https://everythingspeakstome.com/files/original/64776eb604296bea4074de1e94b97100.jpeg 8c90dc1ee4a6f2838f90e9573539c4c8 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Miami Stories Description An account of the resource Real stories of life in Miami. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Please post your written submission in this field. The images you would like to include should be posted as attachments below. Age 4. She was sitting in our grandma's living room, playing with her endless supply of toys, wondering when her mother was coming home. The constant thought that this woman in the kitchen making her lunch was really the only one there for her. Seeing her teenage mother walk through the door at all hours of the night, hardly wearing anything. Age 4. I was sitting in the library of my daycare, wondering when my mom was coming to pick me up. Seeing my mom walk through the doors, at least half an hour late, wearing her dark blue scrubs. The constant thought that I would be the spitting image of her when I grew up. Age 5. She had left the only home she knew because this 22-year-old has something to prove. Ripped her away from the only mom my sister ever knew. She learned how to make this four-by-four-foot space into a home filled with love, laughter, and joy. Never truly seeing our grandmother again. The only woman that was now there for her was a stranger, she was taught to call mom. Age 5. I had been in the only home I knew, the one my mom worked so hard to provide. Surrounded by those who truly loved me. My mom made a home filled with love, laughter, and joy. Constantly having my grandmother around as support when my mom would fall short, which was rarely. My mom was the only woman that was there, and I was proud to call her my best friend. Age 15. She had been dealing with her first heartbreak. She was told to get out of bed. To not let a stupid boy affect her. The curtains were opened letting light into her dark cave of a room. She was forced out of bed and told to man up. Was told that people out in the world were dying and that she was sitting here crying about this. There was no, are you okay? do you need a hug? How are you feeling? Talk to me? For her it was always, you are stronger than this. Don’t cry. It’s not that serious. Age 14. I had been battling depression and self-harm. I was told to miss a couple of classes. To try hard not to stress about things. The curtains closed aiding the darkness I’ve been living in. I was chained to my bed, allowed to feel and wallow. Was validated and understood that this could feel like the end of the world, and it did. It was always, are you okay? Did you eat today? Do you need a hug? I brought you your favorite! Please, don’t cry. I understand how serious this is. Age 18. She had lost her virginity. She was called a whore. Told how disappointed her mother was in her. Had hour-long lectures about how the body should not just be given up to anyone. Her mother raged about how out of control she was. Did you even use protection? Yeah, I bet you enjoyed it. You're disgusting! I can never look you in the eyes again, knowing you let a man violate you like that. That wasn’t love, you’re only 18! Age 18. I had lost my virginity. Told how disappointed my mother was in me. I knew how my body should not just be given up to anyone, she speared me the lecture. My mom spiraled about how out of control I might have been. Do you need more attention? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Do you really think you’ll be with this guy forever? I just hoped you would have waited. I’m not ready for this. Age 21. First legal sip. In the house of those we trusted the most, she let herself go. No longer considered with the critics, no longer the desire to be perfect. She got wasted and she enjoyed every second of being sloppy and imperfect. With every high, there is a low and she crashed hard. She threw up, she fell, she could barely speak, only be carried to the car. Her mother was embarrassed, disappointed, and not very helpful. The woman refused to hold a bag for her on the ride home, refused to turn down the music to her likely, to even utter a word. Age 22. She moved out. Her mother conflicted: my baby is leaving I don’t want her to go/It’s about time I was out on my own at this time and with a kid. She never felt enough, and it never really felt like home for her. She took the time she needed from her mother and grew. She’s never around anymore. She moves into a new place and forgets about her family. We never see her. Age 23. Started to really live for herself. She was reading books about her energy and her mindset. She was going to therapy and working on her mental health. She was thriving financially and romantically. She tapped into a new frequency in which those noticed her shine. She was working on herself, it meant change. Her mother had blamed her, your different. You only care about yourself. You’ve changed. You’ve forgotten about us. Your thoughts only facilitate your wants and needs, not mine. Age 18. Our mom was going out to a club she was too young to be at. Talking to men that were too old for her. Drinking, smoking, dancing, and wearing too little. She was a teenager in Miami and there wasn’t anyone at home telling her she couldn’t, so mom did everything! Months went by, no indication of a child inside her, no late periods, no morning sickness, and no weight gain. 5 months in, our mom just found out she was pregnant. Our grandmother sure had her thoughts, You’re so irresponsible. How could you do this? You had such a bright future. In times like this, really? We have so much on our plate already and you fuck up this bad! You’re such a disappointment! Age 19. Our mom was in a hospital bed alone, scared. Straight out of high school and here, her life was about to change. Nowhere to go, no indication of the future. Everything happening so fast. One last push! I can’t do it. I can’t do this. Unsure of what to call her, what last name to put, where to raise her. She should have been unsure of where to go to college, in-state or outstate, college tuition. Instead, our mom had given birth to her firstborn. Our grandmother wasn’t even at the hospital with her. You need to learn how to go through life alone. No one is going to be there more than you’re going to be there for yourself. You’re strong, act like it! Age 22. Work had been hard. Holding on to the life she loved of partying and drinking was becoming less and less realistic. Here she had high school friends stressed about what club to go to tonight and here she was supporting another life. She worked so hard. Coming in at all hours of the night, sometimes reeking of booze, others reeking of sweat. Our grandmother was tired of the life my mom had been building for her and her child. You’re so irresponsible. Here your child is wondering when you’ll be home. Outdoing God knows what! You say you’re working, but are you really? Our mom was kicked out of the only home she ever knew, by the only person she really had. Age 24. Life had gotten harder. She fell in love with a man, my father. He had helped my mom make a home. He cared for my sister like his own. Our father loved our mom until he didn’t. The smell of alcohol consumed our house, and he never allowed her to speak free thoughts. He would leave weeks at a time, cards charged at countless hotels, at countless bars, and at countless liquor stores. There were countless women. She pretended not to know, so the perfect home and the perfect family could be the reality. The reality: our mom had been abused, and while there is no evidence that the scars were physical, deep down those scars never healed mentally and emotionally. Age 27. Our mom had left our father with a new baby in her hands. She put aside her pride and crawled her way back to our grandmother’s house. I told you; he was no good. I don’t know how you let him walk all over you, Cheat on you! You don’t respect yourself. Going back meant enduring what she worked so hard to leave. She did it for us, the same way she did a lot of things. She began to build a life for herself, a life for her family. Age 30. Our mom had realized how much of her mom she saw in herself. To then realize how much of herself she saw in her daughter. She wanted more than anything for things to be different, but she was only a kid. To my mom: You will always be my mom, my best friend, and the woman I am most proud of. I appreciate how far you’ve come and the changes you have made. I’m sorry that in this lifetime you couldn’t be her mom too. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Mom. Her Mother. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Janise Contreras Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 03/04/2023