with me. No hugs or kisses goodnight. No “I love you.” Lots of yelling. No real discussions, just controlling conversations.

Neglect: (verb) fail to care for properly.

Neglect wasn’t the worst of it – abuse was nearly a daily occurrence, and there was no help to be seen. Family friends were blind to what went on behind closed doors, and even when they saw, they turned their heads and walked away. Why didn't my grandma do more to help? She offered a place away from Mom, but never security. Why didn't my dad do more? His only chime in was when I got braces, and he told Mom she could no longer hit me in the face because it would ruin his $2,000 investment.

Even child protective services were snowed by the lies my mom told, and instead of finding relief from physical and emotional abuse, I got extra punishment for them even showing up to the door.

She was on the phone with a friend of hers one day, and I walked in the kitchen. I don't remember the details of what I said or did, but whatever it was pissed her off so much that she slapped me across the face so hard I fell to the floor. Then she started kicking me … all while on the phone with her friend, me screaming for her to stop hurting me. I think CPS came after that incident … but, as I said, they didn't do a thing for me. Plus, would I have been any better off had they pulled me out of there? I knew kids in foster homes back then, and it definitely wasn't fun for them.

Narcissism: (noun) selfishness, involving a sense of entitlement, a lack of empathy, and a need for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.

I didn't realize it until I was older … actually … I didn't realize it until after I married a narcissist that that's exactly what my mom was. My mom was definitely the most important person in her life, and she put herself before everyone. She had a habit of using people. She was a master manipulator. She could talk the clothes off a person, but once they were on her bad side … watch out. I was always on her bad side.

One of the symptoms of narcissism is a lack of empathy. My mom had none of that. I remember this one time when I was leaving a bad relationship. This ex had raped me, threatened me, and was in complete control of me. I had to have the cops there to get my stuff out of the house, and Mom there to haul my shit back across state. The cops got called out for a possible drowning … so it was just me, mom, and the ex. He was having an anger meltdown; I was having a panic attack and hyperventilating. My mom was busy consoling my abuser and ignoring me. Well, not ignoring … she was telling me to stop fucking crying. When I struggled to talk and point out that I was hyperventilating, rather than take some time to calm and comfort me, she handed me a paper bag.

She never cared about me, and often made that completely obvious.

Grounded: (adjective) (of a pilot or an aircraft) prohibited or prevented from flying.

There were times when I learned good lessons from my mom, but she taught them in the worst possible ways. I spent a good deal of my teenage years grounded, all because she was playing a game with me … part of her need to be in control.

So, why was I always grounded? Well, I would walk in the door right at the time I was supposed to be home, each and every time. But the groundings were longer each time. I never understood what I was doing wrong. I'd tell her I was home on time, she'd say no I wasn't, and that was it. I knew better than to argue with her or I'd have gotten a tooth knocked loose.

It wasn't until late in adulthood that I asked her why she always grounded me even though I was home on time. She told me that I wasn't on time … that just like at a job, when you're supposed to be on the clock at 2, you are supposed to be there, ready to work at 2, not just walking in the door.

It was a good lesson because it made me want to be early all the time. However, it was a shitty way to teach the lesson.