Quenise

“You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress.”

-Sophia Bush

I have hated my childhood story. There are so many spots and spaces of my childhood that I don’t remember the details of. But last year I started facing it - facing my story and owning it… but I’m still on the healing journey. I cried so much last year. So much. Because there are things that are just coming up. And it’s… you know it’s trauma, why I can’t remember some of this stuff, right? And it’s so frustrating to me that I don’t have anyone to tell me “this is what happened, and that’s what happened, and this is why”. So now, I’m trying to piece things together, and there’s no one to ask, because there are so many people around me who are still hurt from their own stories. They’re trying to heal, and they don’t want to rehash the past. Or they are no longer alive. 

I have spent many of my days empathizing and feeling bad for my family, and it has not been easy. Now it is my time to live and no longer exist primarily in “survival mode”.

My dad is from Panama. He came over here when he was 14 or 15. But before he came over, his mom came over here and left him and his siblings in Panama, while she worked to get them to the US. They stayed with various family members who were navigating impoverished conditions, which was not easy for them. Not too long after my dad moved to the states, his sister introduced him to her friend - my mom. And they began dating. 

My mom’s name was Denise, but she went by Neicey. I am named after her. She took the “D” away and added “Qu” to get “Quenise”. My mother was a teen mom living in New Jersey. When my parents met, my mom had already had my brother. He’s 3 years older than me. At 19, my mom was pregnant with me, and my parents got married - I was still in my mom’s belly at the time. My dad was in the army back then, so I was born on a military base in Fayetteville, North Carolina. At one point, we lived in Hawaii. But my dad said my mom was really homesick, so he got out of the military, and they came back to New Jersey.

We all grew up poor. We were on Medicaid and welfare. My mom was the oldest girl in her family - there were 8 kids. At some point, we were living in Paterson, New Jersey, and then we moved to Passaic, which is where I remember most of my childhood. We lived upstairs from one of my grandmother’s sisters, her children, and her grandchildren. There was family all around us - next door, across the street… I have a huge family with several cousins on both sides. We were in the city; I didn’t know what suburban life was like back then. Even though we were poor, it didn’t feel that way to me. As much as there were a lot of struggles going on, for the most part, family always made sure family was taken care of.

I was born in 1982. It was my older brother and me, and then my mom had another child, and then another. But it was after my mother had me that she got caught up in the crack epidemic. Heavy.

I was such a sweet little girl. I was shy. And my mom was always preoccupied. I remember learning how to tie my sneaker - I was excited, and I went to show my mom, and she was like, “Uh huh. Uh huh.” She was using drugs, and she was always seeking. When we were little, my mom would leave me alone with my older brother and tell him, “Don’t open the door.” My grandmother would come knocking, our family would come knocking, and he would have to decide whether he should open the door. We’d just be in the house by ourselves. Or sometimes she would take us with her. I remember chasing a guy who I think had a crack pipe. There were a bunch of them in a circle, and the guy took off with it… they were running. And my mom’s like, “Come on! Come on!” Or I remember this one time we were in a store, and she was arguing with this guy, and he was trying to butter her up, so he bought me some candy. It was one of those sheets with the tiny dots of candy on it. And I was so happy and excited, but she took it from me and told him, “No, take it back.” I also remember her leaving us in the hallway by ourselves or with a stranger. I remember one stranger in particular; a woman who was nice to me.

My dad said he tried to help my mom - that he tried to stop her from going out to get drugs. There was one time when I was maybe 3 years old that I remember driving around in his car looking for her. And he found her, and I remember him being so mad. Another time, my father came home, and my mother had a man in the house. The guy tried escaping out back with his bike, and my dad caught him.

I do not have many memories of my mother before her drug abuse began. Her addiction consumed her life and ours. She would take our stuff and sell it - like on Christmas she would sell our toys. Anything that might be worth something. At that time, at least in the beginning, I obviously could not understand why.

I remember one instance in which my aunt Alice, her Reverend husband, and my grandmother sat me down and explained that my mother would be away for a while. I remember that I felt weird hearing this; our mother was always absent so much, that to me, it was the norm. She would always disappear. She was always gone.

I do think there were various family members who tried to encourage her to do better, but it was obviously hard for her. At one point, she stayed with her brother Dennis in upstate N.Y. I visited her there, and it was really different. He lived in a trailer in a rural environment, but my mother always found a way to get drugs. I guess by then, drugs were heavy in many places. I remember a woman - one of her friends, maybe? - driving us out to the city, and me and the woman waiting in the car for what felt like forever… 

As children, there was always an expectation that we were seen and not heard. There didn’t seem to be much concern for how we felt about everything that was going on. There wasn’t an advocate for us who could help my family understand the potential damage that was being done to us emotionally during those times. The adults we were entrusted to didn’t talk to us enough or emotionally support us. I do remember, while in Passaic, that I was taken to a mental health clinic around the corner, and I spoke with a counselor. I don’t know if it was this exposure that later on made me say I wanted to be a mental health therapist, but I remember just going once, and I drew a picture of a family. I don’t remember going back after that. I was a quiet little girl; I held a lot in.

