The Truth About Raising My Children

Over the years, I’ve heard a story repeated that my son, Matt, was raised by his grandmother Chris. I want to lovingly and clearly set the record straight: that is not true.

From the moment Matt and Briana were born, they were my responsibility, and I never gave that up. Between 1985 and 1990, Bird (their biological father) and I lived off and on with his parents, and at other times in several different places of our own. Life was unstable and filled with the chaos of addiction and abuse, but one thing never changed—my children were always with me.

At one point, in my desperation for a better life, I even took Matt and Briana with me to Ohio, believing that if I could just change our surroundings, I could change our lives. But what I didn’t understand then was that it wasn’t about moving to a new address—it was about changing me.

That realization came on April 6, 1990. I was twenty-three years old, with two children, and completely worn down. Just three months earlier, in January, I had finally secured my own Section 8 house. For the first time, we had a place that was ours. That gave us stability. And then in April, when I entered recovery, I found hope. Together, those two milestones gave me the courage to step into motherhood in a new and healthier way.

This doesn’t mean I was alone in raising my kids. Family played important roles in their lives. They offered love, guidance, and presence that I will always be grateful for. Chris, especially, was and still is an important part of our lives. Matt and Briana were very close to their Grandma Chris and their Grandpa Joe, until his passing when Matt was five and Briana was three. Chris has been a beloved part of our family and community, and she continues to be close to us to this very day.

But here is the truth: Chris did not raise Matt or Briana. I did. Raising my children was my sacred responsibility, and although I stumbled and made many mistakes, I carried that responsibility every single day.

As adults, life naturally shifted. Matt chose to live with his grandmother when he was grown, and he was living in her home on Whitehall Circle when he was tragically murdered at just twenty-two years old. That does not change the truth of his childhood, nor the bond that defined our years together.

Now, as a grandmother myself, I see this distinction more clearly than ever. I play a big role in my grandchildren’s lives—I give them love, presence, and support—but I am not raising them. Their parents are. And that difference matters, because raising a child is more than being involved; it is carrying the responsibility day in and day out, through the pain, the growth, the lessons, and the love.

This is the truth about raising my children.

Taking Radical Responsibility

For so long, I used to dread even thinking about what it really meant to take responsibility for my life. Responsibility felt heavy, almost like a punishment. It was easier to deflect, to find fault in someone else, to point the finger away from me.

I can still picture myself standing in line at the grocery store, growing angry as the clerk chatted with the customer ahead of me. I felt impatient, inconvenienced, like my time was somehow more valuable. Yet how many times have I been the one who ran late to appointments, making others wait? How many times did I excuse it away, while demanding grace from others?

It’s humbling to admit the double standards I lived in. I’ve written angry emails to companies because I felt I wasn’t treated “accordingly.” But have I ever written myself a letter holding me accountable for the times I treated others unfairly?

There’s a saying I love: When I point one finger at you, three fingers are pointing back at me. That truth hits hard.

The Shift

Something powerful happens when I stop blaming and start owning. When I take 100% responsibility for the way my life is turning out, I naturally have fewer issues with what others do—or don’t do.

When I want to blame my procrastination on jobs, people, or appointments, I have to remind myself: I am the creator of my time. If I want something done, it’s on me to make it happen. Period.

This shift has been both painful and liberating. Painful, because it forces me to look at the patterns I’ve created—the excuses, the wasted energy, the years I spent convincing myself someone else was holding me back. But also liberating, because if I created those patterns, I can also create new ones.

Owning My Truth

For over 16 years I told myself, “If it wasn’t for this other person, my book would be done.” That was complete and utter bullshit. The truth is, it wasn’t anyone else’s responsibility, it was mine. My writing, my healing, my dreams.

Taking responsibility is not about shame. It’s about empowerment. It’s about standing in the truth that if I want something different, I must do something different.

And today, I feel grateful. Grateful that I get to take responsibility for my life. Grateful that I no longer waste as much time blaming others for the choices I failed to make.

Responsibility isn’t a burden—it’s a key. It unlocks freedom. It puts the pen back in my hand. And it reminds me that I am not at the mercy of what happens to me. I am the author of my story.

Writing My Truths, Again

Writing My Truths, Again

This past year, I’ve been doing a lot of writing, and it’s been both beautiful and brutal.

I’ve already faced many of the painful truths of my past through working the steps and through recovery.
I’ve acknowledged the harm, done the inner work, and committed to a path of healing and accountability.
But writing about these experiences again, now, in this way,  brings them back in full color.

The real-time memories come rushing in:
The smells. The sounds. The weather. The details of the scene.
All of it.

Most people in my life,  those closest to me, already know these pieces of me.
But this book, Mom, Did You Tell Them Who You Are?, is for those who don’t.
It’s for the ones who haven’t heard the whole truth.
It’s for the ones who may feel like they’re the only ones.
It’s for the ones still searching for peace in their own stories.

Once I became an adult, I had to learn that my life, and what I want from it, is 100% my responsibility.
The things I did, the paths I chose, the people I hurt, they’re mine to own.

So I own them.
I learn from them.
And I strive every day to be better than I was the day before.

I can’t change what has already happened.
But I can keep practicing being a better me.

Even when it hurts.
Even when it’s lonely.
Even when the past knocks on the door of my present.

And so, even now,  in the writing, in the remembering, in the healing,
I choose Me. 

Because I know peace is possible.
And it’s worth the work.

Thank you for walking this journey with me.
If you’re doing the work too, through recovery, grief, forgiveness, or finding your voice,
I hope you keep choosing you too.

#MomDidYouTellThemWhoYouAre

#HealingJourney 

#PeaceWithin 

#WritingToHeal #SpiritualGrowth 

#RadicalResponsibility

 #RecoveryWorks

 #LetGoLetGod 

#ProgressNotPerfection

 #StillIChooseMe