I was born to two alcoholic parents, in 1961, in a small town in Georgia – Warner Robins. Although my parents were never married, both had the same last name of Williams. They only had three things in common: the same last name, alcohol addiction, and me. I was amused when I recently found out it was a natural birth. Reportedly this was my grandmother’s attempt to prevent my mother from becoming pregnant again before she was married.

Shortly after my birth I was abandoned by both of my parents and ended up in the care of a woman who knew both sides of my family. This precious lady was approximately sixty years of age when she lovingly took me in – unfortunately she was unable to birth children of her own, and her husband was deceased. Somewhere between my birth and two years of age my father moved in with us, he actually just rented a room from this precious lady. Unfortunately, the only memories I have of my father are of his constant state of drunkenness and unemployment. My father would disappear on alcohol binges for days, weeks, and as much as four months at a time. When he was at home he was always inebriated. He was physically abusive and we were extremely detached. Eventually my father left for good when I was approximately eight years old and I never saw him again. He died in 1989 just before I celebrated my tenth wedding anniversary.

As I stated earlier, my mother was also an alcoholic, but she was quite a bit more functional than my father. Despite the fact that she was physically able to work, she would remain unemployed for extended periods of time.

My mother too was verbally and physically abusive – I had the definite impression that my birth was not welcomed by either of my parents. I did not live with my mother until I was 12 years old, when the precious lady that had taken me in and reared me developed diabetes. Not long after being diagnosed, one of her legs had to be amputated at the knee, which necessitated her placement in a nursing home.

I actually only lived with my mother for about a month. Every day I would walk to my maternal grand-parents’ home to eat lunch and supper with them as there was only a canister of peanut butter at my mother's home. After three or four days of eating at my grandparents, my grandmother asked me why I was stopping by for lunch and supper so often. After learning that I only had peanut butter (no bread) to eat she moved me in with them.

The pain of rejection, abandonment, detachment, verbal and physical abuse is extremely difficult. A child losing a parent to death is extremely painful, however in my opinion, knowing who your parents are and them making it abundantly clear they don't want you, is even more painful!

The recurring traumatic events of my life are unfortunately played out in different but no less traumatic ways in the lives of so many children of color. So how do you deal with trauma like that? How do you build resilience? How do you discover your inherent self? What's the process to connect to your own intrinsic motivation?