Pride Over Pity

by Lowry, Kailyn

  At Javi’s graduation in Lackland, TX, with my friend Kim, cousin Kaylie, and half sister Mikaila

  Chapter 19

  For the Love of a Daughter

  I grew up among the wreckage of a dysfunctional family. This forced me to learn to live with disappointment and desertion. My personal search to make peace with my childhood became a journey in which I ultimately decided it was no longer healthy for me to have my parents in my life.

  For years I lived in a state of denial. I wanted to believe that one day they would accept responsibility for not being the parents I felt I needed them to be. The one-sided exertion often led me to lose control of my actions and emotions. Sometimes the sad truth is forgiveness and fortitude can’t salvage a relationship, even if it’s with your own flesh and blood. Once I gave into that sad truth, I could no longer deny the inevitable.

  I’m mature enough to realize that there are people out there who have had unbearably sad childhoods. I’m not trying to make my situation sound any worse than it actually is. I can’t dumb down what has happened to me, but I also can’t become a stereotypical, angry teen who allows herself to be defined by her dysfunctional, destructive past. For what I did have, I’m thankful because I remind myself of those who have it so much worse. There are kids who get beat on a regular basis. There are kids whose parents don’t provide for them and so they starve. Even the most sickening situation of all, sexual assault, is something some children experience at horrifically young ages.

  The darkness of some childhoods is unimaginable. Nobody wants to think about the fact that children are victimized all the time. I believe the reason this is so common is simple: not every female is meant to be a mother and not every male is meant to be a father. I’ve made my peace with that.

  ***

  It had been two years since I had flown to Texas to meet my biological father, Raymond, and even though that was the extent of our relationship, he did contact me one other time after his brother had randomly messaged me through the Internet. Since nobody had spoken to him in years, I didn’t really see how he was relevant to me. It’s interesting how I only started receiving these messages once I was on TV. He didn’t seem to have a real reason to be contacting me either. That’s when Raymond stepped in. He emailed me to apologize for his brother and told me he’d take care of it, but I’m not so naïve as to jump on these family “opportunities,” with their extremely delayed timing. Raymond wasn’t like his brother though. After that, he made no effort to contact me again whatsoever. I could have tapped danced on the moon and learned how to breathe underwater, but it seemed like nothing was impressive enough to capture his attention for the long run.

  My dad and I were done. I feel like he was never really my father anyway. I don’t think of him as much more than a sperm donor. The painful memory of the one time we spent together has been memorialized on television, courtesy of MTV. It’s okay, though. Meeting my sperm donor was all part of satisfying my natural curiosity. That curiosity died once I realized I wasn’t meant to have a father figure in my life. He wasn’t around for seventeen years of my life and I couldn’t expect him to change because of one visit. I can honestly say that I am okay with not having a father in my life. It’s probably one of the first times I can say that and really mean it.

  Meeting my sperm donor answered all of the questions I had stacked up in mental lists for over a decade or so. Finally seeing him with my own eyes, rather than clinging to the illusion I had created, was a kind of gift in itself. There were no more made up, fake parts to my dad. The stories I had conjured up to fit in for the moments I needed a father were gone. I had a clear, solid image of who he was physically and mentally. I finally had closure.

  I have grown so much because of the inescapably harsh truth. I’m so much stronger because of these toughening experiences. I feel like my mom wasn’t there to rub my back and tell me how much she loved me. I don’t remember her ever telling me that I was worth a damn when my dad sat back and didn’t contact me after meeting him back when I was a frightened pregnant teenager. In my opinion, she was a “told you so” kind of mom and always would be. My mom may have been physically closer to me than my sperm donor, but she still seemed as clueless as he was.

  Our current “relationship” isn’t far off from what has been shown on television. It just proves we never grow. Again, I’m fine with that too. To keep myself from getting hurt, I have told my mom that we would no longer have a relationship. As a teenager, I confronted her several times. I wanted to be up front so she knew where she stood in my future.

  “You will never know your grandchildren,” I said spitefully, wanting to induce the same wounded feelings she raised out of me.

  “I will not attend your funeral.”

  That seemed a bit much, even for me. What’s worse than not attending your mother’s memorial? I wanted to show her how intensely hurt I am and that I wasn’t going to let her crawl back any time she decided she wanted to be part of my life for a split second.

  I distanced myself for protection. At some point, for my own sanity, I admitted her faults to myself. After that, for years, I was consumed by anger. This was followed by the maturity to confront my demons and let go of the past. Endless tears and much counseling later, I have finally accepted what I feel is the unavoidable truth: my mother will never ever change. I no longer believe she possesses the capacity. Didn’t she have a good enough reason to make the change? I guess I wasn’t enough. Sure, that stings worse than a hundred bee stings, but sometimes you have to force-feed yourself the truth. It’s easier to swallow down the road.

  The little pieces of wisdom I have gained over the years don’t make me an expert on anything, but I do believe that others can benefit from what I have learned. I have educated myself about addiction and addicts because I lived with one for a majority of my life. I wanted to learn everything I could about addiction because I wanted to understand why my mom was like this. As a child, I was confused. As a teenager, I was angry. Now, as an adult, I need answers.

