A daughter’s love. A sisterly bond.
By Yedifer E Pina
I want to preface this by saying that this was not an easy blog post to write. I hesitated a lot in writing this although my heart knew it was time. I had to let go of feelings of shame and embarrassment that are often attached to stories like these. This is me being real and the most vulnerable that I have ever been with strangers on the Internet. I hope that my story can resonate with others who are also navigating forgiveness while simultaneously practicing establishing boundaries. I am a believer that through vulnerability and kindness we can connect in unimaginable and meaningful ways.
Trigger warning for sexual, psychological, and physical abuse.
Pregnancy is usually something to be celebrated. Something that brings families together. The joy of a new life being brought into the world, what greater joy than that... right?
But, I cried. I was mortified and horrified the day I found out she was pregnant...again. I could not understand why she would ever bring another child into the world...especially with him.
This time was different. The last time this happened she said she was already pregnant, “before she knew.” However, this time it seemed intentional, this was planned, this was purposeful...and that shattered my heart into pieces.
See this time, Mami, (my mother), was having another child with my sexual abuser.
Chapter 1
I was 17. As I sit here and write this, I can't believe that it has been almost a decade. They say time heals all wounds, but nothing about remembering what happened feels “healed.”
At 17, I was sexually abused. I remember the panic, the chaos, the constant worry that surrounded my life at the time. I told a high school friend what was happening, she told her mom, and that same night officers showed up at our door to ask questions. Mami was in the Dominican Republic at the time on a church missionary trip.
From that moment on, I knew that life as I knew it would never be the same.
Chapter 2
I always felt that Mami loved God, but she didn’t love me.
Mami and my stepfather are pastors of multiple churches in the Dominican Republic and the United States. I was raised in a very Pentecostal household—no pants, no jewelry, no makeup, and modesty was front and center. I was the pastor’s daughter. I was not allowed out with anyone nor did I have many friends;most of the other kids at school were not really interested in getting to know me. When I lived under my Mami’s roof my life consisted solely of school and church. Mami always made sure that we kept up the appearance of a holy Christian household. She woke up at 3 am to pray. She put her belief and love for God above everything.
I always wondered how could God live in this household?
She never kissed me, hugged me, or told me she loved me. Sometimes, when she excessively beat me as punishment she would come into my room at night as I held myself crying in bed. She would hug me and say, “You know your mom loves you right?” But as a child, I genuinely never thought she loved me.
I always wondered how could God live in this household?
I was determined to grow up and get away from her, away from the screaming, away from the beatings, away from him. I focused on school; I knew my only shot of getting out would be to get an amazing scholarship to some college.
At 17, my acceptance letter came, I was going to New York University on a full scholarship.
At 17, Mami found out I was being sexually abused by my stepfather.
At 18, I found out Mami was pregnant and she was having a boy.
...she promised me she was already pregnant before she knew what he did to me.
Chapter 3
My freshman dorm at New York University was the first safe space I had ever had.
Though college was full of many ups and downs, I made it to my senior year in 2016. I was in a somewhat stable relationship and my GPA was the highest it had ever been. I had multiple steady jobs and for the first time in a long time, life felt good.
Everything seemed heading in the right direction, except my relationship with Mami. Our relationship continued to be extremely rocky and volatile over the years. It was unhealthy and toxic. My stepfather and her were still pastors of the church. She was still married to my stepfather. The baby boy that she was pregnant with before I went off to college was now four years old.
And then again it seemed like a bad nightmare... She called to tell me she was pregnant.
A baby girl.
I held my breath on the phone.
After I hung up, I had a panic attack. Screaming, hyperventilating, crying, red, hot, suffocating.
This time I knew it was not an accident. It was not like last time when it happened “before she knew what he did”.
My mother has known the truth the whole time and this time... this was a choice.
