I just finished an episode of This Is Us. I think with the multitude of story lines there’s a part in this series that can touch nearly everyone. This particular episode was about Jack’s mother’s funeral. In the eulogy he talks about the house he grew up in. He says “the house that I grew up in wasn’t an easy house to be a son in, nor was it an easy house to be a mom in. But we got lucky because we got out.” He continues, “when you live in a house like that there’s a part of you that never gets out. So, you build a new house, a better house for a better life. And you try as hard as you can so that that part of you, that still lives in that old house is as small as possible.”

I can relate.

You know what amazes me?  The details that our brain hold onto. In the house that I grew up in there was a creaky stair up to the bedrooms, there was thin green speckled carpet and brown patterned linoleum on the kitchen floor. There are dormer windows that sit on the low-slung front porch. Windows that are big enough to crawl out through and a porch roof low enough to safely jump to the ground from (something that we learned to do when we needed to call for help)

In January 2006 I/we returned to the town I was born in. This was not an easy decision for me. This small town in Southeast Iowa holds a lot of dark memories. And if I’m being honest more bad memories than good. I’m sorry if that hurts anyone but it is the truth.

I had neatly tucked away the small part of me that lived here and I had built a better house, a better life. I remember wondering if my current life and my past life could coexist? If I was strong enough to return to the place where I come from?

The decision was ultimately left up to God. I figured if God thinks I’m strong enough and I lean on him then I have to trust He has a reason and it is where I’m supposed to be.

Coming back for me was not like stepping back in time. When we left thirteen years prior we had been married for just over a year and were ready for a change. When we returned it was with four beautiful examples of our love and the life we’d built outside of this town. Thankfully for me it was a busy time. I didn’t have time to reflect on the memories when signing the kids up in schools that I had attended. There wasn’t much I wanted to share about the park by the house where I grew up. I avoided certain neighborhoods and took different routes through town. I didn’t drive by the two-story house on the corner.

First, we moved into the largest rental we could find to house our big family and thankfully we didn’t stay there too long. Then we moved into a home that was for sale but wasn’t selling. What we ultimately wanted was to find some land and build a house of our own.

Life remained busy. I kept a certain distance from many. I focused on my family; Dave and our four children. Of course, I would occasionally bump into someone from my past, a teacher, a store clerk, a parent of a classmate or an aged attorney. I’d recognize when the “light bulb moment” happened and they remembered me from before. I became inept at steering conversation away from myself. Unless directly asked, I wouldn’t share what my maiden name was and certainly not my biological name. When you live in a town as small as this one it’s easy to believe everyone knows your business. And the business that occurred in that house by the park, on the main road through town, seemed about as out in the open for all to see and talk about as a Friday night football game.

The house that I grew up in is a structure that I never wish to enter into again. I can still smell the stale cigarette smoke, the dog refuge and the bleach we used to cover it up. I know where I stood when I told her about the abuse that was happening to me, the door knob that I held onto was to the closet under the stairs while she sat at her sewing table, tapping ash off her cigarette. I remember the arrangement of furniture in the living room and how a couch butted up to two parlor doors where behind them was her bedroom. The doors had large key holes in them and the things she made no effort to hide were there for any of her children to witness. The small singular bathroom with a floor to ceiling cupboard. I remember searching clear in the back to find a loose Band-Aid and instead finding items that should only be in a doctor’s office.

To this day I avoid West Madison Street. When I’m on South 9^th Avenue I look towards the football field or straight ahead, never towards South 8^th Avenue.

It has always been my burden and assumption that everyone knows and judges me because of where I come from. The house where the cops showed up with lights flashing to take one of them away. The house where DHS workers banged on the front door with one hand and held a beat-up briefcase in the other. The address listed in the local newspapers’ police log spelling out all the incidents in black and white. You can see how easy it is to assume everyone knows someone who knew something about us.

The place where I come from will never change. I’m learning how to be comfortable here. How to be the woman I am now and acknowledge that I am the young girl who came from that house. I am the girl who had to grow up in those difficult circumstances. I am the girl who tried to care for her younger brothers while terrible things were being done to her. Who tried to take care of an alcoholic, bi-polar person who was never a mother to her. The girl who wore misfitting hand me downs and reeked of poverty, who witnessed horrific beatings and the results of them, was me a long time ago. I am the girl who lived in a domestic violence shelter, who had to go to state prisons to visit a man I didn’t like. I am the girl who got a job at age 14 washing dishes to help feed my siblings. I am the girl who was always second best and never felt worthy. 

Today I am a woman who realizes that my life experiences are my driving force in being the person that I am, the person I wished I had all those years ago. Instead of falling into the same path that I come from I choose a different one. I made a conscious effort to do the opposite. No drugs, no drinking, no favoring one child over another. The easiest of my unwritten rules was to never divorce. To parent with love, protection and faith. Together with Dave we give our children unconditional love and have shown them that they decide their own fate. We gave them opportunities and adult like responsibilities at a young age. I hope they are proud of where they come from. 

My children are all young adults now. They are maturing and are slowly learning about where I come from. So far they’ve shown little interest in it. I don’t think they can reconcile the Mom they know with the girl I tell them about. One day I hope they’ll take the time and read all these articles and get to know all of me.  

I built a better house, a better life with Dave.  I see my worth in his eyes, his voice, his touch and his understanding, patient nature. I know that for now this is where I’m meant to be and I trust in the life God has planned for me.