Once upon a time in the ghetto…

I was the first baby in history born swaddled in invisible bubble wrap. On my 21st birthday, I should have tattooed ‘handle with care’ on my body instead of ‘love’ in Chinese writing. Let me introduce myself…I am love’s biggest fan. While others claim to have ‘been there and got the t-shirt,’ I’ve been there and own the full series box set DVDs, the posters and the kids!
The fairy tales my mum read to me as a child fuelled my search for Prince Charming. My ambition was to be the star of my own fairy tale. As my life went on I had to stop and review my situation…Cinderella didn’t have to raise babies on her own. Rapunzel didn’t let down her hair to have it pulled and yanked when she spoke her mind!Snow white was loved, not cheated on! Something was definitely wrong! Was something wrong with me? Where was my Prince Charming? Was I the only one who believed that fairy tales were real? Surely after three kids and two ‘baby daddies,’ the ‘one’ must be around the corner?

Once upon a time in the ghetto there lived me. A beautiful princess, raised by my mother in our ex council house. It wasn’t a castle but it was home. I was the product of a broken home. My father had left when I was just five years old. I waited years for him to return but instead all that returned was the news that he was dead. A heart attack did it. He had gotten away scotch free, no explanation of his awol. I was 14, I was a princess, desperate to star in my own love story but who would love me if my own father didn’t?

I was looking for love and there he was. I remembered him from nursery; his looks hadn’t changed much except he didn’t have that moustache when we used to play in the sand pit. We didn’t need much of an introduction that day outside Mcdonalds, we remembered each other, so giving him my number wasn’t an issue. I didn’t need to play hard to get because we had a history. My fairy tale was about to begin. People could ask ‘where did you guys meet’ and I could answer ‘oh we use to go the same nursery.’ How sweet! Is this not how the magic starts? That’s how I ended up in his bed so soon but who knew that I would be pregnant within the first few months of being together?

I knew my family wouldn’t approve, and God only knew how my mother would react. After all the money she had spent on my private education I now had to tell her the result of that was that I was pregnant at 18. I was going to be a mum. Me, feisty me! One evening while at work, I had a call from someone I dated when I was 16. He was my best male friend at the time. I needed to tell him I was pregnant but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. He was in the area and offered me a lift home. It was lovely to see him, we laughed and joked but I still couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I was expecting; there just wasn’t the appropriate moment.

It was nice to be home early. The pregnancy was starting to take its toll on my body. I had a cute little bump growing. I couldn’t believe I was pregnant, I felt scared but I was so happy. I rubbed my belly while I gave my boyfriend a call and he was shocked that I was home so soon. “My friend gave me a lift home!” I told him. Whoever would have known that those 7 little words strung together in that sequence would have been the prelude to a deep dark secret I would carry for the next 3 years? Me, feisty, headstrong me, became the victim of physical abuse.

Jealousy ruled my home, obsession became my lord. I was a slave to fear. I became a master of disguise, I had to. The bruises and bloody mouth didn’t sit well with the fairy tale I wanted to live. I didn’t read the part where Cinderella received a whopping great backhander for giving her opinion. And I know Rapunzel didn’t get pulled off the bed by her hair. And I’m certain snow white was able to sleep, not stay up for hours justifying herself to a satisfactory level just so that she could get some sleep. But I was pregnant. My cute little bump had now grown somewhat. I didn’t want anyone to know that the fairy tale image I had created wasn’t real, so I hid it from everyone. I convinced myself that once I had the baby it would stop- but it didn’t.

My beautiful baby girl was 4 months old when I sat in the hospital waiting room waiting to hear my name called. I walked into the room, alone and nervous. I lay on the bed, the cold gel slipped down the side of my stomach.
“Oh lovely, you see, there’s the little fingers…and look there’s the toes.”
As I listened to the midwife pointing out the hands and feet of my unborn child I looked on in horror. Had she not read my notes? I didn’t want to have this child. I was only here to find out how far gone I was so that I could arrange a termination. I couldn’t bring another child into this mess, this was no fairy tale I was living; this was a nightmare. I had already told myself I would not look at the screen and there’s this lady encouraging me to look at what God had asked me to be the gateway for- another baby. I was 19, the mother of a 4 month old baby girl, broke and scared. I looked at the screen at the bouncing little baby in my tummy, so innocent, so care free, I knew I had to give his life a chance. I always wondered if that woman had read my notes but 7 and half months later when I gave birth to my son, I didn’t even care. I was overwhelmed with love again.

I was a 20 year old princess, two babies and a council flat. I had no idea that when I was a little girl fantasising about my future, that it would have turned out this way. I needed rescuing.

I already had my sons name chosen as a teenager. An older brother of somebody I knew had the most beautiful name that meant ‘light at the end of the tunnel.’ When my son was born I placed that name over his life and his sister and I waited in vain in my flat to be rescued. When I realised no hero was clearly coming I escaped barefooted from my children’s father.

I was back on the search for love. Cinderella met her prince at a ball, so when I met the original owner of the name at a night club I thought it too good to be true. He was tall, handsome dressed to the nines and he had noticed me, mother of two, down trodden me!

Although there was the struggle at first of accepting that I had two kids that didn’t belong to him, I was determined to make this relationship work. My ‘love in the sand pit’ hadn’t worked but I named my son after this man- he had to be the one.

As the years rolled by, I convinced myself I could live without romance and affection. I wanted it to work so I chose to understand his difficulty in making a commitment to me and his need to be out all the time because he wasn’t sure if this was what he really wanted. But one day he had the perfect suggestion. As I was such a good mother, I could have his baby. This felt like a proposal so we shared a baby.

I was 25, three kids, low self esteem and living in temporary accommodation. It still wasn’t the castle I longed for but it was home. From my window I would watch couples holding hands and kissing and I would be envious even though I had a partner. Everything around me said fairy tales just don’t happen in the ghetto but I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want this life, I wanted the kids but I wanted love, so I left him.

My weekends became somewhat lively dropping children off to two different baby daddies. I was 27, embarrassed, broken hearted and I didn’t know my worth. I was loves biggest fan. All I wanted was my Prince Charming. It was time to grow up. Fairy tales only exist in children’s stories. If Cinderella had had my life then at least I would have been a bit more prepared.

Church became my life. I could be myself again. I didn’t have to worry about how I looked, I was having fun and I was free. One of the guys from church lived a couple of roads away. He was a lot younger than me and so gorgeous. He didn’t have children so I was always trying to set him up with the young girls from church. I loved my new role as Cilla Black. We spent so much time together laughing, talking, listening and encouraging that I hadn’t noticed something magical unfolding before my eyes. It wasn’t until he got stuck in the tubular slide whilst chasing my kids when it hit me- I didn’t need to search for love. Love had found me. He was kind, romantic, attentive, and funny. I was 30, he was on one knee, asking me to be his wife. Me? The feisty, headstrong, Princess from the ghetto?

I am 31, happily married, 4 kids, degree, safe, cherished and with Prince Charming. The accommodations rented for now but we are living happily ever after.

Thanks For Posting this story .

http://www.bbc.co.uk/mystory/stories/survival/166552/

Advertisement

Tagged: BBC, Ghetto, Life, London, People, Real, Reality, Story, Storys, Style

Posted in: Uncategorized