Sticks And Stones Can Break Your Bones but Words Can Kill Your Soul

I've spent a lot of time on this blog. It is a very emotional story that I would honestly prefer to not even have to think about but I've been learning a lot about myself throughout this journey and I know that in order to really move forward and get past some of the things that have haunted me for most of my life, I need to face them head on.

I know some of my family might not agree with my "airing the dirty laundry" but I'm now to a place in my life where I am putting God, my husband, my kids and myself first. I'm doing this FOR me, not TO anyone. I'm sharing my story because I believe in therapy through journaling or blogging.

My story is long and twisted, like many others out there. Feel free to read along but I warn you, this will be long.

My parents divorced when I was 6 months old. My dad fought for custody and won, although he shared custody with my mom because "a daughter needs her mother." My dad was always very affectionate, loving, supportive and caring. Actually, he was more than that. My dad was always, always, always involved and "checked in." Even though I lived with my mom, step dad, brother and sister (an arrangement my parents worked out even though my dad had complete custody of me), my dad would come by and pick me up to have dinner and do my homework. Every single weekday. He would also come by during the day on the weekends and we would find something fun to do around town. Growing up, I don't remember there being a day my dad didn't come over to spend time with me. I adore my dad. I model a lot of my parenting after him because he was my hero. He was the definition of a dedicated dad. He always put my needs over his own and he would have happily laid down his life for me.

The next part of the story is hard to tell for a couple reasons. First off, it's just painful to relive and secondly, my father passed away almost 2 years ago and I miss him dearly. I also hate the fact that he is not here to defend himself. My father was the absolute best father I could have ever asked for and I would re-live the stories I am about to tell you once an hour, on the hour, for an entire year straight if it could bring him back so I could get one last hug and hear him tell me he loves me just one last time. So please, understand that when I share these stories (and the one about my grandmother) that I do so with a very heavy heart and it's not to hurt anyone's feelings. I just need to get through this and not allow it to haunt me anymore.

When my dad would come over to pick me up for dinner, he would take me to fast food. He worked 10-12 hours a day, wanted to spend time with his daughter and I guess he just didn't have time to cook food at home. I can honestly say that I never, ever, ever can remember my dad cooking me a meal. Ever. And he never remarried so it's not like I had a step mom cooking for me. I've been told my dad cooked me breakfast, lunch and dinner and all that when I was a very young child.....but from when I can remember (let's just say age 6 and up) he never once cooked me a meal. On the rare occasion that I would stay the night at his house, he would stop at a gas station to buy me sugared donuts and an orange juice for breakfast. If by some miracle we had dinner at his apartment, it was either a frozen TV dinner or a frozen pizza. I am not exaggerating. For the longest time, I had no idea that this was abnormal behavior. I figured most families went out to eat dinner nightly. I mean, my mom and step dad cooked at home all the time but I just figured it was because they had my brother and sister to feed and they couldn't afford to go out eat. It sounds silly now....but I didn't know any better.

I remember around age 8 my dad started talking to me about being a model. I have never been interested in being a model. I never dressed up and put on fashion shows or asked to be I pageants. I would much rather have played house or Barbie. This was my dad's dream for me. I would tell him time and time again that I didn't want to be in a pageant or try to get in commercials or on TV but he wouldn't listen. He would always tell me how pretty my face was and how "the camera" would love me.....if only I would lose 10 pounds.

I was 8. I was NOTfat. I was not even CHUBBY.

I remember feeling as if someone had stolen all the air from my body. Ouch.

And this became a normal conversation between us and as I got older and started gaining weight (no doubt because of my daily fast food diet), the number of pounds I needed to lose (according to my dad, in order to make it in "showbusiness") grew and grew. He would tell me about this "talent agent friend" of his that he wanted to give my headshots to, if I would just lose that weight. I loved my father with every ounce of my being but I grew to hate talking about my weight.

