By Charlotte A. Jackson
There have been so roads that I have traveled that I would not wish on anyone. I started to say, I would not wish on my worst enemy, but then I thought about it, and I pray I have no enemies. This has been a stressful time in my life and if it were not for those few people who refused to let me be alone, I might have given up.
The last thing I want to do is leave a legacy for my children, grandchildren and many “adopted” family members that they would be ashamed of. I refuse to give in to an addiction, whether it be drugs, alcohol, overspending, bad relationships or harming myself. The journey did not just start, but I am thankful that I do not have to travel it alone.
I have been a single mother 80% of the time I have been a mother. My first son was born in December, 1986. His father and I divorced in August 1988. My second son was born in January 1991 and a little more than 4 years later, that marriage ended. At that point, my daughter was two years old and my sons were four and eight years old. Due to circumstances, such as my first husband having been a habitual criminal, my second husband being of another race and my formal education stopping when I chose to leave a very rough year at the University of Texas, the journey has not been easy.
Growing up, the only recollection I had of any form of substance abuse or hearing about mental illness was from the movie The Graduate.
As I look around today, I see so many lives in shambles due to poor choices, starting with individuals surrounding themselves with a circle of friends who take you to a lower level of life than many can imagine. I remember my first Pastor, Reverend John A. Brady, Sr., preaching a message about how sin will take you farther than you want to go, cost you more than you want to pay and keep you longer than you want to stay. He was also the same man who taught me to realize the same middle letter in PRIDE is the same middle letter in SIN. Once we remove the extra letters, we see that “I” gets us in so much trouble, too much of the time.
We must become a generation that is not afraid to share our story with those younger than we are. Last week, I was invited to speak at a Women’s History Month Luncheon honoring Women in Leadership. At first, many of the audience only saw me as a Caucasian female who has been employed for 20 years at a community college. Yet after 10-12 minutes with each group of young ladies, they listened, they learned and they realized you cannot judge someone by appearance. At 56, I have been raped by someone close enough to be family. I have been crushed by what I thought was love. I have lived in a private dormitory that was as racist as it could be, without it being operated by the Ku Klux Klan. I have been told to find a job and get out. I have been told to sign over custody of my oldest son and to “put those two little ni—ers up for adoption and move on with my life,” by a parent. I have been abused. I have hit rock bottom and by the grace of God, I have learned to stand. I have learned to reach out and ask for help. And more importantly, I have learned to give back.
