Trauma been a huge part of my family for generations. I think of her as my father ‘s first wife, a woman he was forced to marry at a young age growing up in Nigeria, in severe poverty with an abusive mother, and surviving the Biafran War. Obviously I didn’t get along with this “stepmother.” She wreaked havoc in our lives. She brought terror into my life at age three, as I watched my father put his hands on my mother. She left scars on body, heart, soul, and mind from physical, mental, emotional, and verbal abuse from both parents.
She inflicted the same pain on my four younger siblings.
Trauma made me a child parent, raising my siblings while my parents went to work. She made feel like I was in prison long before arriving to Central California Women’s Facility. While most kids at the ages of nine and ten were playing outside, participating in sports, and other activities, I was at home with my siblings. I was responsible for lunch and dinner, had to make sure we completed our homework, the dishes were washed and put away, kitchen floor swept, trash taken out, living room vacuumed, made sure my siblings were staying out of trouble, and made sure we were in bed at 9 p.m. If there was failure in any of these tasks, my siblings and I were physically punished. I suffered more because I was the oldest. My parents depended on me to keep the house in order. I always felt trapped in a situation I knew wasn’t right, but had no choice but to accept it because it’s normal in my Nigerian culture.
I was often angry, sad, depressed, and full of anxiety. I couldn’t tell my parents how I felt because I didn’t want to endure anymore physical or verbal punishment. I felt trapped, helpless, and alone growing up. I never had the freedom to express myself, or say how I felt, or to be my authentic self. I desperately wanted to get away, and to be free from the chaos in my parent’s house. For some people its as simple as walking away and never looking back. But with controlling abusive parents, nothing is ever easy, especially with trauma running the show. That bitch.
I was 21 years old when I left my parent’s house. It took a very traumatic event to occur for me to leave. I was battered with multiple scars, bumps, and bruises from head to toe. On top of that I found out that I was pregnant with my first child. Physically I was free and away from my parents, but mentally emotionally and Spiritually I was still incarcerated.
For years I was full of rage, resentment, fear, and bitterness. I struggled mentally with depression and P.T.S.D. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape trauma. I was too proud and fearful to seek help for my mental health, so I mostly suppressed my struggles and lashed out when things overwhelmed me. I did not know I was headed towards prison with the decisions I made throughout the years, and crimes I committed due to my lack of self-control, anger, pain, fears, and lack of boundaries.
I began my journey of healing on December 16, 2017. I was sitting alone in County Jail, deep in postpartum depression. I had given birth to my second child more than a month prior. I prayed every night for God to not allow me to wake up in the morning. I would be angry when He didn’t grant my request. Instead He told to write poetry. This went on for a while, with me praying for try life to end, God allowing me to see another day, and He would tell me to write poetry. I angrily obeyed since I wasn’t going to win the battle. Everything changed once I obeyed and began writing the poetic words that God gave me. I finally had light in all the darkness surrounding me.
All my life I have wanted and needed to be free. My biggest desires sere to be myself and have the freedom to pursue and live my dreams. Growing up I did not receive the unconditional love and support from my parents in order to do so. I found a lot of my freedom through writing. Writing has helped me reconnect with myself and stand strong in who I am. It has helped me take accountability and responsibility for the decisions that I made that led to my incarceration. It has brought me so much healing in my life. Writing saved my life, because it is God’s purpose for me. I felt lonely for so many years, but writing helps me connect with those who have and are currently going through similar situations.
Besides going home to my husband and children, my dream is to write and publish books that would have a positive impact on people throughout the world for generations. Words are powerful. As the Bible says, they either bring life, or death. I chose to speak and bring life.
Fire and Brimstone
By Adanna Ibe
I remember like it was yesterday,
when he hit you.
Struck you across your face like lightening,
and you stayed.
He HIT you, and you STAYED.
You told me and my siblings
that divorce is a sin,
and family comes first after God.
I grew up with both of you hitting me.
I was seventeen when he told me he didn’t
want to see me in the house because
I was dating a guy neither one of you approved of.
I left only for it to anger both of you.
I tried to leave three years later,
desperate to cut the umbilical cord choking me.
He hit me and forced me to stay.
At twenty-one I did not want to stay,
after a hurricane of hits.
Like you my screams bounced off the walls,
haunting the house with his threats to bury me,
In the valley of the shadow of death.
I could not stay
I WOULD NOT stay.
The Lord forgave me
For divorcing you both,
and bringing this world to an end.
Poignancy
By Adanna Ibe
I’m no target
but the marks on my body
tell a story.
Once upon a time,
I held danger under my tongue,
so nobody would come close
to the bones I gotta live with.
Kinks and coils.
The rollercoasters that stimulate
my stomach to vomit
I learned to braid
to contain it all
for beauty’s sake
and the eye of every beholder.
Velvet is what dreams are made of
I should smile more,
give them what they want to see
and be grateful
to live as “the light of the world”
still, expected to follow
lost in space
between my two front teeth
