I run for...
"When you are ready to heal, you will find the courage to share your story. When people hear how you have been able to get past your past, you will help to heal others and that is when we realize our greater purpose." -- Chalene Johnson
I have been writing this blog since my half ironman. I started it on a bridge somewhere in Chattanooga during the run portion of the race, still on the first loop. I was cherishing that moment in the run, looking up at the sky, thinking "what an amazing day" and thanking God for yet another opportunity at life. After choking back the tears (let's face it, I was tired and could not cry, breathe properly and run at the same time), I thought "I'm doing this for us." By us, I meant survivors.
Survivors of abuse, those overcoming actions of others who hurt us physically, mentally and spiritually. For those who went through the hellish journey from victim to survivor... and continuing to fight for the status of survivor as we know how easy it can be to slip into victim-mode.
As I wrote in my Chattanooga recap, I wept on my way to my transition area after the race. As I walked to my bike, I said to myself "I am LIVING." To say I never thought I'd make it this far is an understatement. So many times in my life, especially as a young adolescent, I had wanted to die. And attempted on many occasions. I never thought I'd ever live this long -- ah yes, I understand I'm only 35 but as a child, that's "ancient", remember? Not only did I never thought I'd live this long, who would have ever imagined I could accomplish such achievements?
Let me give you a simple glimpse of my story... any more than this would require me to actually write my book. So here's a rough outline.
I was born and grew up in Inchon, South Korea to a Korean mother and an American father, both are now deceased (respectively).
When people speak of "childhood", I cringe. There was no childhood; my life was a nightmare from the start. Let's have a disclaimer here --- I'm not here saying that I had the worst life ever. I hate those my-life-was/is-worse-than-yours games. We all have our stories.
My father was an American, working as a civil engineer on US Navy ships so he was gone more often than he was home. But when he was home, I cherished that time because I knew I was safe for that time being. It wasn't easy being mixed-race in Korea. I hope it's gotten better since then but back then, I learned to fight at an early age. I was bullied, ostracized by teachers (who were allowed to physically punish students --I had my fair share of hand/leg whips) and people who refused to sit near me. Even when I would give up my seat to an elder, they refused to sit where I'd just sat. I just came to believe that I was dirt. My self-worth and self-esteem was plunged even more as my family members continued to make fun of my appearance. I was called "pig" as a nickname. Not because I was fat or obese but because I didn't have the typical Asian build. Sure, I went through that ugly stage around 8 years old but who didn't? I was slightly chubby at that time but my nickname was around years before then.
During those same years, sexual abuse was another common theme. My mother had this one monster around when my father was gone (so ... pretty much all the time) who abused me for years. I remember going to a skating rink with a friend and was touched by the owner. So it wasn't shocking that after we were placed in an orphanage (after our father died), I found it completely normal to be chased and mocked by the residing boys. I recall falling down steps of the church while being chased and thinking "Good..." (hoping that would've ended it).
We lived at the orphanage for about 6 months, with me taking care of my brother. The time at the orphanage wasn't too terrible. We were visited by US Army soldiers and even got to visit them at their base several times. Those soldiers were so amazing. We forgot out predicament as we received attention - and some pool time.
Once we arrived at our new home in the US, the adoptive dad almost immediately started abusing me. This went on from the time I was 8 yrs old until I was 13. He would touch, try to video tape me changing, showering, blackmail me into "sitting" on his lap. He took my diary journal and used that as blackmail as well - threatening me to send me back to Korea and making my adoptive mom mad/sad (whatever he felt like that day). You'd never have know any of this was going on. We were the perfect family living in suburbia. He was finally found out and decided to kill himself while we were in the house. Yes, WHILE WE WERE IN THE HOUSE. My adoptive mom and I heard the gunshot (I thought a door slammed). She went to check while I stayed in the kitchen and once she started screaming, the chaos started.
He died of the self-inflicted gun shot wound. I remember seeing the bloody wall as I gathered my belongings to stay at a relative's house. I remember the cops bustling around and one in particular stopped by my room and asked me about the posters on my wall-- did I prefer kittens or puppies? I'll never forget this moment. I knew he wanted to just make me forget the nightmare for the moment and his kindness still makes me tear up.
I started "acting out". You know, saying I was going to the movies with my friends -- and they were there. But didn't mention the boyfriend that they didn't like (racism). That was pretty much it... Yup. I was your dream teenager, working her butt off to achieve straight As and participating in as many extracurricular activities as possible to get into a good college. And even started my own babysitting club. But I couldn't hide from my adoptive mom, who couldn't stop showing me her hatred. My therapist later on said it was because I was a living reminder of who her husband was.
