With me, my troubles ran deep. So deep that no matter how much I prayed, everything seemed to remain the same. Trouble followed me no matter where I went. Better yet, the situations surrounding my life keep getting worse. I’m convinced it’ll take more than just prayer.
When everything started years ago, I knew I wanted to be set free. A friend of mine whose past almost mirrored my own mentioned emancipation. Upon doing my research online, I learned if I filed, I had the option of filing for partial or total separation from my parents. However, depending on my case, my parents might still have some financial responsibility for me.
What I did know was that I didn’t want to be emancipated from my dad. I just wanted out from under my mom’s thumb. A thumb that she used to pin me down and manipulate me by any means necessary. Making me feel worthless and as if my feelings didn’t matter. I was afraid of my mother.

My psychologist diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder and PTSD; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder due to the trauma I’d endured during the divorce and while in momma’s care.
Things weren’t made any easier for me when my dad lost his fifty-fifty placement, and primary custody was given to my mother. The worst mistake the court could have made. The problem was I didn’t realize it until it was too late.
I’d been a part of making sure that my father no longer had shared placement.
Do I regret the part I played?
Yes.
Don’t get me wrong. Mom wasn’t all bad. During my younger years, I remember seeing her sweet smile when she stroked my dark curly hair as she told me how much she loved me. What child doesn’t yearn to be loved by her parents? Especially, a daughter with low self-esteem.
It was me who helped Mom to tear down my dad. The same man who spent Sundays after church in his yard, tending to his lawn and chatting with the neighbors.

Excerpt From
BlindSided
Marguerite Ashton
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