Sharing My Truth

Whether it is believed or not, I still need to speak it. I need to tell my truth because silence is no longer an option. 

I'm just going to get right to it.

My sister stole my housekeeping business. 

It was gut-wrenching waking up on the morning of April 28, 2015 to learning that my sister, who had asked to partner with me and help me grow my housekeeping business I started in 2007, had removed my access to the OneNote files, email accounts and removed me from the business license. These were files that I created before she had "partnered" with me. I use quotes because all she did was pay half of the business license fee. 

I did all the work from preforming all the cleanings, estimates (I did train her how once), purchasing of supplies and customer communication relating to scheduling and such. I came up with the new name from Consciously Green Cleaning to Purely Green Cleaning. I designed and drew the logo. She had her friend digitally draw my original art. He did it for free. She has a way of getting people to do things for her for free...

We opened a joint business bank account. I deposited all the money I earned and paid myself $100 a week. 

I went from keeping all the money I made, to paying myself for the one expense that I was obligated to pay weekly- I had supervised visits with my 15 year old son. I'll tell that story over a series of posts at a later date. Betty knew this and knew that I needed a source for paying for this as #2 controlled all the household money and refused to pay for my visits. 

I had 4 customers, including her house that I gave her a discounted rate for prior to partnering. If you're wondering, the money she paid me to clean her house for "our" business was deposited into the business account that she had access to. All of the customers during the partnership were MY customers prior to our partnership. 

On April 29, 2015, I had a visit with my son as I did every Wednesday. I went to withdraw the $100 for the visitation fee and I learned the account was overdrawn. To my knowledge, there should have been a little over $300 in there. I went inside the branch to see what was going on and learned that Betty had her personal bank account linked to the business account. When her personal account over-drafted, it would take money out of our business account!!! 

Being co-dependant, I called my mom. 

My mom said, "well weren't you having your gym membership taken out of the business account?" 

Um, no mom. I've never had a gym membership in my life. Betty had HERS taken out of the business account. That is why her personal account was over drafted and the money, plus all the fees and other transactions that didn't clear her personal account emptied the business account. 

My mom met me on her way home from work to loan me $100 for my visit. 

But what was I going to do next week and the weeks after? Betty removed my access from all of the accounts. Every time I tried to recover them she changed the the passwords again. 

I had a cleaning on Thursday, April 30th. My customer didn't answer the door when I arrived. I tried calling but she didn't answer her phone either. I had no choice to but to go home, relieve the babysitter for my then 2 and 4 year old girls and I called Betty. 

Surprised she answered because the only thing I had heard from her over the last few days was through our mom, she told me, "You said you were done." I replied, "No, I didn't. I said I couldn't have the conversation with you last time we spoke because I had proctored finals I needed to study for and take at a certain time". 

She had been upset with me because I asked someone to reschedule. My youngest was sick with a fever that day. I had asked Betty to clean the house because my schedule was limited because of finals week. 

Betty said "No" to cleaning. That was my job, not hers... 

So, like the narcissist she likely is, she twisted my words, projected her faults on me (banking problems), and accused me of being the one who removed her...

I had had enough! 

I tried to contact my customers and let them know I was changing the business back to it's original form and attempted to give them my new contact information. Betty had already called them and apparently told them, according to one of the customers, that I didn't like cleaning houses and that I was above that type of work. She also told them that since I was going to be graduating soon with my degree in Paralegal, I was moving on to other things. She directed all contact to be with her only and told them that I was trying to steal from "her business bank accounts". 

I was fucking livid! 

I tried everything I could to retain the business I worked hard starting from the ground up, twice. First in 2007 then again in 2013 when I first had to pay to see my oldest child. 

She later used the logo that she claimed was "registered personally to [her]" (an unlawful business move and breach of our partnership on her part) as her new logo for Forever Spring Cleaning. It is obvious to me now that she planned this from the start. She was just waiting for the opportunity for me to respond the the stress of being in partnership with her while doing all of the work, coupled with my unstable marriage, going to school online full time, caring for two toddlers with no help from their father, and having to juggle going to court with my son's dad every few weeks. She sought her opportunity and she took it. 