Another story that still cuts deep involves my grandmother, who is also one of my absolute favorite people. I am the oldest of three granddaughters and we were all sitting around the Christmas tree when I was 10 years old. My grandmother was handing out presents and as soon as I got the box, I knew it was clothes but I was STILL excited to see what was inside because my grandmother had great fashion taste. I opened the box, ripped back the tissue paper and inside the box, staring back at me, was a black and neon colored (think 1980's) spandex workout outfit. I looked to my other two cousins (who are, of course, thinner than me) and I really don't remember what they got, I think it was a cute pair of matching pajamas, but it most certainly wasn't a spandex workout outfit. I ran from the room bawling my eyes out, feeling fat, ugly and unloved and then my aunt came in and made me feel even worse because I wasn't being appreciative enough. I was then made to go out and apologize to my grandmother. My grandmother was a very reasonable and caring woman and once she realized she hurt my feelings, she apologized. I took that outfit home and threw it in the trash. I don't know why my grandma did what she did...she wasn't a mean woman, but I never got over that.

As I got older, my dad (and grandmother) would continue to bash me and my weight. I was told that you don't talk back to your elders and so for the longest time, I would sit there and let them say whatever they wanted to say about my weight. One day, after I had moved out on my own, I went though a really emotional breakup with a boyfriend of 3+ years. I called my dad to talk and just to hear him tell me that it was my ex boyfriends loss and everything would work out. I told him that Miles broke up with me and my dad asked, "You don't think it's because of all this weight you've gained, do you?" And you know what???? That thought hadn't crossed my mind....until my dad asked. And then I wondered if maybe no one could love me because of my weight... It hurt. I even talked to Miles and told him what my dad said. Miles assured me that he thought I was beautiful and our breakup, of course, had nothing to do with weight gain. Miles has always been a good person.

A few weeks later, my dad kept harping on my weight. He was brutal. And I snapped. I couldn't take it anymore and I yelled at him!


"YOU NEED TO STOP! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!!!! I am the one who looks at my fat, nasty, naked body in the mirror each and every day I get out of the shower! I do NOT need you to tell me I am fat. I KNOW I AM FAT!!!!! Now, each time I see your phone number come up on caller-ID, I cringe!!!! I don't even like talking to you anymore because all you ever do is make me feel bad and that in turn makes me hate myself!!!! Are you happy now!?!? Now you know the truth!!! I HATE MYSELF!!!!!!!"










Stunned silence.

I think he might have started crying and then he hung up the phone. I don't even think he said goodbye first.



I can not stress how much I love and respect my dad...but for the longest time I had him placed on a pedestal. He was the responsible parent who rescued me from my mom, who was an alcoholic and drug addict back then. He was my world. I idolized him.

But here he was. Stuffing me with fast food and then tearing me down because of it!

Once I finally blew up at him like that, I think he started to understand how hurtful he had been without meaning to be and he stopped talking to me about my weight unless I brought it up, or if it was to tell me he thought I had been losing weight.

And just to add one little twist to the story, this entire time I felt terrible for being "the fat one in the family" and as it turns out, it's pretty unlikely that my dad is my actual biological father. I spent 19 years of my life comparing myself to the women from my day's side of the family because I knew about genetics......and all this time, I was killing myself emotionally for something I had no control over.

Why this? Why now? It was years ago and I've told myself that I forgave them and moved on. And I don't think I've been lying to myself but I really haven't moved past it. I feel like my dad set me up to fail health wise and unfortunately, he paid his life for it. He continued on with his unhealthy living and eating, never cooking at home and always eating out of a paper sack until age 59, when he fell over and died from a massive heart attack. I was just 28 when my daddy, my hero, died and my world forever changed. That was July 27, 2010. It took me until January of 2013 to get real with myself and admit that if I continued down the same path I was on, I was going to die young, too.

Now that the past is out there, I feel like I can move on. They obviously made mistakes (as we all do) but they were the best people you would ever have the honor of knowing and I hold no grudges whatsoever. In fact, I probably love and respect them more today than ever before. They knew all along that I was probably not biologically related to them but they fought for me. They fought HARD for me and I do believe that they saved my life. I learned so many things about life from them and they helped shape me into the strong and caring woman I am today. I owe so much of the best parts of who I am to both my father and my grandmother and now I feel like I can truly forgive, forget and finally move forward.

Today, I know that my dad and grandma are as proud as ever of me and that's good....but there has been a change in the last 30+ days since I've been on my fast/reboot. What matters to me most NOW,is that I am proud of myself.




Stay strong and juice on, y'all!
-Teela Juicing Herman