Tough Love

You may not realize how lucky you are to have something as simple as a bed to sleep in, warm meals on the table and a roof over your head.

I know at 13 I took those basic needs for granted, and I got a rude awakening the day I left home.

My mother did everything in her power to help me. She had even sought out counsel when she didn't know how to tolerate my behaviour anymore. I was so hard to live with, which was due to the sexual abuse I experienced. My mother did not know of that. It must have been so hard for her trying to understand my anger, without knowing my reasoning for lashing out. She was at a total loss, and to this day, I don't blame her; she didn't know. 

Before I continue, I must point out that the year was 1983, and the world was a different place. We approached disciplining children differently, and mental health and how to aid those in need was not an area vastly studied or known at the time.

I don't know if she did it to be comforting, but my councillor was constantly bouncing a ball on the floor. Every session, she would do this and try to coax me into telling her my innermost secrets. After many failed attempts to do so, she advised my mother to lock me in my room for one week and only let me out for meals. The following week, I would be allowed out of my room for meals and to do one chore. Then the (hopefully) final week, I was allowed out for meals, one chore and a half-hour privilege like a television show or a phone call. My mother, feeling backed into a corner, abided by her recommendation. 

After returning home with this news, my mother locked my bedroom door while telling me her punishment was "tough love." As soon as I heard those words, I immediately began packing my things, all that I could fit into two bags. I pushed my bedroom door open and walked up the stairs to the landing. My mother heard me leaving and ran down and stood in front of the doorway. My older sister stood at the top of the stairs watching. Feeling defeated and equally empowered, I said to her, "Mom, move, or else I am going to move you." She replied with, "you're not going anywhere." As I pushed her out of my way and opened the door, I turned back to look at my sister. She said, "you'll be back in a week." Had she not said those words, I probably would have been back home a day later, but my stubbornness wasn't going to give in to her.

I was now homeless. I can't recall where I ended up that day, but I continued to overstay my welcome, couch surf, and sleep on park benches for the next two and a half years. I had one backpack that carried everything I owned, and the balls of my shoes had worn down so much from the constant walking. Some of the people I encountered during this time weren't the best influences. Deep down, I knew the difference between right and wrong, and that, coupled with fear, kept me from making poor decisions that would lead me down a different path. I never did drugs, and eventually, people stopped asking, I still fit in, but my friends respected my decision not to partake.

In my experience, homelessness doesn't just mean having no place to go. People can stay in shelters, tents and abandoned buildings. For me, homelessness is when you don't have a place to call home. I never knew where I would lay my head at night or where I would get my next meal. I wasn't afraid to be alone or wandering the streets. I just tried to get through every day the best I could. Through it all, I wanted things to be different; I wanted to do better and be better. I didn't want to be alone. Dreaming out loud helped. I would pretend I was successful and lived in my mansion and drove a black sports car.

I was two weeks from turning 16 and went to a pay phone at a local park to call my mother. I told her that I was ready to come home and that I would "go by the rules." She responded with, "you can't come home because if you do, your sisters will leave, and I can't risk that." The moment I hung up the phone, it hit me that I was left in this big world, all alone with nobody to lean on. I had no backup plan. Looking back, as hard as that was, I realized it was one of those moments that could make or break a person. I wasn't going to let it break me.

In a recent conversation with my mother, I realized that phone call is never far from her mind. Today, as a mother who is always looking out for her children's best interest, I now respect her choice that day. At no time did she intend harm, she was trying to guide me. As mothers, we do the best we can, and I hold no animosity towards her for her decisions. Looking back at the experience as a whole, I know it was a very pivotal moment in my life, and although it was one of the hardest times, I respect my decisions and hers. 

To this day, I hold a different kind of appreciation for my cozy bed, warm meals, and a roof over my head. Recalling that time in my life does not hurt the way it used to, and I am who I am today because of it.