It all began with a prayer.
For years, my mother prayed for my existence, hoping that having another baby might repair her broken relationship with my father.

But I wasn’t born into peace or love—I was born into chaos, neglect, and abandonment.

A Child of Hope in a Home of Hurt

My mother met my father when she was just 16 and pregnant with my sister. Seven years later, she gave birth to me. My father was a drug addict, and his abuse—physical, emotional, and mental—touched everyone close to him.

After I was born, things only got worse. He was the kind of man who couldn’t hold a job, sat on the couch all day, and waited to be served—while my mom worked herself to exhaustion trying to keep our lives afloat.

One day she came home to find me locked in my room, sitting in a dirty diaper that hadn’t been changed since she left for work. The house was a wreck, and he had the audacity to ask what was for dinner.

That was the last straw.

She left him.

Torn Apart by Custody Battles and Fear

What followed was a string of chaotic custody exchanges, often ending in fights and police intervention. My mother wanted to flee the state and start over, but my father threatened legal action and full custody if she tried.

Backed into a corner, she made a decision that would shape my entire life.

At just 22 months old, I was dropped off at my grandparents’ house. My sister was told to hug me goodbye because she may not be seeing me again. My clothes and toys were packed into a trash bag.

My mother left.
And I didn’t see her again for almost seven years.

A Motherless Childhood: Searching for Answers

Growing up, I had recurring dreams about that day—visions of my mother’s car pulling away, and the front door closing behind her.

Several months later, I have a memory of standing in my grandparent’s driveway asking my dad:
“Where is my mom?”
“Why didn’t she come back?”
“What did you do to her?”

He replied, “I don’t know,” to all of my questions and then disappeared into the house. I followed him and found him crying in my bedroom, standing in front of my dresser. My grandmother pulled me away and shut the door.

They never talked about her. They hid her pictures. She became a ghost in my life—a haunting presence I wasn’t allowed to acknowledge.

I asked constantly:
“What did she look like?”
“Do I look like her?”

The only answer I ever got: “You have her hands and feet.”

That was all they gave me and I constantly felt hollow at the lack of information I was given about her.

Uncovering the Hidden Truth

One day, I was snooping through my grandparents’ bedroom and discovered some letters and birthday cards from my mother—cards I had never seen before. In that moment, I felt betrayed by my grandma. I always thought my mother left and never looked back. I realized my grandparents had tried to erase her from my life completely. I know now that they were trying to protect me out of love. They were there after all, to pick up the pieces after she left.

She was a mystery to me. A void I carried. A wound I didn’t know how to heal.

That little girl didn’t deserve to be forgotten and lied to.
She deserves to be seen, held, and heard. To hear the truth of why she left. To know that she tried but was scared of the repercussions.

The wound cut deep and affected all aspects of my life growing up. The belief that I was unlovable, unworthy, and unwanted plagued every decision I ever made.

Until it didn’t. When I finally realized my worth, my ability to be loved, and choose the life that I deserved.

You too can overcome these beliefs about yourself and I’m going to show you how I did it.

Much love,

Beth