Journeys shared, insights gained

Welcome to "Redefining Who I Am." I hope that by sharing my journey, I can heal and discover my true self. Here, I will share my past experiences, my daily happenings, and any valuable resources I encounter along the way.

What Happened?

On Thanksgiving Day, 2023, I lost my husband of 24 years. Initially, I managed to cope, allowing myself some time to grieve before plunging back into a hectic routine. I thought staying busy would help me heal, but deep down, I was far from okay, and that realization was frightening.

When I confided in others that I wasn’t okay, I was often met with a deer-in-the-headlights look—people didn’t know how to respond. So, I put on a brave face.

For two years, I reassured everyone that I was navigating my grief, acknowledging that some days were tougher than others. But I never admitted to them that I was truly drowning. Eventually, I fell ill, missed significant time at work, and my situation began to spiral. After losing my temper with my youngest son twice in one week, I drove away from home, needing space to think. I eventually stopped, pulled over, and called my doctor, leaving a message that I believed I needed help.

After one visit, filing FMLA paperwork, and participating in several therapy sessions, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m struggling, but I’m not entirely broken. Now, I realize I must embark on a journey to rediscover who I am and to do the necessary work to understand who I’ve become. So, here I go.

My Beginning

I was born on the Navajo Reservation in New Mexico, though my earliest memories remain hazy. I spent my earliest childhood in Oklahoma, where I lived until shortly after graduating kindergarten.

My recollections from this time are few, but several moments stand out vividly. I remember the old farmhouse across from my school and a poignant scene where my mom, a neighbor, and I stood in the rain, desperately trying to save a cow's life.

We later moved to a larger farmhouse that boasted a separate garden, a barn, a two-story house, a crawdad hole, and a fishing pond. Being the youngest child, I was given my own room, but my older brothers retaliated by hanging a poster of the Creature from the Black Lagoon on the bathroom wall, right across from my room! As a result, I didn’t spend much time sleeping in there.

I have memories of kindergarten in the morning, my dad picking me up in the afternoon, and a cheeky moment when I pushed my little cousin into the rose bushes at my maternal grandparents' house because I wanted to swing. I also recall picking strawberries at my great-grandfather's house, marveling at his toy collection, and my grandmother insisting I eat tomatoes for lunch after I expressed my dislike for them—leading to an unfortunate incident of my vomiting all over the table.

There’s a fond memory of my uncle visiting from New Mexico, rolling down the car window, and mooing at a cow that had decided to block our path. Finally, I remember moving back to New Mexico, where my dad captured moments on cassette, recording me as I excitedly explained what we were up to.

Culture Shock

I vividly recall a moment during our return to the reservation when my sister and I just stood there, mesmerized. I turned to my dad and said, "Daddy, everyone here is brown." He chuckled and asked me what I thought I was. It was then that it dawned on me—my brothers and sisters and I looked different.

We were welcomed by my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and countless cousins. The visit was filled with joy, despite the language barrier; my grandparents spoke no English, and I didn’t know Navajo. Yet, their love and warmth transcended words. Unlike my other grandparents, who would often make hurtful remarks about my dad, here, I felt nothing but acceptance. My grandmother affectionately referred to my mom as the "little white woman," but it was never intended to hurt—just another sign of the love we shared.

We stayed at my grandma and grandpa's humble two-room home, without electricity or running water, yet it overflowed with love. However, the nearest school was far away, which meant every family member except me left for boarding school Sunday night and returned only Friday night. The weekdays felt incredibly lonely. The first day, I ended up on a kindergarten bus, completely unaware, and found myself back in kindergarten again. But by the next day, I was exactly where I needed to be: in first grade.

I don’t remember much about my teacher, but I do recall one day when my parents were notably late picking me up from school. My cousin and I decided to take matters into our own hands and began walking in the direction we thought was right. We must have walked for ages across the desert, making our way to her house, which was about 6 to 7 miles away. Upon our arrival, her family explained they couldn't take me home. Just as I felt panic rising, my worried parents appeared, scooped me into their arms, and, after a heartfelt embrace, ultimately punished me for the scare I had put them through. That moment will forever be etched in my memory.

Changes

Adjusting to being alone during the week was quite a challenge. Although my younger cousins were there to play with, my brothers and sisters were noticeably absent, leaving a void.

However, everything changed when Dad found a job in Shiprock. We moved in with an elderly couple whom my mom was going to care for, bringing our family back together at last.

We had a blast exploring the bluffs behind the house, visiting our grandparents, and getting acquainted with our new schools and friends.

While the living space was more cramped than what we were used to in Oklahoma, I believe we found happiness in our new situation. Yet, we sensed that changes were on the horizon.

As we settled in, my father's drinking escalated, leading to fights with my mom, which created growing rifts between them. We tried to carry on as if everything was normal. I still remember those happy days spent in the bedroom, listening to my dad's records. Marty Robbins, Jimmy Dean, Don Williams, and Glen Campbell became some of my favorites. At that time, my parents were my sole source of musical inspiration, but their choices were wonderful!

Something Doesn't Feel Right

Summers used to be filled with memorable experiences. One of my favorites was attending the Squaw Dances, where, as a child, adults would pay to dance with you. It was such a thrill to stand among the group as prizes were awarded on the final morning. I clearly remember one of those mornings when I was around 7 or 8 years old, sitting in the car with my dad, three aunts, and a distant relative, ready to head home.

As we drove, my the relative began to rub my legs, moving upward and inward, which made me feel increasingly uneasy. I didn’t understand what he was doing, but something felt off, and fear washed over me. I instinctively reached for one of my aunts sitting in the front seat, desperate for comfort, but my he held me tightly on his lap. In my panic, I cried out and clung to my aunt, only to be met with laughter from the adults, who thought I was merely being shy. But I was terrified. Their reaction confused me further, and feeling unable to express my fear, I never told anyone what had happened.

From that moment on, I kept my distance from him at family outings and gatherings. Reflecting on that experience, I realize it set a precedent for my silence about that incident and shaped my reluctance to share any similar experiences in the future. I also didn't want to upset the family, as it was family.