So many people have asked me about my parents and childhood. Wow, any of you who know me really well know that is a subject I try to steer away from. Not because of any other reason, but because I do not have many good memories of growing up, and I don't like to dwell on them. I have decided I want my posterity to know. I will try to explain the best I can.
I would first like to say that I prayed long and hard about whether I should post much about my childhood. The answers came powerfully a couple of weeks ago. What I write is coming from the spirit and will take me some time to communicate in writing. I do not want to hurt anyone involved. With that being said, this is my life, and I am hoping from this post because the spirit was strong telling me to do it that I will help someone.
I was born in Phoenix. In 2nd grade, I told my teacher I was born behind the pancake house. She looked puzzled and asked my mother. Mom said, "Monya always asked where she was born. It was easy and fun for her to tell people she was born behind a pancake house, and the baptist hospital was behind the Pancake House."
Mom was very young when she married my birth father. They were high school sweethearts. It was during the 1960s, and there were a lot of drugs, and my father tried them all. My mother was very naive; she was happy just to be a mother and did not know much about what he was doing (as far as the drugs).
One night while she was at work, he was either very drunk or high, and he hit me; my mom came home to a baby in tears holding my right ear. There was blood, so she took me to the hospital, and I had a broken eardrum. She had three daughters. Sonya was about five, I was three, and Kristin was only six months when she left him that night. It must have been hard to walk away, and I am unsure where she went.
My father's mom (grandma Belshe) had nine children, and he was the oldest son. They introduced my mom to the gospel, and because of them, she was baptized into the Church Of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a teenager. Her testimony grew over the years, and I was grateful for her example as a mother and that she took us to church so that we could decide for ourselves if we wanted to join. Also, I was baptized at age ten.
Over the years, I did not see my birth father much. I remember the last time I saw him, he came to my grandma Belshe's to see us. I think I was about seven, he had big hands, and I remember thinking I had never seen anyone as large as he was. I felt safe around him and loved that he called me bonbon. He said the name fit me perfectly because my hair was as white as a bonbon. I acquired the nickname bonbon from that day on. Now my grandchildren call me bonbon.
When we left my grandma's house that day, I did not see him again until I was eighteen or1nineteen. He made some bad choices and was sent to prison, but I was never told where he was. As a child, I felt abandoned by my birth father. When I became a teenager, I was simply angry at him and did not want to know anything about my birth father's life. I was mad that he was not there to protect me from the monster my mother was married to.
Mom married a Baptist minister when I was three years old. They had a son together; his name was Lance. My sisters and I were adopted, and we took on his last name Heath. I wasn't given a choice, and my loyalty was now to him. I just wanted to see my mom happy again.
The stepdad always treated my mother with respect, and I never heard him yell at her either. He was a different man when it came to the children, and he was far beyond just not being a nice person. He abused us physically, emotionally, and sexually. Without going into any details in my teenage years, I became extremely bitter and angry at the world.
When I was ten, I asked to be baptized, and my mom allowed it. I knew I was sent here to earth as a child of great worth, pure and holy, and that I would do all that I could do to see what Heaven saw in me. I began to read the book of Mormon and kneel by my bed every night. I would ask Heavenly Father to help me understand my worth help me find some truth in my life. After many months of begging and pleading with the Lord, just when I was at the end of my strength and hope. He magnified to me in a very spiritual way that the book of Mormon was true for one. 2nd, that I was being tested and that if I could anchor myself to the truth and be obedient, He would get me out.
I knew he understood every tear that fell from my eyes that night. It was that very moment that I knew He Lives and Loves me; without a doubt in my mind, I continued on choosing the right. Knowing because my father was making bad choices in his life, Heavenly Father was fully aware of me and that he would bless me someday. (by the way, I had mentioned at the beginning my stepfather was a minister, he later took the missionary lessons and was baptized in the church of Jesus Christ of latter-day saints) I continued to serve in every call I was offered. I attended church every week and lived what I believed to be true. I was an example to my friends by never drinking, trying drugs, and keeping myself morally clean. If I continued to follow this path, Heavenly Father and his angels would look down on me and know the truth. They understood more of who I was than I did. Continuing on this path, every promise God had given me would come true. I knew it; I believed it. The abuse did not go away, but all I knew was that I was pure and holy, and I looked forward to those promises coming true.