Eventually, my grandmother - my mom’s mom - seemingly begrudgingly took us in. She was just like… this is ridiculous. Clearly we were being neglected. With my mother always leaving us, we were not safe in her custody. I later saw the paperwork from DYFS and the courts in which my grandmother petitioned to take us. It was a whole thing. So I ended up living with my grandmother. I think I was younger than 5 when she first took us in. At some point, my mom came to live with us in Passaic, and my grandmother eventually put her out; this actually happened a few times. I remember the arguing and fighting, and my mother trying to stall leaving by kissing and hugging us. I remember her hugging me so tight that I felt like my back would bend backwards - it felt annoying and sad. At one point, when my sister was a baby, I told my mom that I was upset with her. I asked her not to leave, because when she left, she was always gone through the night, and then I was the one responsible for my sister - getting her bottles and caring for her. I told my mom that I wouldn’t talk to her again if she left. But she left anyway. And then she came back the next day and tried to force me to be ok.

My mom had done rehab, she had gone to jail over the years. It was so toxic. She would get out of wherever, and she would come stay with us at my grandmother’s house, and then she would disappear. Later she would call the house from the phone booth down the street to try to get somebody to come down and open the door for her. There were no cell phones back then, and our doorbell didn’t work. Sometimes she would try to rope me in, and she would make light of her disappearing for days. Sometimes my grandmother would tell us not to let her in, but when I could, I would. And when I opened the downstairs door and she was standing there, I knew she looked different; sometimes she even had burns on her bottom lip.

Processing my childhood now, I can understand why I’ve had so many issues as an adult relating to people, trusting people, and being unapologetically comfortable in my skin. It’s been difficult for me not to be mad at the adults who should have been responsible for my safety. It’s been difficult for me not to be mad at my dad. He has said he didn’t know some of these things, but it’s like… how didn’t you know? I think he was focused on having a life that was better than the life he had had in Panama. And so to that end, he focused on himself a whole bunch. He and my grandmother made a life for themselves, and I was just a tagalong. But you know, I feel empathy towards them as well. My father became a single dad when he was young, and he was trying to navigate systems he was unfamiliar with.

My grandmother had been 2 years old when her mother passed. Her siblings had helped raise her. Her oldest sister was like a mother figure to her. To me, my grandmother was very protective in a way that was invalidating, because she didn’t want me to be like my mom. So much of her fear was about the girls, because girls are the ones who can get pregnant and bring the baby home. My grandmother seemed to favor boys in general, and she was very lenient with my older brother, who began acting out and doing things kids should not. I was in the house all the time. I just had to help the household run. I had to clean the bathroom every weekend and sweep and wipe down things and wash dishes. My brothers didn’t have to do any of that. My little brother… it was almost like my grandmother worshiped the ground that he walked on. But he tortured me. He would blow out my birthday candles or put a hole in my bike, or… the last time my grandmother physically hit me, leaving a scratch on my face, was because of him, you know? She constantly reminded me that she didn’t have to take care of me, that I shouldn’t be her priority, and that I should be glad she’s there for me. She conveyed that it was also my duty to take care of my siblings, because she shouldn’t have to. I didn’t have a regular social life beyond going to school. I was very sheltered, but at the same time, I was growing up in a city. I was seeing people get hit by cars, seeing people fighting, seeing people strung out. There was this strip where my mother would go to get drugs that was just chaotic and hectic. And we lived not too far from there. Sometimes I wonder if I was genuinely shy or if I became shy because I was ignored. And when I was paid attention to, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I needed. I didn’t have a mouthpiece. There wasn’t anyone who was supporting me and saying, “this is what needs to happen for Quenise.” And if there was, they weren’t loud enough, because it wasn’t going on.

I think my grandmother was always trying to have a better life. She wasn’t happy in New Jersey. We first moved to Lexington, North Carolina, and then we went to Salt Lake City, because we have family in both areas. It was usually me, my older brother, and my younger brother, but in North Carolina, my older brother was not with us, and in Utah sometimes my younger brother was not with us - he was with his dad in New Jersey. We stayed in Salt Lake City for a good amount of time, and I was baptized as a Mormon. My grandmother was the type of woman who could be swayed by those who paid her “good” attention and were in her good graces. So when we were in Utah, my brother’s two Mormon friends wanted to meet my grandmother. He brought them over, and honey, they gave her attention. They would take us to sightsee. There were a lot of beautiful things in that area to see, and they would take her around. My grandmother didn’t end up getting baptized, but she let me and my brother get baptized - though now I think he would say that it was just me. I remember we had to answer these questions, like, “Have you ever lied?” And I remember saying no but crossing my fingers behind my back. “Have you ever cursed?” It’s a whole process. But yes. I had the Book of Mormon and everything. And I think we went to service sometimes, I don’t even remember how many times. But yeah. My grandmother. She was someone who was always seeking. Seeking and seeking and seeking for herself.

