Healing without hate

Wendy Gladney is author of the book, The Preacher’s Daughter: A Memory, which gives a personal account of her struggles to survive abandonment and sexual abuse. She will be guest speaker at Woman Inc’sannual luncheon in October. All Woman will carry excerpts of this powerful book leading up to her visit.

My life has often resembled a gift wrapped package that looks wonderful from the outside, but my inside was shattered and broken due to the troubles in my childhood. I’ve always been asked, how I’ve been able to have such a spirit of love and peace after all I’ve been through in life. For me the answer is really quite simple. Although I have been through my share of troubles, I always think about how bad things could have been. Then I stop and count my blessings and try to have an attitude of gratitude for where I am today and not so much of where I’ve been.

I am a child of mixed heritage. My mother is white and my father is African-American. At three years-old, I was abandoned by my mother. For many years I did not know or understand why she left. I’d heard rumours it was because I was black and not accepted by her family.

I’d also heard that she was unstable and couldn’t take care of me. Whatever the reason, all I knew was that she left and I didn’t have a relationship with anyone on my mother’s side of the family.

My mother’s absence rendered her a concept instead of a person. The dominance of her decision to live a life apart from me often held me in hostage to the feeling of being loved as other’s obligations to care for the lost until their true guardians arrive.

Things weren’t much better with my father. He lived a life surrounded by the ills of the streets drugs, gambling, and sexual promiscuity. I eventually became a victim of sexual abuse by my father from the time I was a young girl to well in my teens. To experience sexual abuse and abandonment by the very two people who brought me into this world was devastating and destroyed any self-esteem I had as a little girl.

I didn’t think I was cute. I thought I was dirty. The girls who rolled their eyes at me had no idea that I envied their lives their untouched nights. All they knew was they wanted me to suffer because they didn’t think I’d suffered as much as they had by being little black girls in America.

A couple of years ago, I self-published a book titled, Healing Without Hate: How To Forgive To Live. This book was birthed out of the experiences I had to overcome from my childhood in order to live a successful and happy life. The steps mentioned in the book are actual steps I learned on my own, as well as learned from my grandmother. I used these steps to build up my self-esteem; to become victorious and not remain a victim. In learning to forgive my parents through prayer, and confronting and releasing the past, I was not only able to move on with my own life, but I was also able to reach back and help my parents in their time of need.

In 1978, during my junior year of high school my father had an heart attack. The doctor told him what he already knew; his body could no longer support his dissipative lifestyle. I felt strange watching my father in the hospital. He was the fiercest creature I knew.

I could either admire him or dread him. There was no neutral. In the most frightening ways, my father Johnny Harris was larger than life. At that moment, he finally looked small.

This tragedy began the process of him going back to church and returning to the Lord. It was at this time that we slowly began the process of healing our relationship. Yet, closure for us would not be reached until more than a decade later. My father passed away in January 1998. But before he passed away, we were able to make amends and build a very strong relationship.

My mother did not come back into my life until 1980 when I went to search for her during college. When I got in contact with her, I found out that she had re-married.

Once again I was not welcomed in her life.

However, I kept in touch with her through occasional phone calls and letters. About eight years ago my mother’s second husband passed away leaving her in bad shape. She telephoned me and told me that she needed help. Because of the steps I learned from my own healing, I was able to help my mother. I moved her into my home. Today, although the relationship is not exactly the way I would like it to be, we are back together and I’ve been able to help her live a more productive life.

After sharing bits of my testimony, I was asked to share my personal life story.

Consequently, the book The Preacher’s Daughter was born. It is my personal account of surviving abandonment and sexual abuse and how I turned stumbling blocks into stepping stones with the help of God. Mine is a story not only of healing but also of hope.

As I learned to overcome childhood obstacles, I’m still learning to handle hurdles. My life as a married woman, while superficially happy, did not live up to its fairytale beginnings. In 1997, I went through a divorce after 15 years of marriage and became a single mother.

About three weeks later, my ex-husband remarried. That same year, I was diagnosed with cancer. My health crisis devastated me. I could not believe I was suffering both the loss of my husband and an attack on my body. Although I stood firm in prayer and kept faith that I would be delivered, I felt alone among the living.

The cancer treatments worked. But six months later my father passed away from heart failure. All of this took place within an 18-month period. Although this was probably one of the most difficult periods in my life, I knew that God would not bring me this far to leave me.

All of us have a purpose in life. It is important for us to find our meaning, so that we can develop our message in order to carry out our mission. We are not given more than we can handle, but it is up to us to not let our past control our future, but rather learn from the past. Joy and happiness are a choice and I’ve decided to be happy and help others find healing and happiness in their lives as well.

“Although I’ve been through my share of troubles, I always think about how bad things could have been. Then I stop and count my blessings and try to have an attitude of gratitude.”