Small Acts of Kindness

My life has been an interesting one. I was the born the illegitimate child of a mentally ill mother and a Middle Eastern father who, for reasons unknown to me, has never been a part of my life. I entered this world a burden on my family and on society. I will tell you that I don’t believe the disfunction began with me. I believe it takes generations of trauma to bring about the kind of disfunction seen within my family and others like us. I think each generation does their best given their individual circumstances but, over time, all the little mistakes they make only get amplified with the next generation and so on. So, to look at my side of the family which includes just myself, my mother, and my grandparents as I had no siblings that I’m aware of, it may have started with my maternal grandmother consuming alcohol during her pregnancy with my mother.

Well, that it not entirely accurate as there was obviously more that fed into this that started in the even earlier generations. This does, however, give a starting point to my story.

In the time my mother was conceived there was little understanding of the effects of alcohol on a fetus. In reality it seemed to be the luck of the draw anyway when referring to who may or may not have lingering effects from prenatal alcohol abuse; it was so commonplace.

So many in my grandmother’s time did it without fully understanding the consequences. My grandmother did it with my mother. I am not sure about her other children although they seemed more normal than my mother although I may carry a biased on that. It would certainly take speaking with the other members of my family to get a better assessment of how her sisters behave but it has been over a decade since there has been any contact from.

A burden is easy to abandon.

Something I now thank them for, the lesson was hard at the time but needed. This is true for a lot of the trauma in my past but particularly here. I would have never learned how to love myself or provide for myself in a world that did nothing but confuse me.

It took literally falling flat on my face not once, but numerous times and in the worst ways imaginable to pull out of the haze of all of this. And I never could have done it without the small acts of kindness from strangers.

Although I had heard stories growing up of my mother’s heavy partying, I never pieced it together. Not until I began searching deep inside myself for the reasons behind my own past neurotic behavior.

Now, there are numerous other possibilities as to how mine and my mother’s brains became so dysfunctional, but nothing ever concrete. This is because no help was ever offered to help negate the disfunction in our family. Like so many a decision was made to allow the individual to suffer in order to protect the reputation of the family. Only it isn’t just the individual that suffers; it’s the entire family and future generations.

It’s society

I was an incredibly misunderstood and difficult child to handle. I was taught that this was my own fault; I was a simply a “bad child” and I most certainly behaved as such. So much so that I was often sent to various family members in the form of aunts and uncles whenever there was a break from school. My mother and grandparents needed a break from me. It was very similar to what a child growing up in foster care might experience but with a strange twist being that it was all within my biological family. It came across to me as though they just didn’t love or desire me around. This further created a gap between me and the general population. I lacked the ability to trust and was incredibly impulsive. My anger was at times uncontrollable, and my understanding of social norms and cues, nonexistent.

My mother and I lived on her parent’s property in a makeshift home that had been remodeled from a chicken coup. There was no central heating and the home offered little for privacy. My little room was 6’ by 6’. It was not large enough to fit a regular bed, so my grandfather built one into the wall to accommodate me.

During my childhood, my mother never dated or went out with friends and held no job for most of my life. She was truly the loneliest woman I have ever known. She turned to hording to satisfy her terrible loneliness. The little chicken coup we called our home was filled with moldy bins and garbage. Black mold and mildew were so common within the walls of my childhood home that I would write my name in them as I lie in bed at night.

People were not always kind to us. The ones that have the ability to harm you the most are those closest to you and this was true for me growing up. The funny thing was, I found that many strangers would reach out. Even amidst my rage and difficulty a few would reach out. I realize now that it was because many of those that did, did so because they recognized the pain in my eyes as something they knew from within; in one form or another.

My mother and I were both incredibly unhappy in our world and with each other so as soon as I were able, I moved out on my own. I was fifteen and emancipated because I, myself, had a child. My apartment was empty and clean, but I loved it. The smell that had followed me in my youth, in spite of my best efforts to keep myself clean, was now gone and I no longer had to worry about mold. I had never been aware of that smell until I was able to get away from it. Still, I had no skills to maintain this nor did I have the skills needed to really make it in this life.

Many people were often cruel but looking back I believe this was more in response to my behavior towards them. I had been taught that I could not rely on anyone or trust that their intention was true, so I approached the world with hate. What I gave out was often given back to me but not in every instance.

It did not take long for me to purchase my first home and begin my life in the absence of all that was in my childhood. Throughout the years there and as my family grew it was amazing how people who knew very little about me would suddenly appear and assist with things that I truly needed in this life. At one point I found myself a single mother of 4. Furniture in the form of beds and dressers were donated to me and my children. Clothing, food, appliances, and other necessities were also gifted to us through-out our time in that home. Some of these items came from charitable organizations and others from simple strangers. I could not have survived without this assistance.

This is only a few of hundreds of instances in my life where the kindness of strangers has saved me in one form of another.

My mother continued to deteriorate. She had no running water and the smell that her home carried was even more atrocious than in my youth. In spite of my best efforts to contact her and help her, she continued down her dark path and we lost touch completely. She cost me a lot along the way but the biggest pain I suffered was being forced to face this life alone, with brain damage and no guidance. It was an ugly and draining path and not long before I found myself mimicking her behavior.

Over the course of sixteen years my home filled with useless junk similar to the way hers had. I was not to her same extent, but I was still maintaining a lot within my life that I had absolutely no need for. Just as it did with her, it brought me comfort. I wanted proof that I had been privileged to a good life during my time on this planet even if none of that felt true. I wanted to save items from every adventure in hopes of being able to prove my time here was not wasted. The problem being that this never actually brought me comfort. I would fill my shelves with souvenirs and save every shirt, badge, or item that I could find but it never truly brought me anything but sadness. I hid under the veil that I lived a beautiful life, but it was a complete and total lie.

My world had broken down over the years as I chose addiction to be my vice instead of hording and once I pulled out of that darkness I wanted nothing to do with my broken memories. That is when I made the decision to sell my home.

I sold it to someone who fixes up old homes and resells them. I lost almost $100,000.00 on the sale of it but gained a deep peace of mind. There were years of trauma behind those walls that would not let me move forward and heal. Still, there within it also lied all the memories of the people who had helped during my time there.

Had I been forced to clean out my home myself it would have taken months if not more and would have undoubtedly been more stress than I could endure at the time. The way in which it was sold enabled me to take only what I needed and move on. It allowed me to return to the simplistic life I do desperately needed.

It occurred to me that a beautiful way of releasing that trauma would be by paying these things forward to another in need. With three, fully furnished bedrooms and a much larger living space than I would have in my new one-bedroom apartment, I had plenty I could have sold. It felt much better and more appropriate to pay it forward instead.

I informed friends and co-workers that I was going to be donating all of my items if they or anyone they knew needed them. I posted even more on social media for those I may not see often to have a chance as well.

My last day at my home ended up being a beautiful farewell. Dozens of people from different parts of my life showed up along with some I had never met. We spent the better part of two days helping people load up their new items to take home. Everyone seemed willing to help everyone else and we spent the time smiling and laughing.

It was one of the single most freeing moments of my life.

That home was not a bad home and not everything that happened there was negative. Sadly, the negative will often overshadow the light in the eyes of most, but I do miss it.

I can honestly say that I believe I earned some good karma that day and maybe even made up for a little of the bad decisions of the past. Regardless, I now see it as my duty to be one of those strangers that reaches out to help the next in need. I now see the pain in others that so many in my past saw in me and I always and will continue to always reach out if I am at all capable. That is how we learn and grow as a race.

That is how we heal!