Welcome to My Blog: A Short Story About Me!

*Content Warning: This blog contains stories related to sexual assault, mental abuse and verbal abuse, which may be triggering for some readers and are not suitable for individuals under the age of 18.

If you've been following my blog, then you might be wondering, “Who is this blogger who sits on the other end of the keyboard and writes all these posts?” While there's an 'About Me' page, it doesn't provide much detail, and one might say that wearing sunglasses at night is about as revealing as that page. My bad! I am going to fix that right now.

Hello, I am Michelle Farris, and I am 41 years old. Married to my best friend for almost 18 amazing years, and a proud mama to three lively, hilarious, and heartwarming kids. I started this blog in late 2024 and I was more than willing to spend hours on the computer typing away and sharing the stories and thoughts that have been bottled up inside of me. To be honest, I was so excited to start that I skipped the introduction altogether – oops! But hey, better late than never, right?

This is a little more about my story: I was raised by my amazing grandparents. They were there from the very beginning. My biological mother decided to have her parents act as my legal guardians even before I was born, and she relinquished her parental rights. Some people might say, ‘Oh, your mom abandoned you.’ But here’s how I see it: she loved me enough to choose what she thought was best – a safe, stable, and nurturing life. I think that is commendable.

I’ve never met my biological father and don’t know him. I didn’t need his story because my grandfather was everything I needed growing up. At one point, I did wonder about who my father was, but not enough to want to know more. I had a perfect childhood filled with love, support, and safety, and that is all I need.

Lets start at the beginning shall we.

My Childhood

My husband has this one habit of saying I was spoiled as a child! From the way he tells it, you would almost think I was some privileged little rich kid... but I wasn’t. My grandparents did spoil me and my brother, though. We went on summer trips, had the latest toys, went to private schools, and rarely heard the word ‘no.’ Their car was replaced every few years. At this point, you are probably thinking, "Your husband might be right." But hold on, I didn’t get those things for free — I earned them with good grades and behavior. My grades had to be high, and I could get what I wanted. I had rules to follow, though. I had chores, a curfew, and had to be home before the street lights came on. Know what I mean? I could have friends over, but I wasn’t allowed to go to their houses. And if you had a black grandmother like I did, she had to talk to and meet my friends' parents, exchange phone numbers, and get allergy information before they could come over. No strangers allowed. My grandparents grew up in a time when you really had to keep your guard up, so trust was a big thing with them. They didn't just allow anyone into our home.

Our house was never empty when I was a kid. It was lively, and there were always people in the house—family, that is. We lived in a four-story, three-level split house. I mean it, a four-story, three-level split house.

I don’t have many memories of my childhood, just a few from when I was 10 to 13 years old. I remember everything after 13. My grandparents, who I called Mom and Dad because that’s who they were to me, were amazing. Their home was where I felt comfortable with established routines, tender love and care, and traditions I have also passed on to my children. Our home was always filled with love and laughter with my family and friends. There were many aunts and uncles, and I later realized that four of them were my grandma's biological children and my biological mom was the youngest. I had the sweetest great-grandmother; yep, I grew up with a great-grandmother, and many cousins who were always fun to be around. My childhood was pretty great!

My grandparents and me

You might be wondering about my brother since my grandparents only took me in. I’m not sure exactly when, but at some point, my brother just showed up. He wasn’t always there. One day my biological mom turns up with this little boy, about 3 or 4 years old. I had not met him before. That should tell you how often she was around. Then one day my biological mom left, but my brother stayed. I think he was about 5 then. Suddenly, I had a sibling. We had our sibling fights, but we always stood up for each other. Being a big sister to a population of 1 was okay, and then years later I found out I wasn’t just a big sister to one, but to 11 others! I did not meet some of them until I was around 12. I've see the birth certificates but I have not met all 11, only about 5 of them.

Adolescent Years

Not much changed in my life when I was in middle school compared to my childhood. I still lived with my awesome grandparents, did well in school, had a little brother, and didn’t have many friends because I was pretty shy and quiet. We used to go on trips, but that stopped at some point. I think it was because my grandparents were getting older, and traveling was a bit rough on them. My grandma had to retire from work early to care for my grandfather after he retired. He was still okay; he could take care of himself, but he started to forget things. I remember him locking us out of the house a few times, and we would have to hang out in our mobile home until grandma got back from work. I didn’t mind because my grandfather always got us some sort of treat, no matter how small, to make up for it. It could be a Happy Meal from McDonald’s, an ice cream cone from the local High's, or a bag of chips and a juice box. To be honest, I didn’t mind when he locked us out for the day!