During this time, I tried many times to end my life. I tried throwing plugged-in electronics in the tub while I was in there -- nothing. Sit in a running car in a closed garage with rugs stuffed under the doors to keep the fumes in. I gave up after 6 hours. I picked out a knife but couldn't go through with that. Hung a noose but couldn't do that either. I even looked for the gun that the monster killed himself with. I eventually went onto drinking poison -- whatever chemicals and pills I could find, I'd stir that up with coffee (I don't know why the coffee...) Obviously, this didn't work as planned but I was out of it for several days.
Once the adoptive mom put the pieces together, she got angry at me. "How dare you do this to me!!" she exclaimed. Hadn't she gone through enough?? Yes, she said that. I was racking up the medical bills and this was all uncalled for.
Well, I'd had enough and "ran away" - I got off at my friend's house from the school bus. We decided to go to my then 8th grade teacher. I don't know if you can tell, but I sucked at being bad.
I ended up back in Korea with my birth mother. I was 15 at the time and was glad to get away, even if it was going back to the original nightmare of my childhood. It was a bit odd as my mom was acting like .. a mom. And then she brought the original monster back. Now, we had stayed in contact while I was in Korea (much to my adoptive mother's dismay. She "would've never adopted..." us if she'd known we had living mother) and I had mentioned how this monster had abused me.
He didn't touch me while I was there but he couldn't understand why I looked so angry during our lunch outing.
I was given the choice to stay in Korea or to come back to the US once my VISA expired and even at 15yrs old, I knew I had no future in Korea so I came back. To another family, which I found out about after I was picked up at the airport by my 1st adoptive mom. "No, you're not coming home with us... family in Madison...".
Onto the next chapter of my hell... that family was insane. I ended up really acting out and became pregnant. I was a teen mom by 16 and in the middle of a custody battle between the foster parents and my to-be parents, who ran the maternity home I was staying at. My foster parents didn't care about me but they sure loved the money they were getting. I don't know how many times they'd left me at home with no food while they went out to eat, go on vacation... I was reduced to wearing socks with sandals because they couldn't be bothered to buy me shoes for the winter. During all of this, I was attending a very nice, private school in Madison. I was surrounded my rich kids and so many times, I had to beg for a dollar here and there to buy something for lunch.
I was finally adopted by the new family and began a new journey, upon journeys... it continued on; It's no fairy tale ending but that era of my life can be written at another time. All I will mention is that drugs and alcohol were my friends for several years. I'd finally found a way to numb my past and I thank God that I was able to crawl out of that darkness.
This is a very choppy summary of my story. But it's here as a start to those who are struggling with their past -- or their present. I'm here to share so my past will not go in vain. I firmly believe that I was kept alive, despite my hardest efforts, to help others. There's a seed planted in what I want to achieve and once I figure out how to make the plan into action, I can't wait to share it with you.
If you have a story to share, I hope you do. More voices need to be heard. More victims need to hear them to know they can become survivors from their nightmares. It's not easy, I know. This is the reason why I've yet to write my book. It means reliving the nightmares and I still feel some shame as I think of them. Though I know none of it was my fault, the old demon comes back and makes me feel ashamed and dirty at my weak moments. The pain and the memories never go away but we can finally take control of our minds, lives and future.
I run for me, to overcome my past and any fears along the road. To show the people who did their best to ruin an innocent child and adolescent that I WIN. I run for you, fellow survivors. My heart is with you.
**I used this title because it pushed me to finish my blog. It's part of Skirt Sport's #31daysofskirt challenge. I am a proud ambassador of this brand and with that being said, I was not paid to endorse this challenge or the brand. I do not receive monetary compensation for mentioning the company name.**
I have been writing this blog since my half ironman. I started it on a bridge somewhere in Chattanooga during the run portion of the race, still on the first loop. I was cherishing that moment in the run, looking up at the sky, thinking "what an amazing day" and thanking God for yet another opportunity at life. After choking back the tears (let's face it, I was tired and could not cry, breathe properly and run at the same time), I thought "I'm doing this for us." By us, I meant survivors.
Survivors of abuse, those overcoming actions of others who hurt us physically, mentally and spiritually. For those who went through the hellish journey from victim to survivor... and continuing to fight for the status of survivor as we know how easy it can be to slip into victim-mode.
As I wrote in my Chattanooga recap, I wept on my way to my transition area after the race. As I walked to my bike, I said to myself "I am LIVING." To say I never thought I'd make it this far is an understatement. So many times in my life, especially as a young adolescent, I had wanted to die. And attempted on many occasions. I never thought I'd ever live this long -- ah yes, I understand I'm only 35 but as a child, that's "ancient", remember? Not only did I never thought I'd live this long, who would have ever imagined I could accomplish such achievements?
Let me give you a simple glimpse of my story... any more than this would require me to actually write my book. So here's a rough outline.
 |
| Passport photo. Around 7yrs old |
When people speak of "childhood", I cringe. There was no childhood; my life was a nightmare from the start. Let's have a disclaimer here --- I'm not here saying that I had the worst life ever. I hate those my-life-was/is-worse-than-yours games. We all have our stories.
