My name is Petra Clarke and I’m on a mission to self heal, learn about my triggers with PTSD, anxiety and depression. I want to empower others to share their story too. I am no longer ashamed of my past and what happened to me. I know it was NOT my fault and I will release these feelings through my writing.
I will write about several incidents that affected me throughout my life from child abuse, neglect, sexual abuse, rape and placing my youngest son up for adoption. I have never given myself the chance to feel the pain and emotions. These feelings are locked deep down inside and I know this will be a personal challenge. But I know I am strong and I deserve to live my life to the fullest. I can’t live a life with purpose with all this pain and shame.
As I write my story, I truly believe I am releasing all this negative energy. The guilt. The shame. The anger. The pain. The war inside my mind.
From birth until the age of 10 I was abused by my biological mom and her boyfriends. She exposed us to countless strange men and neglected us in many ways. I was physical, emotionally and verbally abused by my biological mom. My socialization has always kept me from really connecting with people throughout my life. The majority of our time was spent outdoors in the hot fields working as migrant workers. My only two close “friends” as a child were my sisters. We traveled a lot and moved at a drop of a dime. I tried to make friends but I knew it would be short lived.
I remember the day my sister went to church with our neighbor. On that day, I wasn’t allowed to go to church because I got in trouble. She came home and told my sister and I that she confided in someone about the abuse. The lady told my sister they would come investigate in a week. Less then 24 hours there were 3 police cruisers outside our trailer home. I heard the knock at the front door and I was scared and relieved at the same time. The cop asked my biological mom if he could talk to us girls alone. She reluctantly agreed. We walked passed her as she stood with her arms crossed and this disgusted look on her face.
We sat in the back of the police cruiser and a social worker began asking us questions about our household. I shouted “I’m not telling because she will hit us”. The social worker promised we would not get in trouble and she would help us. We were so desperate to be saved so my sisters and I began to tell her everything. “My mom and her boyfriend hit us and pull our hair all the time”. I described the spankings on our butts, legs, backs and arms using anything she could get her hands on. Belts, fly swatters, shoes, extension cords, tree branches, chanclas (spanish word for flip flops). I was so scared she would come to the car and take us from the lady trying to help us. Suddenly, I heard arguing over by the front door where my biological mom stood. I told the social worker that my moms boyfriend had a very long machete that he would use to intimidate people. The cops entered the trailer and removed the machete. We continued the interview and I told her that my mom often pulled our hair in anger. She would grab handfuls of hair and literally throw us around the room. She would slap us across the face, pinch us, punch us and kick us in moments of rage.
That same day (in 1990) we were saved and placed in a wonderful foster home. This is a photo of my Pastor baptizing me. This picture represent a new life!
My story continues… please visit often for many more posts and my journey of healing www.UnlockedPain.com
My goal is to create a movement to empower other woman to tell their story #UnlockedPain #ShareYourStory #IWritetoHeal