My mother was wild and free spirited as a person and a mother. The way she lived affected our ability to respect her as our “mom” - sometimes I felt she was more like a sister. One thing I did love about her was that I could talk to her about anything. She would let me do things, and there were times that she did not take herself so seriously with me. I remember her letting me light her cigarette and almost burning myself. Hah. And I think I remember those little things because… I think those moments were the lighter moments. One time, I asked her if she believed in heaven, and she said yes. She told me about how beautiful it is there.

There was a period where my mom was sober. At one point after she had my sister, she was trying to do well. She was living in a room in Newark and eventually got a one bedroom apartment in East Orange. And sometimes I would stay with her. I slept in her room - there was a twin bed for me and a crib next to her bed for my sister. She would take me and my baby sis to the park for a picnic and for walks downtown. I was so happy when it was me and her and my sister together - that was truly a highlight of my childhood. I wanted to be around her, and I am grateful for the memories I have from that time, just the three of us. My mother even made it a point for us to take a photo together. 

Unfortunately, that period was very short-lived. I remember there was a guy who liked her. And that’s when she ended up getting caught back up, you know? I spent the night one night, and she left. She left and she didn’t come back. And so I called my grandmother, and she had to call my uncle to come over to us. He told us he was able to find her someplace in the apartment building, hanging out with friends, playing games or something. I wasn’t sure if I believed him at the time. I do not remember when she came back, but it was shortly after that that she lost the apartment. I remember having some things there that I wanted to get back, like a smiley doll, but they told me it was all sold or thrown out.

In 1993, I believe, I was 9, and my mother was just getting out of jail again. And when she came out, she was sick.

I still remember the night my mom died. She had gone into the hospital a few days prior. We had visited her - I remember wanting her to do my hair in these individual twists, like the rapper Da Brat. She had done the style weeks before, and I wanted them again. She obviously could not do them in the hospital, but she said she would do them when she got out. I don’t think that I thought anything was going to happen to her. I definitely didn’t think she was going to die.

But then they called. They called, and my grandmother… I still hear the scream. They didn’t even have to tell me. I knew. She was in the room just screaming “No!” And then my uncle was on the phone calling people. And I just remember him sniffling in the dining room. He was constantly sniffling. So I’m laying in the bed, and I think I cried. By myself. Eventually my aunt got there, and she was holding me. I do not remember when I next saw my grandmother after that; she was broken and resigned to her bed. At some point, someone told me that I should call my dad and tell him. They made me call him and tell him. I was eleven. I still remember that call and my dad not knowing what to say.

I went to the wake. I was all cried out, so I just sat there. And they gave me the option of whether or not I wanted to go to the funeral. I didn’t go.

My mom died on March 26th, 1995. Her brother, who was also living with us, died on March 6th, 1995. They died in the same month. We had just finished mourning him. My mom had told me, “I was there when his eyes went black.” I remember her crying and… it was just terrible. They were so close. Everyone loved my uncle Danny, and he was living with us - they both were, when they died. That was the first wake I had gone to. And I remember I was so upset, and my uncle Keith, he had me. Because everyone else… they were really broken up, you know? My mother was inconsolable.

And then weeks later, she was gone too.

While I was living with my grandmother, my dad was in Lodi, New Jersey - not that far away. He had a one bedroom apartment, and he would come visit sometimes. He kept saying he was going to move to Maryland and would have me come stay with him, but it was a long time before that happened. Then he met his new wife, and he did move. I remember I met her before they went to Maryland. She was from Jamaica but lived in Canada. And I was very excited. So excited. I so badly wanted a mom. I remember her making me breakfast with hot cocoa AND orange juice. I felt happy with her. 

I wasn’t invited to the wedding - it was in Canada, I believe. I don’t think I even knew when it was. When my grandmother got to a point that she was tired of having me, I eventually moved in with my dad and his wife. I was in 8th grade. I remember watching their marriage video over and over again. I was so sweet and supportive, even as a child. I really just wanted to be loved.

But it seemed like she didn’t like me. She never embraced me after they married. She would just be in their room. I was very lonely. It got so bad that I told my cousins, and they told my dad. He said to me, “Things are going to be better, they’ll be better.” But they weren’t. She was mean to me, she would leave me, she would ignore me. I remember her even talking badly about me in front of me to their friends. It was really unhealthy and just very isolating.