  When I was a teen, I recall my mother trying to get help but it seemed like she was not able to stop drinking. The nine months when I felt she was sober held so many beautiful possibilities and made me feel like life could be so wondrous. If felt myself wanting to be around her more. Sadly, I only felt this way for a short time.

  I don’t want my mom in my life until I feel she’s accepted responsibility for how I’ve seen her behave. It hasn’t exactly been easy for me to block her out completely, but now that she doesn’t contact me very often, I’ve found keeping her out to be much more manageable. I will always gladly speak to her if I feel she hasn’t been drinking, but if I hear the slightest bit of a slur, I will set the phone down. I have a choice now.

  Every day I struggle to find forgiveness. I try to convince myself that my mother did the best job she could raising me. Do I fully believe that? No, not really. Forgiveness does not come easily. As a mother, I’d do anything for Isaac. I’d make any sacrifice to provide him with the best life possible. I believe that’s what being a parent is all about—putting your child before yourself. I don’t feel like my mother or father ever did that for me.

  I feel like they taught me a huge parental lesson: what kind of parent not to be. It’s like a handbook of rules and regulations type of thing. 101 Ways You Shouldn’t Treat Your Child. 1,000 Situations You Should Never Put Your Child In. So that’s it. There’s no magical, happy ending to my relationship or lack thereof with my parents. I don’t expect anything to change. There’s no more wishing for improvements.

  I’ve found what I was looking for. Javi and his family have embraced me as one of their own. The special place I’ve received as an honorary member of their circle is enough for me. Everybody has problems, but how bad would it be to go through them with people like this to support you? Once in a while, I’ll have a silent awareness of the big love I feel I missed out on for so long. I’ll see how lovingly they treat one another, and the envy I try so ha
rd to suppress rises up to remind me of what I wish I had.

  Obviously, I feel like I come from an unhealthy place, but the love and support of the friends I’ve picked up over the years have salvaged my perspective on what family means. I am thankful for those who have stuck by me. On my mother’s side, my cousins, Jen and Candy, have always done what’s best for me. They were the same ones who went out of their way to buy me the beautiful, unique prom dress that I wore on the night Isaac was conceived. They had helped me look into adoption options when I was pregnant and still unsure if I was capable of being a mother to my baby. I am so grateful to them. Unfortunately, they both live hours away in opposite directions so we don’t see each other as often as we’d like, but it’s okay because I know they’re only a phone call away if I do need them.

  I try not to dwell on my past. I don’t let my mind take me on adventures to pity land, where I’m alone and unloved. Self-pity is easy. I would know. I spent the majority of my life asking the same question: why me? Eventually, I realized there is always room for growth. Moving on from the past and working to improve your situation is the real challenge. Talking through my insecurities and childhood nightmares has changed the way I perceive everything. Instead of wallowing in pain and regret, I have risen from the ashes of my past. Because of that I am now stronger and healthier for myself and everyone around me. Pride over pity is the only way to live.

  Isaac and Javi are my source of love and compassion. Unseen on television, Javi’s family have been my rock. They have been so supportive. They warmly welcomed Isaac and me into their fold and treat us like their own. It’s nice to have people to rely on if need be. I felt myself opening up and really trusting them, unlike the relationship I had with Jo’s family.

  Before you boo or hiss me, I am eternally grateful for every expense Jo’s parents made for Isaac and me. They were so understanding and helpful during one of the toughest points in my life. They provided a roof over my head and supported me financially in so many ways. I could never express my thanks enough. If it wasn’t for them, I know I wouldn’t have been able to lift myself up from the ground to work my way up to where I am now. My gratitude can’t be expressed.

  The major issue I always had with Jo’s family was the fact that our relationship felt to me like a family project. Our arguments always seemed to be a communal experience. Sometimes I felt like Jo’s parents acted as barriers and referees to our fights. I know that they were just trying to protect us, but fights are frustrating enough for two people. Throw in a few more and there are just more mouths yelling.

  With Javi’s family it has been the opposite. They stand by us through thick and thin, but they won’t take sides or involve themselves in our fights. They know there are boundaries and they try to give us a healthy space to work out our issues on our own. They don’t try to push their values and feelings onto the situation, whatever it may be. Finally, my greatest desire—to be loved unconditionally—has been met with Javi and Isaac.

  Chapter 20

  Psycho Bitch

  Everything about me has been fair game for public scrutiny these past few years—my atheism, my sexuality, my motherhood, and all of my relationships. Why not bring my mental health into the public realm, too? The intrusion could have resulted in a cosmic meltdown on my part. However, I didn’t explode or find myself in a predicament I couldn’t figure a way out of. Instead, I confronted the major asteroids in my own galaxy by accepting my disorder and taking care of it.