Chapter 4
Sarah Naomi was born in May of 2016 . She was extremely sick
Despite the toxic history,I thought about Sarah who didn’t ask to be brought into the world. I thought about how she had no fault in any of this. I also thought about my mother. I thought about how her own trauma and experiences have shaped who she is and her decisions. For that moment in time, I would be willing to put our history on the back burner in order to be there for her and Sarah.
A daughter’s love. A sister’s bond.
I found compassion in my heart to be by her side during that really difficult time despite this simultaneously being an added traumatic experience for me. I made a GoFundMe account to help with Sarah’s medical expenses. But, she grew sicker as time went by. I panicked at the thought of my mother losing her baby girl.Through research, I found out that Boston’s Children Hospital is one of the best children’s hospitals in the United States. I wrote numerous emails to doctors there begging for help. Eventually, Sarah was airlifted to Boston to receive the best medical attention. Mami spent three long months by Sarah’s side. Day and night, she never left. She held her consistently, cared for her, and prayed, she prayed a lot.
I saw her behave in ways I had never seen from her before. I saw her hug Sarah a lot, kiss her, hold her, sing to her, and tell her how beautiful she was. I witnessed how badly she wanted Sarah, she wanted her to live and be her babygirl. I saw in those moments what I always wanted for myself—to feel wanted and loved.
I found compassion in my heart for my mom in those moments. I stayed up with her, I visited her in Boston, I kept raising money for the baby and speaking to doctors in search of clarity and hope. I’m not quite sure how I mustered the strength to pull through and be there despite everything that happened between us.
Despite all of our efforts, Sarah did not make it. She never left the hospital and at month three her body just couldn't handle it anymore. Mami called me the day she passed, it was a dark and rainy night. I think about it often. I cried. It hit me hard because I saw my mother suffer and I couldn’t imagine losing a baby that you grew inside of you for 9 months.
But I also found myself in a very weird emotional space. That night, I grieved Sarah, the child of my sexual abuser and Mami. My heart hurt for that baby girl I saw Mami pour into. My heart hurt for the moments Mami loved and cared for her in ways I wanted her to do for me. My heart hurt to be vulnerable in the presence of my abusers, knowing that our shared trauma only added to my own trauma brought by their hands.
Chapter 5
The relationship I have with my mother is the hardest, most physically and emotionally exhausting relationship I have ever had.
Viewing situations that flare up with my mother through a lens of compassion and empathy has helped me navigate my relationship with her. And I know to many people it sounds insane that I could ever find it in my heart to show empathy, but I like to believe that everyone at their core is good. I believe that her own unresolved trauma and pain have shaped her into who she is. However, I’ve made the mistake of letting trauma be an excuse for just plain shitty behavior.
With time, I learned that having empathy for others needs to be coupled with accountability and setting boundaries. In the process of showing copious amounts of empathy and understanding towards others, I neglected the things my own heart, mind, and body needed to heal.
Chapter 6
It’s April 2020. Where am I now? Life keeps testing me because Mami is pregnant again, under the same circumstances as before. I have always viewed trying times in my life as growth opportunities. So right now I am in the midst of figuring out how to navigate the space I am in.
But one thing that I have learned is that:
Enduring trauma is not a sign of strength.
I used to think that because I was “strong” I could carry it all on my back. All of the sadness, all of the disappointment, all of his trauma, all of Mami’s trauma…I could carry it all because I was “better” than them.
But I’ve learned that my strength comes from love, forgiveness, and empathy coupled with honesty, accountability, and setting boundaries.
I ended a long term romantic relationship when I realized that the turbulent relationship I had with my mother was presenting itself in another form. My trauma, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and the toxic communication skills I developed along my journey were something I never truly healed from or dealt with. I didn’t give myself the best because I didn’t think I deserved the best. Instead, I learned to accept love in pieces, and hold on to any form of love that I could get… even if that meant eventually self sabotage.
April 2020, I enrolled in therapy as a gift to myself.
This is me, 10 years later.
I am ready to unpack and confront my own trauma.
I am ready to give what I have given to others so freely, to myself… love.