So when I visited my grandmother for a summer in New Jersey, I told her how I was feeling. And she said, “Ok, write your dad and tell him.” And so my dad just let me stay with my grandmother again. I was not an outspoken child - life required that I said less and honored others while putting my own needs aside. I remember being afraid to tell my dad how I felt, which is why I wrote a letter. So much was often wrong, so I did not want to intentionally be the cause of any more upset. It took a lot for me to share with my dad, which I think he knew after that letter.

I never wanted to go back to live with my dad after that. Sometimes I would visit him for a holiday or for the summer. I remember he gave my bed set away to his wife’s cousin. I did not visit much. It seemed that he moved on with them, and I was on the side. I remember him sending me a picture of him, his wife, and my two brothers - the sons he had had with her. I did not know how to feel, but I remember being a little jealous. 

In high school, I did start acting out a little bit. My acting out was… I cut school with my bestie, and we went to Newark to hang out with boys a couple of times, you know? But I was still a good student; I was trying to learn. My grandmother, at first, seemed to feel bad for me with everything that happened with my dad, which is why she let me come back. But after some time, she once again was not happy with me being there. I knew that I didn’t want to go back to live with my dad - he alone was unable to give me the time and supervision I really needed, and his wife was always going back and forth to Canada. And I never forgot how she treated me, anyway. So, in the summer before 10th grade, my uncle, who had taken in my older brother, spoke with his sister-in-law, my aunt Sabrina, about the possibility of letting me move with her. She lived in Westwood, New Jersey, and I remember visiting her sometimes and hanging out with my cousin. Aunt Sabrina had a talk with me herself and was like, “Would you want to come with me?” She was like, “Quenise, we can get DYFS involved, you know, or we just go at this ourselves. DYFS would be coming through checking stuff… etc.” She told me, “I’m ready to just… it can just be you and I, if that’s what you want.” And I moved in with her. Her daughter was older and out of the house, so she had an extra room. She took me in as if I was her own. And it was so much better. I am so grateful to her. Those two years, they were monumental.

First of all, I was now living in a suburb. We lived in a two family house. I took the bus to school. The education, the clubs, everything was different. It was clear, coming from an urban environment, that there was an educational divide. I went from getting mainly Bs to barely getting Cs in some subjects. The standard of education was just different. And I wasn’t used to going to school without people who were mainly Black and Hispanic. So even that exposure was good for me, you know?

But it was tough. By the time I got to Aunt Sabrina, I was angry. It felt so uncomfortable experiencing the love that she wanted to give me, you know? It was very unfamiliar; I hadn’t had anybody who cared to the degree she did, who would be like, “Bookie boo, you ok?” I would cringe. I remember one time… I liked to sing, and I was in the choir. And there was going to be a Christmas show, and she wanted to invite the family. And I was like, “Nobody wants to come to see me sing.” I was mad about it. Like, why are you asking them? Nobody wants to come. So it was rougher for her in the moment than I knew. But she stuck in there. And I wasn’t all bad. I was going to school and everything.

With Aunt Sabrina, she was like - if you want to be successful, you can be successful, you know? I’m so grateful for her. She helped… she pushed me. When I was getting ready to go to college, I didn’t want to stay in-state, I wanted to go far away, but she was like, you’re going to have student loans. My dad’s name was on nothing, my grandmother never identified him on anything, and my mother was deceased - I was independent on paper while filing for FAFSA. So she was like, you’re going to want to decrease the amount that you’re going to owe as much as possible. Which is why I came to Rutgers in Camden. And once I went to college, Aunt Sabrina moved to Virginia, so I no longer had a home base. But we have a great relationship. I’m forever indebted to her.

I went to undergrad for psychology. And I was motivated. I was motivated by my story, motivated by Aunt Sabrina and the idea that there are many children in the world who may not have been as lucky as me. Going into school, I felt blessed. And I also felt very very sad and alone. I wanted to be able to help others, and if I could help one child overcome hardships and make a life for themselves despite the family they were born into, I wanted to be able to do that. My goal was to get my bachelors in psychology, but I didn’t want a whole bunch of loans. Ideally, I would have gone on from Rutgers and gotten my PsyD, but I didn’t want all of that, you know? And at one point I was considering the military. I don’t remember why I didn’t go. A recruiter even came and visited. And I don’t know if he felt like I wasn’t sure, because he didn’t hound me or hassle me. And shortly after that, I went to a graduate school fair that they had on campus at Rutgers Camden, and I met this guy, a Black guy from the University of Pennsylvania who was in the social work department, and he explained that I could become a mental health therapist if I went to school for social work. And I was like, “social work?” For me, there was a stigma attached; everybody would hate when the social workers would come around. Being a social worker wasn’t good, growing up. So I was hesitant. But once he told me that - that I could be a mental health therapist - I was like, ok. I want to do this. I’m going to go into social work.