But I was still in disbelief that my own sister could do that to me. 

I worked so hard developing my housekeeping business. Betty was even my first customer! I also cleaned her neighbor Denise's house who lived across the street from her. I cleaned for Betty's sister-in-law Sherri. 

Both of them cancelled but didn't give reasons why. I now know it was because Betty can't help herself and she trash talks about everyone behind their backs. As evidenced from the Facebook post she recently did and the past posts she'd posted after she stole my business. 

We have had a rocky relationship since birth. Much like the relationships she has had throughout her life. When people stand up to her or set boundaries she seeks to destroy. Ask her former friend Janell. Or Dianna. Or Michelle... You get the picture. 

I know firsthand the wrath of Betty. For 43 years I have kept quiet because the path of destruction has been devastating. 

You may be wondering, 'why did you let her back into your life so many times if she has done these tings to you?' People often ask this of victims of domestic violence and the answer is similar:

Because that was my normal. That is what I was raised to think was normal. I saw my parents in constant chaos. They'd split. Get back together. Yell. Hit each other. Lie. Sneak around. It fucking sucked being me as a child. 

Betty would repress things. Pretend it didn't happen. We wanted a better life. She pretended (and still does) that she had/ has a prefect life. She told people the opposite of what our life was like. She felt better for it, I'm sure. People don't want to hear the truth when it hurts. 

I am an empath. I feel. Everything. I didn't feel heard so I wrote. I wrote poetry, short stories, novels. I was a kid but I liked writing and letting my voice be seen, even if it just by me. I also drew and made art. I've always felt like people thought I was weird. I was seen as shy. I was quiet. I didn't rock the boat so I guess everyone thought of me as an easy target. I was, actually. Then I became a teenager... Again, another story to be written. 

My sister and I were affected by what we saw our parents emulate for us. At least until I was 13 and our parents finally divorced. He was in and out of our lives for years at a time. I've remained in contact with my dad and had many conversations with hi about his side, as I learned my mom's views in his absence. There really is two sides to every story. The truth is within that. 

I will leave you with a poem I wrote when I was 15. Although it reads as if it was written about an man, I had never had a boyfriend or been in a relationship romantically besides my 5th grade "boyfriend". I don't know what inspired me to write it. It just found paper and imbedded it's message in my mind. 

Defective Love

The view from my first apartment after one of the break ups with #1, was that of a dream. I'll reserve the story of the breaks with him for another post as this is one deserving of Betty and my mom. 

I just woke up from a dream that I don't remember. PTSD has that effect on the mind. I did EMDR for about 18 months and learned how my years of trauma has shaped by entire existence. Some hypnosis has been beneficial to me after all the hard work of EMDR. I am thankful for all of my therapists and their belief in not only their special fields, but in me. I am thankful for the person I was then and that I finally chose to blow out the gaslight, which was a HARD process. 

Typically one does EMDR one 1-hour session a week with 30 minutes EMDR then end of the session with processing the thoughts that came out. I decided to take the beast by horns and do twice a week. I did 1-hour of an EMDR session one day then another 1-hour session of talk therapy to process a few days later. I also saw another therapist twice a month who worked with my EMDR therapist and did guided meditation (similar to hypnosis) as well as processing current trauma resulting from #1 that was on-going with, what felt like, no end in sight. 

Through all my intense EMDR and trauma therapy I realized:

1) I was in a more abusive relationship with #2 than I was with #1 even with the current situation that brought me to my intense therapeutic journey back then. 

2) My trauma from my childhood, that I thought I was "fine" with, is what caused me to make the choices I had made. It was a vicious cycle with multiple layers that could be made into a Top 10 Netflix series. 

3) I was co-dependent.

4) There was/ is passion within me that drives me. Once I remove trauma layers, that passion shines bright and helps me to finally see what I have to offer this world. 

#2 hated who I became. He told me often. So I persisted in my healing journey of blowing out the gaslight. 