What I didn’t know was that his memory was failing. It got to the point where he would sometimes forget to pick us up from school because he would forget that he had kids. It didn’t happen a lot, but enough that grandma had to quit her job early. My grandfather passed away in the year 2000 from a heart attack in our basement. He fell on the concrete and hit his head, which caused internal bleeding. He was in a coma for two weeks before he passed away. Prior to his passing, I remember the doctors telling my grandmother that if my grandfather ever woke up, he would be completely paralyzed on the left side of his body. I think God called him home because He knew that, with two young children, adding the care of my grandfather would have been too much stress for her. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I had never seen my grandma cry. By then, she had already buried two children and now her husband. My heart broke for her, but even she said, "it was for the best."

My handsome grandfather Leroy Jackson and my beautiful grandmother Jean Jackson

Once our summer trips ceased, another kind of adventure began. My grandparents would send my brother and me to our biological mother for about two weeks. I think my biological mother requested it. I was 12 when it started. At first I was excited. It felt like the beginning of something I had always wanted, the chance to finally meet her, to be seen and known by the woman who gave birth to me. Having never lived with her, the idea was both exciting and scary, but I was ready to do it.

The first time we got there I was surprised to meet three other children, two little girls and a baby boy. I didn’t know they existed and that in itself told me she hadn’t been there for us for a long time. But that didn’t matter to me at the time, I already loved them. I quickly found out the truth. I wasn’t asked to come there to spend time with my mother; I was there to babysit so she could slip away and spend time with her own world of strangers bringing endless noise and unfamiliar scents to that small Section 8 house.

I did though. I spent my days taking care of my new siblings and trying to fill the gaps that they might have been lacking knowledge of. But it was really tough – I was still playing house with my dolls, and sucked my thumb. I could not manage it. Looking back that summer was a turning point. It taught me about responsibility, love, and the strength of the human spirit I possessed, even as a child.. It demonstrated to me that there could be a growth of relationship in the worst of the ways and in the most unexpected forms of hardship. I learned that through my siblings.

One night, my biological mother told me to go to the store for her. I didn’t know why my siblings’ father couldn’t go. He handed me a list of items to purchase. He did not offer to go himself or mention anything about safety, even though it was nighttime. He then handed me what I thought at the time was play money; it was actually food stamps for people with low income. It was 9 o’clock at night in Southeast DC, and I was scared to death, but I went because that’s how you treat your elders and how my grandparents raised me. I was yelled at because I took too long to get back. What was supposed to be no more than a 20-minute round trip turned into a 50-minute trip. I had to go through an alley. In that alleyway, a stranger forced me to do something I didn’t want to do. I composed myself in the bathroom of the store and finished the shopping. When accused of being slow, I threw the groceries at them and went to one of the bedrooms. I wanted to call my grandmother to come and get me, but I knew my grandparents and some of my male cousins would come and get me if I told them why, and it wouldn’t end well. I thought to myself, ‘I don’t want to do this to my siblings.’ So I decided that I would never tell anyone about it.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the only time. The second incident involved my siblings' father. My biological mother brushed it off as a dream when I told her. The third time, my biological mother and this man had sex in the same bed I was in. He touched me. I remember lying as still as I possibly could so as not to wake my siblings who were sleeping in the room next to us. After the third incident, I told my grandmother I didn’t want to visit anymore because my biological mother didn’t really want me there. I was only there to take care of my siblings, and every time her friends or neighbors came over, she would turn a blind eye to who I was, saying, "Oh, she lives upstairs," or, "She's the babysitter I hired." I had reached my limit.

When my siblings asked me later on why I didn’t live with them, I just told them the truth: our mom was young and not ready to be a mom. They said they were told that at one point I had been living with my biological mom and my grandparents. She got a great job in DC, but since I was in school, she didn’t want to move me, so she left me there to finish out the school year, and then my grandparents took me and wouldn’t give me back, apparently. What a liar! I have spent years trying to explain and prove what really happened, but they never believed me. This story they were fed was the beginning of why we are so distant now.

Those summer visits lasted about two years, but they felt like a lifetime. Leaving my new siblings behind was heartbreaking, but for my safety, I had no choice. I clung to the hope that we might still be connected. I tried to keep the ties alive later on, and I even invited them to my home with my biological mother for dinners. Deep down, I was still after that mother-daughter relationship that I had always dreamed of. But each attempt was similar in that they all ended in hurtful words and the door slammed shut. She would yell, “Don’t EVER contact me again,” shutting me out. When she would contact me, it was never to ask how I was or to reconnect with love; it was to ask for money. Maybe in some twisted way, I thought that if I helped her, I could buy her love. So I would give her and my sisters money when they asked or buy them things. But it never worked. When I said no, her words would cut like a blade: “You ungrateful bitch.”

She wasn’t a good person by any measure. She didn’t know how to be a mother, and I have always found it strange, especially considering we were both raised in the same environment. Yet she walked a different, destructive path. Her world was filled with friends, men, sex, and drugs. Even with her parents doing all they could to help her out of it, it was never enough. There are some things that are hard to understand. Perhaps I will never know why she chose the life she did. All I know is that despite everything, I kept hoping, reaching, and searching for something that could never truly be.