So I applied to the Rutgers graduate program, and I got in. But even then, I remember writing the personal letter that was required with the application without telling “my story”. I remember that I was at Aunt Sabrina’s house in Virginia, and I asked her to read the draft for me. And after she finished, she was like, “Quenise, what about your life? You have gone through a lot, and some of it should be shared.” I had such a heart for people and a desire to see others flourish. Being in a position where I was applying to graduate school, I felt so blessed, but I also think I felt a little disappointed in my childhood, and I wasn’t sure if I should share the details. I did revise my application, though, because she was right - my story greatly contributed to my desire to help others and should be shared; I was a success story. 

I went straight from undergrad to graduate school. I subleased an apartment in Philadelphia for the summer, and then I stayed on the Rutgers Busch campus. And then the second year I went between Camden and New Brunswick because I got a paid internship as a Youth Case Management counselor, and in 2005, I got an apartment in Delran. I was like, “I’m not going back to stay with nobody.” I was not going to be in a position to ask anybody for anything, you know? So I kept running. And I kept doing things for myself, my siblings, and my future.

When my mom died, my sister was only 2. And she became my responsibility. She was in the bed with me, you know? I would be the one who would have to get up and give her bottles and things like that. My grandmother was like, “This is your sister, you need to help take care of her.” She was basically my first kid. She was always a priority for me - I would try to support her and buy her the things that she needed, like sneakers. I would give her money and try to go to school meetings. When I was living in Westwood, she would even come and stay some days with Aunt Sabrina and I. My grandmother and sister had a better, closer relationship than my grandmother and I did. This was probably because my grandmother related to her more and felt more upset for her. But my sister gave her a run for her money. She became too much for my grandmother behavior-wise. I would tell her, “You don’t be that way, you have to respect her.” But she was really becoming a lot. In 2008, after I had completed graduate school and lived in Delran, there was a period of time when my sister was acting out. She came to live with me for a little while, but it was clear that she didn’t want to be there. My grandmother has always been in my ear, saying “What’s going to happen to your sister if something happens to me?” She was always that bird in my ear: “It’s your responsibility if something happens to me.” And I took it. I remember talking to my friend in graduate school and saying one of my goals was to be able to get my sister her first car. I didn’t even have a new car yet myself. My grandmother is still alive; she is 88, I believe, and she has Alzheimer’s. This woman has been waiting to die for a long time. Since she was 50 she would be talking about, “What’s going to happen with your sister when I’m gone?”

I was always trying to honor my grandmother. I tried to look at things glass half full. At least she took me. I wasn’t raped, you know? But she was stuck on the thought, “I’m done raising you. I’m done.” Back when she had clarity of mind, I believe she had already said bye to me. I wasn’t like a daughter, and we didn’t have a normal grandmother/granddaughter relationship either. I had to tell my aunt back in college, please don't tell me anything bad my grandmother is saying about me, because I don’t want to hear it. It was hurting me. I just chose to err on the side of - she ain’t talking about me, I’m just going to honor her. So I would still visit her and bring things to butter her up. So we were good, but it wasn’t that connection that ideally we would have had.

I got my first house in 2010 and hosted Thanksgiving. The goal of buying the house was to bring the family together, to have a place for us to meet and come together. And I tried to maintain that. The first Thanksgiving I had, my grandmother came. After that, she didn’t come any more. She didn’t want to come. And it became… like she was hijacking it, in her little apartment. And then when it came time for me to get married, I invited her to my wedding and wanted her to be there, and from the very beginning she was saying she probably wasn’t going to go. This was in 2012. Her daughters, they both got married after me, within the last 6 years. She was at both of their weddings. I just… that spoke to me.

In the last few years, I’ve just continued to honor her. But I don't even think she would want me there now- she is fine enough knowing me and my little family are well. Her focus has seemed to be more around my younger brother and sister - they were more like children to her. She told me around the time I got married that she was done raising me. I do feel grief mourning what could have been a healthier relationship with her, maybe one in which she did not feel that I was a burden. Right now I’m preparing myself to grieve the loss of her and for the fallout that may come when she and my grandfather are no longer here.

