Never forget who you are.
🤎
🤎
Never forget to be kind. Never let the world change that part of you.
🤎
And so adult life was almost beginning.
When I look back at this time in my life, I realize how trauma can get memories a little tangled up. At the end of my last story, I mentioned that my mom had talked me into coming to live with her in Virginia. In reality, it wasn't a long-term move; it was just a temporary stay for a couple of weeks before I was supposed to head off to college.
My real destination was Florida.
After working my tail off to finish high school at sixteen, I was facing a quiet, internal tug-of-war about my future. My personal dream was to go to Oral Roberts University and finish my Christian education. But my dad was an atheist, and I could tell he really didn’t want me to go there. Instead, he was incredibly gung-ho about Florida State University. FSU was a massive deal to him, and he was an avid supporter.
He talked me into it by telling me what an amazing opportunity it was, pointing out how far I could go because of my academic achievements. He promised he would fully pay for it—and deep down, I knew he wouldn't pay a single dime for Oral Roberts.
There was a part of me that just wanted to make my father proud. FSU felt familiar, and there was a little sense of safety in that compared to stepping into the complete unknown. So, I decided to just get happy about it.
Before that next chapter started, I headed to Virginia. There was an element of real excitement about getting to see my mom.
The apartment was beautiful, and she was so proud of it. She had cleaned up her life; she still drank, but the constant partying and chaotic people flowing in and out of the house were gone. For the first time, she just let me relax. She told me she knew I needed it after working so hard and everything I had just been through.
I was just so happy to be near her. I don't care what happens in life, you still need your mother’s love. It felt so good to have her approval and to feel like she was proud of me. It felt a little weird when she took me to a professional studio to get pictures taken with my cap, gown, and academic awards displayed in the background, but I was proud of those achievements too. Making her happy made me happy.
But it was a complicated kind of happy. When I was just a young girl, I remember sneaking up after going to bed. I crept down the hall to listen to the TV, and instead, I heard my mother telling my father that she hated me and wished I had never been born.
I didn’t even know what to do. I can just remember standing there, pressing myself up against the wall, being afraid to be seen. I can remember feeling unwanted. Then I quietly went back to my bed and just cried. I confronted my mother about it in my teens, and she completely denied it. Later, in my late twenties, she finally admitted she said it, but she didn’t really even apologize—she just blamed it on me and said I had been a terrible kid that day.
Yet, sitting there at sixteen by that swimming pool in Virginia, I still just needed my mother. I wanted to give our relationship a chance to heal before I left for college. That was my mindset.
For probably the first time in my entire life, I didn't have to go to work, I didn't have to go to school, and I didn't have to do anything but rest.
There was relaxation for my body, my soul, and my mind, and I was really enjoying it. I would just lay out by the pool or in the yard reading my books and soaking up the sun.
I stayed out there so much that I got a deep, dark suntan—so dark that when I finally did get to Florida, someone actually asked me what nationality I was!
There was no drama. My mom was sweet, and I really liked her boyfriend, Terry. He eventually became her husband, but my trauma mixes it up and I can’t actually remember when they got married. I was actually pretty sad to think of this little peaceful bubble ending.
But then my mother’s birthday rolled around on July 18th.
Pretty much every weekend, she did go to the bars with Terry. I never went with them. They both knew I didn’t like to drink—it was kind of obvious since I had just graduated from a Christian school. I had chosen the path of my life. But her birthday was different. They invited me to come celebrate, and I felt it would be rude not to, so I went.
The atmosphere was very festive, and the band Terry worked with was really good. Then, my mom talked me into taking a drink. Just one, she said, to celebrate. So I did. And then another, because it felt good. And then that obviously felt good, so I drank another. I honestly don’t remember how many I had, but I got drunk.
That’s when I met my husband. He was a sailor, sitting with his friend at the end of the bar. I moseyed on over and started talking to them. Honestly, I was actually flirting a little bit, but he was like so shy. His friend kept hitting on me, but I kept trying to avoid that interaction and kept trying to spark up a conversation with the person who would become my husband.
After all that rest and relaxation, stepping into that party environment, I was actually feeling really good. Part of me wished I wasn't drunk, but it was kind of a magical night.
We ended up going for a walk on the beach. It was so peaceful.
The breeze was blowing, the smell of salt air was thick, and we were walking barefoot in the sand. I remember looking down and seeing a little starfish stranded in the sand. I started flicking it over with my toe, and I just kept flicking it until I got it all the way back into the water.
I was so happy that I saved it, and I felt so carefree. He laughed, and it felt so good to be noticed for just being a happy soul. I was just happy.
I found it easy to be myself around him. It is almost painful to think back to that moment now because of what happened later on my wedding night, and what would happen for years to come.
I had no idea how much of my own soul was actually going to be stripped away. But at that time, on that beach, it was almost like I was celebrated and appreciated a little bit.
Like I was finally seen, and he liked me.
🤎
Explore More Stories and Art
The Girl Who Chased Horses
(Ongoing Book)
Spirit Flow Prophetic Art Gallery
About Pam Herrick
Previous story, Part 63: The Bathtoom Floor and Aunt Harriet
🤎
Inspired by Part 64, watch this Spirit Flow painting come to life beneath a moonlit Caribbean sky,
celebrating kindness, hope, compassion,
and the joy found
in caring for even the smallest of God’s creations.