My father was an American, working as a civil engineer on US Navy ships so he was gone more often than he was home. But when he was home, I cherished that time because I knew I was safe for that time being. It wasn't easy being mixed-race in Korea. I hope it's gotten better since then but back then, I learned to fight at an early age. I was bullied, ostracized by teachers (who were allowed to physically punish students --I had my fair share of hand/leg whips) and people who refused to sit near me. Even when I would give up my seat to an elder, they refused to sit where I'd just sat. I just came to believe that I was dirt. My self-worth and self-esteem was plunged even more as my family members continued to make fun of my appearance. I was called "pig" as a nickname. Not because I was fat or obese but because I didn't have the typical Asian build. Sure, I went through that ugly stage around 8 years old but who didn't? I was slightly chubby at that time but my nickname was around years before then.
 |
| The skating rink |
 |
| Orphanage |
 |
| Airport before our flight to the US. Mother and Halmoni behind us |
He died of the self-inflicted gun shot wound. I remember seeing the bloody wall as I gathered my belongings to stay at a relative's house. I remember the cops bustling around and one in particular stopped by my room and asked me about the posters on my wall-- did I prefer kittens or puppies? I'll never forget this moment. I knew he wanted to just make me forget the nightmare for the moment and his kindness still makes me tear up.I started "acting out". You know, saying I was going to the movies with my friends -- and they were there. But didn't mention the boyfriend that they didn't like (racism). That was pretty much it... Yup. I was your dream teenager, working her butt off to achieve straight As and participating in as many extracurricular activities as possible to get into a good college. And even started my own babysitting club. But I couldn't hide from my adoptive mom, who couldn't stop showing me her hatred. My therapist later on said it was because I was a living reminder of who her husband was.
Once the adoptive mom put the pieces together, she got angry at me. "How dare you do this to me!!" she exclaimed. Hadn't she gone through enough?? Yes, she said that. I was racking up the medical bills and this was all uncalled for.
Well, I'd had enough and "ran away" - I got off at my friend's house from the school bus. We decided to go to my then 8th grade teacher. I don't know if you can tell, but I sucked at being bad.
I ended up back in Korea with my birth mother. I was 15 at the time and was glad to get away, even if it was going back to the original nightmare of my childhood. It was a bit odd as my mom was acting like .. a mom. And then she brought the original monster back. Now, we had stayed in contact while I was in Korea (much to my adoptive mother's dismay. She "would've never adopted..." us if she'd known we had living mother) and I had mentioned how this monster had abused me.
He didn't touch me while I was there but he couldn't understand why I looked so angry during our lunch outing.
I was given the choice to stay in Korea or to come back to the US once my VISA expired and even at 15yrs old, I knew I had no future in Korea so I came back. To another family, which I found out about after I was picked up at the airport by my 1st adoptive mom. "No, you're not coming home with us... family in Madison...".
Onto the next chapter of my hell... that family was insane. I ended up really acting out and became pregnant. I was a teen mom by 16 and in the middle of a custody battle between the foster parents and my to-be parents, who ran the maternity home I was staying at. My foster parents didn't care about me but they sure loved the money they were getting. I don't know how many times they'd left me at home with no food while they went out to eat, go on vacation... I was reduced to wearing socks with sandals because they couldn't be bothered to buy me shoes for the winter. During all of this, I was attending a very nice, private school in Madison. I was surrounded my rich kids and so many times, I had to beg for a dollar here and there to buy something for lunch.
I was finally adopted by the new family and began a new journey, upon journeys... it continued on; It's no fairy tale ending but that era of my life can be written at another time. All I will mention is that drugs and alcohol were my friends for several years. I'd finally found a way to numb my past and I thank God that I was able to crawl out of that darkness.
 |
| Heading to the finish line at IMCHOO |
This is a very choppy summary of my story. But it's here as a start to those who are struggling with their past -- or their present. I'm here to share so my past will not go in vain. I firmly believe that I was kept alive, despite my hardest efforts, to help others. There's a seed planted in what I want to achieve and once I figure out how to make the plan into action, I can't wait to share it with you.
If you have a story to share, I hope you do. More voices need to be heard. More victims need to hear them to know they can become survivors from their nightmares. It's not easy, I know. This is the reason why I've yet to write my book. It means reliving the nightmares and I still feel some shame as I think of them. Though I know none of it was my fault, the old demon comes back and makes me feel ashamed and dirty at my weak moments. The pain and the memories never go away but we can finally take control of our minds, lives and future. I run for me, to overcome my past and any fears along the road. To show the people who did their best to ruin an innocent child and adolescent that I WIN. I run for you, fellow survivors. My heart is with you.
**I used this title because it pushed me to finish my blog. It's part of Skirt Sport's #31daysofskirt challenge. I am a proud ambassador of this brand and with that being said, I was not paid to endorse this challenge or the brand. I do not receive monetary compensation for mentioning the company name.**
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