When I was 19, I met Eric. He was my hero, a man who had lived in a home with love and respect. I fell in love with the love in their home. His mom and dad loved me. His mother was the most beautiful woman I had ever met, inside and out; she knew the truth about the gospel, her eyes were open, and Viola Williams knew of her worth as a woman. Oh, how I missed her when she passed away of breast cancer.
Eric and I were sealed in the Temple, and before we knew it, we had 3 small children, one day, my mom and dad were visiting our home, and he disciplined Blake really harshly. It hit me hard, and I asked him to step away. I told him that Eric and I had a different way of taking care of things; I remember him being really upset with me, and it was at that moment I needed to tell Eric about my life growing up.
One night, after a long day at work, Eric came home and played on the floor with Kayla. She was joyfully jumping on him and began to rub his back; I immediately went into a rage, calling him a child abuser and saying that I wanted him to go to the Bishop right away. Eric said, "yes, I agree we need to see the bishop, but not because I've done anything wrong; you need to see him."
To make a long story short, I did go in and see my Bishop and explain my abuse as a child. Over the next year, I would go into his office, and week after week, he tried to get me to confront my stepdad. I couldn't do it because I knew it would hurt my mom, and I was not ready for that.
Finally, I agreed with the Bishop to confront my stepdad, and it was a disaster. My stepdad did not admit it, and my mother did not believe me. It was devastating. I was constantly in tears feeling like I did something wrong. I thought I was the reason for the break up of the family. We tried so hard to ask them to get help, but it was never an option for them. All I could do was not let the voices of the world bring me down; I had to rise above this; there were times I felt like the Lord had betrayed me; why didn't he keep his promises?
The Ultimate betrayal came when my mom did not believe me; I went back to church leaders and begged them for help. They, too, confronted my dad in hopes he would admit to what he had done; I'm sure hoping like I was that this could be fixed and the family could be whole again. This went on for years. Still, no admittance, I could not allow my children to be subject to the possibility of abuse; I wanted this cycle to stop with me.
My mom refused to have a relationship with my sisters and me if we would not have one with her husband. These years in my life were the most challenging years of our marriage, Eric was supportive and loving, but still, I felt like there was something I did wrong, something more I could be doing. Over the years, my mom would send birthday cards to my kids, and I always told them they could call her and ask her to thank them or send her a letter to thank her, but like most kids, their loyalty was to me and they chose not to. One day, a letter came from my mom that was disturbing and hurtful to me, and a part of the letter said that if I had truly forgiven my stepdad, I would be able to accept him back into my life like nothing had ever happened.
I took the letter to my church leader President Lesueur, he asked Eric and me to pray and fast, and he would do the same, then we reported back to him in a few days. When I walked into his office the 2nd time, he took me in his arms. With tears in his eyes, he told me that he believed me. President Lesueur gave me a beautiful blessing. I walked away from that blessing, knowing I had done all I could to help my family be whole. I knew it was not up to me anymore. Peace came over me like I had never felt in my life.
I was finally starting to understand Heavenly Father lived in me, he never abandoned me, and if I continued to live on the path I was living, all of those blessings He promised me would be mine. I know I am a woman of great worth, with a divine nature, pure and holy, being blessed every day with a beautiful family. They absolutely know the truth about my life.
Almost two years ago, my stepdad died; I went to the hospital to be with my mom. All my children came with me, not knowing what to expect. None of them had seen or talked to my mom or dad in over 18 years. In fact, my parents had never seen Haleigh; I admit I did not know what to expect. All I knew was that my Heavenly Father would lead me and guide me through and that maybe, just maybe, this would be the time to work out a lifetime of misunderstanding and be able to do as the Savior has asked us to forgive. I'd forgiven my stepdad years ago and was so happy that just 6 months before he died, I had sent him an email to let him know I had forgiven him and hoped he was pleased.
My mom could still not get passed all the hurt she had felt over the years and was not ready to move forward; I knew that I was not willing to go backward. Although we have not spoken since the day after the hospital visit, I know I did the right thing, and the Lord was with me, guiding me as to what to say and how to act. Five weeks later, my birth father died, and I spoke at his funeral.
Now I look at all this, and I see the Lord has kept promises to me; I promised to follow in God's way as a young teenager, and He vowed to get me safe from the pain I was in. There was a time in my life that I strayed a little. At the time, I did not understand my worth in his eyes. Now I know without a shadow of a doubt He looks down on me and still stands to those promises. As long as I keep mine, be worthy, kind, and obedient, I will continue to be blessed.