This is my journey. It always will be. I experienced trauma and I am who I am because of it. I have no shame for my PTSD. Despite #2's attempts to use it against me in court since the start of our divorce. It didn't break me. It shaped me. What matters most is that I have grown from it. I can teach my children how to see their strengths through their battles because there will be battles. After all, their fathers were two of my mental perpetrators, my physical abusers, and one of them my rapist.

When a PTSD surviver processes their memories, it's like pealing layers of an onion. Some of those pieces are small and fragile. Some are thick. Sometimes they come off in partial chunks and reveal other layers you didn't know were there. They all make you cry if the onion is overripe. 

Here is one of my layers:

I moved into an apartment in Federal Way, Washington that was above Redondo Beach. I had a view of the beach from my balcony. More so in the fall when the trees shed their leafs. 

My move was circumstantial. The timing was right and I was asked to take care of my grandma who was hemiplegic from a stroke. It was an honor to do so. 

It was a cute little one bedroom and it was the first time I had lived alone. I had moved from Vancouver, Washington where I had lived since I was almost 8 years old, minus a couple moves. Once to California and once to Auburn, Washington briefly when I was 18 or 19. But this time, it was a big move because I was living alone and starting a new life for myself at 21. I was born in Auburn and all of my dad's side of the family was still living in the area that my parents moved us from because of their drama. Most of that side of my family are still living there actually. 

I thought I was really close with my mom and sister. I pretty much grew up with it being just the 3 of us girls; "the three amigos" or "just us girls" as my mom always said. When she did, it always made my stomach turn but I never said anything. Being a feminist, it shouldn't bother me but now, knowing that my mom isn't a feminist (which is still odd to me) and knowing why she said those words all the fucking time (onion peel), it makes sense why deep down hearing her say those words, it made me feel the way I did. 

She was a gaslighter. It was her way of subconsciously telling us that "we didn't need" our dad- her ex-husband. That she didn't want us to have our dad. She wanted to have total control and she wanted us to hate our dad because she did. Just like how she can't stand to see my sister and I getting along. She sees it as a rejection of her. She pitted us against each other. She created a resentment between us sisters. I believe the reason why I never felt love or acceptance from my sister is because our mom couldn't stand seeing us show love for someone other than her. 

When I moved, I thought that my mom and sister would come and see my new apartment. I mean, that's what normal families do, right? 

I moved in to my place in March 1, 1999. I lived in that particular apartment for 6 months. My mom and sister came to see me. Actually it was to introduce my new nephew to the other family. They came mid August. His birthday is about 2 weeks before mine. We had dinner at Olive Garden; my favorite restaurant.  

I invited them to meet at my place so they could finally see it but they preferred to meet at the restaurant. I begged for them to see my place, so they gave in and stopped by briefly. They never sat down. They just walked around, judging my decor and choice in furniture. They used the excuse of the smell of my incense as a reason to leave about 15 minutes in. Apparently incense is bad for babies... says the mom who lived on a hippy school bus with my dad while following "Guru Bob" when she was pregnant with me...

The next apartment I lived in up there was a really cool space. It had been a school back in the 1930s and was turned into a 12 unit apartment building. Mine was on the second floor facing the back yard community space that had a view of Tacoma. My floor had once been the gym floors. 

I wanted my mom and sister to see it so bad! It was such a great space. My mom and sister use to come see my grandma and grandpa (my dad's parents) quite often. Usually around holidays or birthdays because grandpa gave them money.  But never once in the 6 months I lived there did they come to see it or me. 

I always went to visit them. I even came to babysit my sister's stepson while she was pregnant with my nephew. I drove 150 miles to babysit my step-nephew. I drove down for Pampered Chef parties and Tupperware parties. I went out of my way to keep them a part of my life and it was never reciprocated. 

No wonder why my thoughts of what love looked like were defective.  

The roots were damaged from the start. I don't blame them. That's all they know an d are willing to know. I just don't want what they have to offer me. I set boundaries with them to protect my heart; my whole self. I deserve love in the true form. 

These memories are my injuries. I don't hate the ground for the scraping of my flesh when I fall. I pick myself up, wash out the wound, nurture the rawness on my body and move past the place where I was brought down momentarily.