And so adult life was almost beginning.
When I look back at this time in my life, I realize how trauma can get memories a little tangled up. At the end of my last story, I mentioned that my mom had talked me into coming to live with her in Virginia. In reality, it wasn't a long-term move; it was just a temporary stay for a couple of weeks before I was supposed to head off to college.
My real destination was Florida.
After working my tail off to finish high school at sixteen, I was facing a quiet, internal tug-of-war about my future. My personal dream was to go to Oral Roberts University and finish my Christian education. But my dad was an atheist, and I could tell he really didn’t want me to go there. Instead, he was incredibly gung-ho about Florida State University. FSU was a massive deal to him, and he was an avid supporter.
He talked me into it by telling me what an amazing opportunity it was, pointing out how far I could go because of my academic achievements. He promised he would fully pay for it—and deep down, I knew he wouldn't pay a single dime for Oral Roberts.
There was a part of me that just wanted to make my father proud. FSU felt familiar, and there was a little sense of safety in that compared to stepping into the complete unknown. So, I decided to just get happy about it.
Before that next chapter started, I headed to Virginia. There was an element of real excitement about getting to see my mom.
The apartment was beautiful, and she was so proud of it. She had cleaned up her life; she still drank, but the constant partying and chaotic people flowing in and out of the house were gone. For the first time, she just let me relax. She told me she knew I needed it after working so hard and everything I had just been through.
I was just so happy to be near her. I don't care what happens in life, you still need your mother’s love. It felt so good to have her approval and to feel like she was proud of me. It felt a little weird when she took me to a professional studio to get pictures taken with my cap, gown, and academic awards displayed in the background, but I was proud of those achievements too. Making her happy made me happy.
But it was a complicated kind of happy. When I was just a young girl, I remember sneaking up after going to bed. I crept down the hall to listen to the TV, and instead, I heard my mother telling my father that she hated me and wished I had never been born.
I didn’t even know what to do. I can just remember standing there, pressing myself up against the wall, being afraid to be seen. I can remember feeling unwanted. Then I quietly went back to my bed and just cried. I confronted my mother about it in my teens, and she completely denied it. Later, in my late twenties, she finally admitted she said it, but she didn’t really even apologize—she just blamed it on me and said I had been a terrible kid that day.
Yet, sitting there at sixteen by that swimming pool in Virginia, I still just needed my mother. I wanted to give our relationship a chance to heal before I left for college. That was my mindset.
For probably the first time in my entire life, I didn't have to go to work, I didn't have to go to school, and I didn't have to do anything but rest.
There was relaxation for my body, my soul, and my mind, and I was really enjoying it. I would just lay out by the pool or in the yard reading my books and soaking up the sun.
I stayed out there so much that I got a deep, dark suntan—so dark that when I finally did get to Florida, someone actually asked me what nationality I was!
There was no drama. My mom was sweet, and I really liked her boyfriend, Terry. He eventually became her husband, but my trauma mixes it up and I can’t actually remember when they got married. I was actually pretty sad to think of this little peaceful bubble ending.
But then my mother’s birthday rolled around on July 18th.
Pretty much every weekend, she did go to the bars with Terry. I never went with them. They both knew I didn’t like to drink—it was kind of obvious since I had just graduated from a Christian school. I had chosen the path of my life. But her birthday was different. They invited me to come celebrate, and I felt it would be rude not to, so I went.
The atmosphere was very festive, and the band Terry worked with was really good. Then, my mom talked me into taking a drink. Just one, she said, to celebrate. So I did. And then another, because it felt good. And then that obviously felt good, so I drank another. I honestly don’t remember how many I had, but I got drunk.
That’s when I met my husband. He was a sailor, sitting with his friend at the end of the bar. I moseyed on over and started talking to them. Honestly, I was actually flirting a little bit, but he was like so shy. His friend kept hitting on me, but I kept trying to avoid that interaction and kept trying to spark up a conversation with the person who would become my husband.
After all that rest and relaxation, stepping into that party environment, I was actually feeling really good. Part of me wished I wasn't drunk, but it was kind of a magical night.
We ended up going for a walk on the beach. It was so peaceful.
The breeze was blowing, the smell of salt air was thick, and we were walking barefoot in the sand. I remember looking down and seeing a little starfish stranded in the sand. I started flicking it over with my toe, and I just kept flicking it until I got it all the way back into the water.
I was so happy that I saved it, and I felt so carefree. He laughed, and it felt so good to be noticed for just being a happy soul. I was just happy.
I found it easy to be myself around him. It is almost painful to think back to that moment now because of what happened later on my wedding night, and what would happen for years to come.
I had no idea how much of my own soul was actually going to be stripped away. But at that time, on that beach, it was almost like I was celebrated and appreciated a little bit.
Like I was finally seen, and he liked me.
🤎
Explore More Stories and Art
The Girl Who Chased Horses
(Ongoing Book)
Spirit Flow Prophetic Art Gallery
About Pam Herrick
Previous story, Part 63: The Bathtoom Floor and Aunt Harriet
🤎
Inspired by Part 64, watch this Spirit Flow painting come to life beneath a moonlit Caribbean sky,
celebrating kindness, hope, compassion,
and the joy found
in caring for even the smallest of God’s creations.
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