  My temper has risen out of the ashes on many occasions. Whenever someone provoked me, and even sometimes for no reason at all, my emotional response was instinctively anger. I’d lash out quickly and then cry. These sudden emotional strikes terrified me. My temper was an obvious trigger to relationship problems. Arguments are a normal part of any relationship. I just needed to learn not to react so emotionally. With my diagnosis, I finally had answers. It has helped me to understand the source of my violent mood swings. My temper had tainted relationships, yet I always just left it at that. I never knew my reactions added up to something as serious as bipolar disorder. I confronted it by seeking counseling, and taking the medications I need.

  Unfortunately, just like all of my other personal problems, this one found its way into the gossip sites. I didn’t want this to be talked about. I felt like it should be respected as something private. Do you watch people go to the bathroom or take a shower? No? Well, how is this any different? The only way anyone should know is if they snooped around in my medicine cabinet, but unfortunately it was partially my fault that my disorder became public knowledge. Someone on Twitter had been relentlessly bothering me about my mood swings and I made the mistake of responding to their badgering. It was easily figured out from there that my mood swings were symptoms of a larger problem.

  I consider myself to be pretty open to the public. I just wanted this one break. I was only starting to understand my disorder and now I had others jumping down my throat online. The name-calling started. Thanks to the magic of social media, I had people calling me bipolar even before I was diagnosed. Yeah, I have some anger issues and crazy mood swings. I’m not crazy, though. Bipolar doesn’t mean you’re an insane person who talks to themselves and hides in the garbage. It sucks so hard that there are so many negative connotations attached to the disorder. I’m not a danger to you or to myself. I just wish the term “bipolar” wasn’t so casually thrown around.

  Unfortunately, I’ve opened myself up to criticism concerning my anger problems and even those issues concerning Jo. Although I prefer to keep my therapy sessions private, like everyone else, I did decide to let cameras come into a session Jo and I had together for co-parenting one time. This decision was purely based on the hope that by viewing us going through counseling it might help others to resolve their own conflicts in a healthy way. I have no regrets that I allowed viewers to see something real.

  The problem for me is the way I’ve been depicted by others. Ugly and crazy are words people seem to like to associate with me. Having so many people tell you something about yourself can make you sort of believe it for a split second. As I dealt with being bipolar and going through therapy sessions, I had to also make sure negative public opinion didn’t impact the way I perceived myself. These harsh ideas about the way I looked and acted had always floated in my head, but they really sprung to the forefront as others commented on them. I heard the grimy words of criticism as if they were the truth.

  It’s frustrating how a few moments on television can define who you are to the world. Many people have said I come off cold-hearted, crazy, psycho, bitchy, selfish—the list could take up a whole chapter. To that crowd, I am fictional. I might come off as a cold bitch but that’s a classic defense mechanism for those who have been through traumatic experiences. I’m tough because I have to be. That doesn’t make me crazy or a bitch. It is very strange how I went from being myself to becoming a character on television. That person sometime seems as unreal to me as Harry Potter.

  I guess that’s television, though. It’s segmented and two-dimensional. What can you expect? For better or worse, MTV has documented my journey of growth. These snippets have created an indelible image of who I am in the public’s mind. Teen Mom 2 viewers have either stood by solidly or bashed me relentlessly on my progress as a person. These life stages usually aren’t documented and broadcast on television so excuse me if I’ve made mistakes along my path. I’m not bitter. Despite the dreadful times I’ve dealt with, I’m thankful that, in addition to the negativity and the bad reputation I may have picked up along the way, there has also been a lot of positive feedback.

  There are so many people out there who can relate to the way I’ve reacted and handled high-pressure situations. Knowing others feel the same and that I have helped them is very comforting to me and has made the ride worth it. It’s nice to have comments that are not only supportive but also understanding. It helps to reinforce the idea that the hateful comments are not indicative of who I am. It would
be easy to say that I don’t care. But I do. Anyone can pretend the hurtful comments don’t faze them, but I won’t.

  Watching an episode of Teen Mom 2 doesn’t mean you know who I am or what I’m going through. Only the girls who are on the show can understand how challenging it is to put yourself and your story out to the world. Being teen mothers alone has turned us into objects of ridicule. Disapproval of us has stemmed from every facet of the media. People throwing in their negative opinions makes my blood boil. They act as if the show begs for criticism of us. Teen Mom 2 became this huge sensation and I wasn’t prepared for it. It’s pure insanity if you think about it.

  Despite how much criticism I’ve received, I’m also incredibly thankful to have had the opportunity to share my story and help others. Four seasons of Teen Mom 2 have run through a large chunk of my life. Becoming someone recognizable on the street has been a crazy ride. I didn’t do it for fame or money. I can say that a hundred times and it wouldn’t make the statement more legitimate for the non-believers. Being on television has not inflated my ego. It has given me a chance to reflect on my decisions. The experience has been enlightening. It has helped me to strive to learn from my poor choices and make wiser ones in the future.

  Season 1 was the beginning of the sensation that the show created. I didn’t expect people to become so invested in the show since the first cast of Teen Mom was so heavily adored. I had to get used to the spotlight that was shining more frequently on me. Season 2 was difficult because I was so depressed. Filming was hard because I felt like shit and some viewers were becoming very vocal in their criticism of me. It deflated my spirit when I had to deal with that negativity on top of my own self-criticism.