Victoria on #Perfection

per-fec-tion [per-fek-shuhn]: n. God.

Josh asked us: What do you do when your parents aren't perfect? When is your family dysfunctional and it's not funny? Memories rush back...

Growing up I didn't have that perfect, cookie-cutter family. My mom wasn't June Cleaver or a Stepford Wife, and my dad was far from the advice-giving Atticus Finch type. I don't know what it's like to have "over-protective" parents; I don't know what it's like to be grounded.

We went to Brookwood Church on most Sundays. I remember making crafts in the Mauldin Senior Center building and singing in the praise choir where Southside is now located. I can recall those few friends I met during VBS my elementary school years, the Easter Egg hunts, the talent show, the concerts and the lock-ins. I was even baptized, and I considered myself serious about God... for a while.

But we weren't church people. We lived for Jesus -- one day a week.

The truth is... I was afraid to be myself around my mom, dad and siblings. I felt unloved and like my acting onstage couldn't measure up to my older sister's good looks, guy-getting skills and proclivity for sports. Although I received all "A's" in my classes, my troublemaker for a brother and irresistibly cute, younger sister hogged the spotlight as well. I was the middle child, constantly fighting for attention.

I'd ride the bus home and go straight upstairs to study. I isolated myself, rarely inviting anyone to spend the night. My weekends were consumed with rituals or habits I'd developed as a method to escape the pain. I was protected in my room. I couldn't be harmed with my door locked, and I couldn't get out to hurt others the way I'd been hurt: physically and emotionally.

When I was 14, my entire life was turned upside down. My mom and dad became heavily addicted to drugs and alcohol. They were well over the lethal limit, and I feared for their lives daily. My dad was an engineer, and my mom was a real estate agent... It's still difficult for me to believe two very smart, successful people got caught in that sort of predicament.

They drained every penny we had -- the retirement and college funds included. The police condemned our house, claiming it too unsafe and unsanitary to live in. We couldn't pay the bills anymore, and we eventually lost... everything. My mom and dad were arrested on several charges like possession and child neglect/endangerment. My grandmother decided to take Rachel, Matthew, Savannah and me instead of sending us into foster care. I've never felt more unwanted yet so grateful at once.

My parents definitely aren't perfect. Sometimes I wonder if I've truly forgiven them. The aftermath of their mistakes is a lot to bear, but the thought that I could later make the same mistakes is equally frightening.

So, what do you do?

-- Victoria Ralph / Editor
*Trying times doesn't mean you quit TRYING.*