These days, I’m no longer in the survival mode of, “I’ve just got to do it, I’ve just got to do it, I’m hurt but I’ve just got to do it.” I’m into my 40s, I’m more settled in where I am, and now there are some things where I just think like - is that me? I’ve changed a lot. Now I feel like I’m doing what I want, not what I need to or have to. I’m in South Jersey and my extended family is here, but we don’t see each other. I’m a therapist, and I’ve been supporting and helping people, but I feel like in my own life, my family has not often given me the emotional support I have needed. It’s more like, “She’s over there, we know she’s good and she’s doing well. Let's not bother her.” Or I’ll hear, “Have you spoken to so and so? Make sure you stay in touch with so and so. Your mother would want you to be there for so and so.” I’ve done all the things to make sure I was supporting my siblings, my aunts, my grandmother, and my father. I’ve had arguments with my father because he’s like, “I don’t want to hear about the past.” I agree the past is painful, but what you’re really saying is that you don’t want to hear my story. You’ve had the chance and opportunity to share your story with me. I’ve listened, I’ve empathized, I have supported you. But you won’t hear mine.

I am in a space now where I am choosing to make the room that was not made for “little” Quenise to feel heard and be seen. I could share many more stories of how those around me impacted my life. But some stories are just not mine to tell. 

Lately, I’ve been accepting the reality that my relationships with certain people may change, and that’s been difficult. I wish that the best pieces of my family memories were still present, but the coming together for holidays, for instance, has diminished. I was always encouraged to “honor thy mother and father” and look out for my siblings, but it's become clear that now is the time for me to primarily focus on my husband and children.

I met my husband, Alvin, on eHarmony, after being tired of “riff raff” in the dating pool. I wanted to be available in places that would expose me to gentlemen who were going to be serious about what they needed and wanted. Alvin seemed so sweet - we would talk often. The first time we met was at the Cherry Hill Library. He never had a Bluetooth, so I bought one and gave it to him on our first date. We complement each other very well. He has certainly supported me in the healing process. I’m so, so grateful. He is and has been absolutely amazing. He came from a different life than what I came from, but he’s always supporting me and enlightening me and encouraging me. It’s been quite the journey. I remember when we were first together and I would be upset and crying about something, I was so guarded. He would try to comfort me, and I did not want it. I didn’t want to be comforted, because I did not want to cry. I remember the first time I cried in front of my grandmother as an adult - she told me that she was trying to talk to me and implied that my crying was a bad thing. 

When we first met, Alvin knew the tough Quenise. I was not very soft. I would be passive aggressive and not very assertive. And I gradually began to change without notice to him - I became a softer, more assertive me. This change was necessary, and it shifted the dynamics of our marriage for the better, but it was rough going at first. He and I have struggled because of my family dynamics, because of the hurt that I have had on the inside. But he’s been patient. Our dynamic is the most healthy relationship that I have had. That I’ve seen. That I’ve grown up with. 

He is who I needed to be with, you know? Not everybody could have loved me through all the things.

The desire to have a family of my own is why I pushed so hard. Having the experience with Aunt Sabrina and the exposure to other Black people being successful made me see that I could be, too. Growing up, it seemed like the adults around me knew everything, but they didn’t. I was able to see that there are other ways to live in real life. I knew I didn’t want to be on welfare. I didn’t ever want to be in a position where I could not do what I needed to do for my children. And while my grandmother wasn’t loving and nurturing and all of that, she did protect me in ways from things that could have happened. I didn’t have a child out of wedlock. She could have been looser or not cared and let me go out and do all the things, you know? But she contributed to the person that I am today. I do know how to maintain a house, and all of that. So through my childhood, I was thinking about my future, and I thought surely, surely God, you must have had me go through this for a reason. And you know, I’mma take it on the chin, but I know there must be a second half or something where there’s some redemption. 

In undergraduate school, I began to lean more on my spirituality for understanding and for help with my personal growth. But I also realized that going to church was keeping me in the hurt of it too. Preachers are always preaching like, “The Lord has brought you out, you better give him some praise! You didn’t go through what you went through for no reason!” It’s constant, and constant, and constant, and it made the reality of all the wrong I went through stand out more. But it did help to support me in a way where it’s like, “All right, I know that the Lord has a plan for me.” Ultimately, the desire was to have a family. So when I struggled with that, I was just in a place where I wasn’t sure I believed in God anymore. You know? 

This is the reason I pushed so far. And this is going to be hard?

I got pregnant naturally the first year of our marriage, and I was so excited. What I had wanted for so long was finally happening. I thought that it would be great to break generational curses with my children. I just knew that my childhood would be made “better” if I could have a family and beat the odds stacked against me. But when I went to have my first ultrasound, the baby was there, but no heartbeat could be found. I immediately began crying, lying there on the table.  And I remember the male doctor being so cold about it. I remember on the drive home feeling sad and so embarrassed. How would I let everyone know that I would not be having my baby in July 2013 anymore?

