My biological father isn’t what a father should be; nor was his father.
If you have a Grandfather,Dad, Step-Dad, Adopted Dad, or even a male guardian figure who is supportive, lets you be yourself, and many other positive things please tell them thank you.
I also started tearing up when I was writing this, and for years I have debated on doing this. Even in this blog, I won’t reveal everything; my childhood memory is only so big. This blog is my opinion of the vague events that happened, and what happened afterwards.  I’m 22, and some memories are amazing. Like reading Little House on the Prairie. Others, not so good.
I wasn’t the only one who had to deal with his mental and physical abuse. My step-mother did too. My Mother did too, but she responded differently too it; practically ignoring his behaviors. My Mother, did not marry my Dad, and did not have to live with my biological dad for long. Unlike me, and some other family members…
My father is still alive, and at one point I was writing letters. It was difficult to write to him, because he sometimes admitted he was “wrong” but I did not believe him. I also believe that he would do things the same way all over again; I do not trust him. I only trust a certain amount of people. He was raised by how his father raised him, and that’s what he thought, is how you raise children.
I was grounded constantly, and the only constant companion I had were books. The Harry Potter series was on my shelf, and up till 2012, I never completed the series. Clean room, and the western bathroom was something I was use to seeing all the time.
I don’t even call my father “Dad.” It didn’t feel right when I had to, forced to, or when asked “where’s your Dad?” by the time I got to High School. What was my fathers past anyways? I’ve figured it out, piece by piece, and I still shake my head, because he had opportunities to change his life. And he didn’t.
Me and my step-mom (and more on that later) we don’t believe he earned, nor deserves the right to be called Dad. He abused every aspect of it, and I also lost the true meaning of trust.
It took me many years to learn how to trust family members, and how to let myself write and let myself talk. How was I supposed to keep a diary and tell what was going on in my day-to-day adventures, when a contortive guardian was always looking through your things?
I don’t even call my ex-step-Mother “step” anymore. We reconnected via social media, and I finally got to meet my Brother and Sister after many years. Her and I have the same views, and we spent two days talking about what happened in that household we lived in from 2001- 2005. I experienced events before she married my biological dad, and we have a bond that can’t be replaced. I got to see my sister’s first softball game, which she pitched at and plays softball better than I do.
Even though she is not my biological Mom, I now call her Mom. Thank goodness for step-mothers. 
I’m going to give my biological father a nickname.
NOTE:NOT his real name, nor his initials  Same goes for other family members added.
 Say his name was AB. AB had a brother named BC, and BC wasn’t a very trusting brother; neither was AB. BC and AB’s father was abusive towards his sons, so they were raised in strict households. Would you like to know what AB told me one day? …Or sometimes multiple?
You would get more punishment if you were a male and a son, but since you aren’t, this is all the spankings you get.” 
-Okay, similar to that, because the memory is off a little, but you get the drift.-
One day, before I was moved out of my fathers household and with my Grandfather and Mother in 2006, at some point I stopped crying after what I believed I was getting whipped by a leather belt. What does he do, out of possible frustration?  Yell at me for not crying, and whips harder.Those memories don’t go away fast. Who knows what “punishment” I had done. I can at least tell you ONE time where I knew I was in the wrong. *I signed off my step-mothers name on a failing test grade saying that she saw it. I didn’t want anyone to see I failed the math test. Said person did not believe in after school tutorials, or tutorials at all. As someone who comes from a family of teachers, that completely derailed me with education, and especially in Math.
Here are the biggest take aways I learned from my years living with Father:
1. Let your children be in what they want.
  – I wanted to be in band. Thanks to the graces that maybe, I was moved in with my Mother and Grandfather, and I got to be in Band and play Trombone. I now play for fun, and go to fun festivals and occasionally spread the joy of music.
2. Afterschool programs matter.
    – I wanted to participate in the after school programs, like Garden club. Or Girl Scouts, or something. I did not get to until Middle School. Read #3.
3. Having friends over is good, and can bring positivity to a young child’s life.
   -I felt like a little girl trapped in a room all the time; or like Rapunzel. I didn’t have many friends until middle school.
4. I am all about staying positive; at least learned discipline and how to have a clean bedroom.
Note: I’m not an educator, and if you are a teenager or young elementary student reading this, PLEASE go talk to your school counselor. They are trained to listen to you about what is going on at home.
Parents,  you may not realize this, but the home life affects the schooling environment too! I’m not a counselor either, but also talking to those who can help (family counselors, school counselors, preachers, teachers, etc.) can help family life!
I go to college. I am proud of my identity, and its (ironically) everything my Father detested, but my other family members enjoy.
DON”T LET ONE NEGATIVE PERSON TAKE YOUR HAPPY AWAY.
My family is proud of me, and that’s all that matters. This will sound conceded, but I’ve come out strong, independent, musically and creatively talented, and I hope other women tell there stories too. ❤
Thanks for reading, and if you cried or got emotional its totally fine. Crying is cleansing for the soul.
Peace,
  Danielle
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