It was very difficult, during that time. I felt so alone, and people’s “faith talks” about not trying and it happening when I would least expect it to felt so condescending and invalidating. I mourned my mother so much in this period, and I felt that I could not lean on people to support me because they did not understand or seem to care as much. But Alvin and I got closer in our marriage during that time. That may seem like a “no brainer” to some, but up until that point in my life, I always found ways to self-soothe and just lean on myself. I was able to see that I could trust him. That was a good part of the process. But it was hard, it was so difficult.

We did not get pregnant again on our own. I ended up going to a fertility specialist, and in 2015 we began the process of having our baby through IVF. The doctors said that my fertility issues were unclear, but they were optimistic that since I was pregnant once that I would get pregnant again. We had one embryo placed, and after the first go, I was pregnant. I was obviously excited but nervous, and I was very much humbled. My first baby girl, Hannah, was born October of 2016. I felt so incredibly blessed.

Having Hannah, oh my goodness. I grieved my mom so much after that, you know? It was like, my goodness, woman. First of all, I wish you were here, and also, how did you do this with your people? Right? It was rough. I had been mad at my mom for a very, very, very long time. But when I became a mom and felt the lack of support from family, I was like… I mean, she was younger than 18 when she had her first kid. I’m sure she was in a position where she saw my dad, and he wanted to put a ring on it, and she was like, yes! But not having the support of a mother who is standing with you through and through unconditionally… it’s so hard. And so I began to empathize with her. And today, I’m grateful for her - my mom - for just bringing me into the world. And I’m not mad at her like I was before. 

We did IVF again in 2019 and had our Bre-Bre. And seeing Alvin as a dad and how much he loves our girls - that is healing. And how much they love me and how much I love them… I would have told you that I felt worthy of love before my little family, but the truth is, I did not always. How Hannah first needed me and only me was exhausting and even a little uncomfortable at times; but my little love was my light after much darkness.

My mother-in-law - thank God for her. My in-laws in general have been great from the beginning, even though they didn’t understand me. They heard some of my story and they just wanted me to be ok, but some of the stuff internally that needed to be worked through wasn’t going to come from them saying, “I’m here for you,” you know? As much as I love them and they supported me, they aren’t my family of origin. When my girls go over there, they’re not telling my girls my history, they’re telling them their son’s history. There’s no one giving that to my girls from my side. And that’s hurtful, you know? My mother-in-law will say, “Oh, you look like Alvin when he was a kid, look at this picture.” And I don’t have those things. I don’t have many pictures. These are the small things that still come up for me - the things that I’m continuing to heal from.

Now I’m done having kids, and things have calmed down. I am in a place where I am intentionally showing myself love and grace. I’m trying to recognize that it doesn’t matter what others do, I want to be intentional about giving out love and light. And I’m getting it back, you know? Even though my extended family dynamic is not ideal, life is really really good. I see things more clearly in terms of the next steps for myself. And I’m no longer in a place where I’m planning everything out where it has to happen a certain way. Like, if it doesn’t go, I’m trusting in God, I’m trusting in the universe… 

I wouldn’t say I’m a Christian these days. I’m spiritual, and I feel that there’s power that can come from so many different areas of religion. I’m just trying to be centered and not be hard on myself or others, you know? I’m trying to be in the moment with my little family. And there’s healing that comes from just seeing them grow and seeing myself in them. Even though my mom isn’t here and I don’t have other family coming through as much as I would like, they’re fine. They’re happy. They have my dad, their grandmother Lynique (my dad’s wife), my sister Meisha, my niece Jazz, and my aunt Tricia who have all been present for them and who they have relationships with. They are great. And I know that there’s still so much more to come that will be great. I’m living the life that I want to be living, not the life that I’m living as a result of trauma. And I’m trying to be intentional about that. 

I’m in the thick of my life, fighting for my life and my marriage, trying to be a great mom. I’m in a place where I’m no longer afraid to set boundaries. Even with friends, friends who I’ve known for a long time and who I felt I needed to be loyal to, but from who I maybe wasn’t getting what I needed.

Last year, I let the tears come. I allowed myself to be a client, in a way. To be ok to cry, because I have things to cry about that I hadn’t cried about. Things that I hadn’t talked about. I was bold enough to give myself the opportunity to be heard. I was like, “I’m proud of you, Quenise.” 

I think part of what made last year rougher was my concern for my family. Like for my older brother. Oh my goodness, if something happens to him, where will I be? What will I do? Meanwhile, I’m married and have children. I think that many Black families struggle with that pressure, which is not always fair, right? Like, you have to give back, you have to check in, and you have to keep doing so. That’s your brother, regardless, and you have to help him. Regardless. Family members can continue to live their lives as they would like, not checking on me, but I must be there for them when they are ready… At some points last year, I felt like I was going to have a nervous breakdown. I literally was feeling like a piece of shit - alone with no one on my side genuinely caring. Whether that’s actually true or not, that is how it all seemed. The struggle that continued to ensue from many in my lineage made me mad… and feeling like that ran through me because, what do I really have to show? Except for my little family. But that’s the most important thing, right? Even so, the hold of everything else can be a lot.

There is energy to all things, right? And there’s a process to all things for a reason. My favorite fruit is a mango. And if you get a mango that’s unripened, it’s hard. But when it is ready and the outside is not all green but has the red and the orange and everything… when you cut into that thing, it’s just so sweet. You can eat it up without a knife and fork. 

People want to be able to support each other. But when you’re so hardened, sometimes the message you’re sending out to the world is that you don’t need the support, right? People aren’t going to want to check in. In soul searching, I now realize that there were times where I was projecting “I don’t need” to a lot of people, and I think I carried that through life into adulthood. In that was immaturity and sadness and anger of it all… not knowing. If my own mama, my own daddy, my own grandmother aren’t going to really genuinely help and support me, I can’t really rely on somebody who’s not my blood. Not in that way, you know? For a long time it was just like, “I cannot understand this. I cannot understand why I don’t have the support. I cannot understand.” For a long time, I had my eyes so focused on my family, my family, that I wasn’t seeing other people who really wanted to be there for me. There were other people who maybe would have shown up more heavily. But back then, I wasn’t ready for that. Back then, I was heavily attending church, and I pushed down and out a lot of negative emotions and thoughts. But those emotions and thoughts were left undealt with, and I was forced to eventually let them come to the surface.  

Over time, I’ve had to let go of this idea about what a healthy family would feel like. When I was a child, we had Thanksgivings around my grandmother’s table and family would come together. We would laugh, and it would feel so good, and I wanted that more and more… but now I’ve had to be ok letting go of that idea, because it’s not happening, right? I’ve let my guard down around more people who have come through and wanted to support me. And that’s been confirmation that like, girl, it’s ok. It’s ok to emote. It’s ok to not be ok.

I still have some ways to go, but where I am now, I’m grateful to have the clarity I do. Hindsight is 20/20. Thank God we can change, right? That progress is possible. Because otherwise, this space that I’m in would not have come. For me, it’s about how I feel on the inside - not feeling that void on the inside. Feeling fuller and therefore not defined by my childhood. I feel I’ve accomplished a lot, but imposter syndrome definitely gets me down at times. It makes me feel unworthy… inadequate. But I am working on self-kindness and true acceptance to help me feel good in the skin I am in today. There’s this shift that took place in me last year, where I am more genuinely sweet. I cut my locs. I’m just lighter. I’m happy, and it shows even in how I’m parenting. I’m not as stressed about things that I would have been stressed about before. Before, those who knew me would have said that I was uptight, intense. I am definitely less intense and uptight about things right now.

My quote is, “You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress”. I do feel like I am a masterpiece - that I am specially made. My hardships and struggles do not have to define me, but all parts of us, whether good or bad, can work together to help us become someone we appreciate and love. Life has taught me that we are never done growing. It benefits us to let growth improve our circumstances, even when we think we are done. If you are open to receiving, you might be able to find meaning and understanding that will heal things you never thought you could mend. And how freeing it is, you know? How freeing it is.

There was so much that was hard about my start, but now those things can help me be a light to others. That’s just what I want to do. I want to be love and light, you know? A beacon of light and hope. I want to be a safe space. I know how it feels to be angry and defensive and with a chip on my shoulder. And I know how it feels to be freer and lighter and to be able to say no. No to my family, no to anyone, for that matter. Or to be able to not get involved, and not feel guilty. I needed to be intentional to myself about applying a lot of the things I’ve told my clients. The things I’ve encouraged them about. I’m proud of myself. I’m encouraged. I have done some changing. And I’m happy with who I am today. But I’m also excited about the next chapters of my life. Now it’s like, girl… you are doing your thing, honey!

I have been extroverted in the past, but as I’m changing, I’ve become more closed and protective. But I’m not going to hide my story in a situation where it could help people. I know for sure that a lot of what I have gone through could encourage people. That in itself is awesome. And I think that the little girl who I was would be happy to know that people could be motivated and encouraged through her story. I’m grateful for that. Because life is hard, you know? And it can be harder for some and even harder for others. There are so many people who are told that talking about things is not going to do anything. But sometimes just talking it through or telling someone you’re upset can be so powerful. So, I’m happy to be able to share. And I’m hopeful my story thus far will touch who it’s supposed to touch in an impactful way. Sometimes it takes us sharing that it hasn’t always been easy for us to help somebody know that their story’s not finished. Stay in the game. You deserve to be heard.