My biological mother was never good on her word. There was one time she was supposed to come and spend Christmas with me at my grandparents'. She promised to spend the day with me and my brother and bring my other siblings as well. My Christmases at home were always legendary! At my grandmother’s house, it was a day of gathering, giving of gifts, feasting on sumptuous food and drinks, and watching football. It was one of the best times of my life. On that Christmas day, I was standing on the steps in the foyer to the front door, eagerly waiting for her to come. I wanted to open the door for her, to be the first person my biological mother would see. When the doorbell rang at 9:30 pm that night, I was excited, but it was a stranger I had never met. I could see through the side windows. I called my grandfather to come down. The man said, "Hi, I'm a friend of, let's call her Evelyn; Evelyn, and she told me to give this doll to Michelle." She wasn’t coming! I ignored everyone at my house to wait for her. I rushed through my dinner, and I didn't open a single present because I wanted to be at that door. When that man handed me that doll, I just threw it in the trash. It was one of those Baby Alive dolls. To this day, I hate those dolls. I wouldn't let my daughter have that doll for years because it touched the sore spot that my own mother didn’t want me. I didn't want that doll to be near me.

Let me end this section by saying, although my biological mother almost ruined my adolescent years, if it wasn't for my grandparents and many other family members, I do not believe I would be here today. So many times I've thought about ending things, but they would always, without knowing, remind me that I am loved and wanted.

Adult Years

Here I am at 41, and I am absolutely thriving—sort of. I am happily married to the most wonderful, loving, caring, and hilarious husband ever. We also have three beautiful children who are the light of our lives. My oldest is 14, a gamer, and a STEM enthusiast. I have my surprise twins, a boy and a girl, who are 10, almost 11. I never imagined that I would have twins in my wildest dreams! My daughter has been dancing since she was 3 and is absolutely passionate about it. Her twin brother is my soccer star; he lives and breathes soccer. All three of them are very creative, just like their father. They can look at something and make a drawing, a clay sculpture, or a pipe cleaner masterpiece. I adore their artsy touch; they find the quirkiest things around the house or during our walks and make art out of them.

I have high-functioning anxiety, which means that I can seem to have it all together when others are around. I am calm and composed on the outside, but on the inside, I am a complete wreck, like I am being pricked by a thousand needles, and at times it actually hurts. I stress, overthink, and get overwhelmed by my thoughts. I do take medication for this. Before my grandmother died, I talked to her about it for the first time. It was a surprise to me that she had the same bottle of pills and said, “Well, I do too, and I wish you had told me. You didn’t have to suffer from this alone. I always have time for you.” After a good cry, I felt somewhat better with my anxiety. Sometimes I don’t want the medication, so I won’t take it, but other times I will wake up knowing that I need it. When my grandmother died in 2020, I was on the medication. I had to take it during Covid. I quit at the end of 2020 because I thought I was ready to deal with her death, and besides, I had a new cure—alcohol. When that began to make me feel worse, I began to think about how to cope in other ways. My first attempt at a homemade remedy was one night after leaving my daughter at the dance studio. I felt funny all day long. I remember sitting in the studio parking lot entrance, watching the traffic zoom by and thinking, “What if I just take my foot off the brake and just coast into traffic? All this pain would go away.” I did start to, but I quickly stopped the car. I had another episode like this while leaving the gym near my house a few weeks later. That’s when I knew I needed my medication. Was I becoming suicidal? I found out from a therapist that I was suppressing all the feelings and emotions that I had from my biological mom and now my grandmother’s death. Everything was building up, and no matter how hard I tried to shut it all down, I was starting to become a danger to myself. Thus, the medication was resumed, and I am on it to date. I am doing… a bit better. I still have my days, but the medication, therapy, and prayer are a huge help to me.

My grandparents gave me the world, and my grandma was my best friend. I did everything just like her. I told her everything, good and bad. Every time the kids did something big, like learning to walk, getting a haircut, losing a tooth, or beginning nursery and then elementary school, I would either drive to her place, which was only five minutes away, or call her. We continued with traditions whether at her condo or mine, with my kids. She had sold the big house a few years after my grandpa died, and I moved. We were always there for Sunday dinners. When I was down at work, when Tim and I would argue, or when I just didn’t feel like myself, I would call her. When she died, I felt like I was floating aimlessly. There was an emptiness in my heart. I felt like I had no one to turn to. Of course, my husband was there for me, but he wasn’t her.

When Tim and I first started seeing each other, we spent a lot of time arguing about the lack of intimacy in our relationship. I didn’t crave it or need it. But I was willing to do anything to make him stay with me, although it was hard to enjoy. Those teenage summer nights kept playing in my head, and I could not make them stop. One time, Tim got up and walked out the door with so much anger in his eyes that I was scared. An hour or two later, he came back, and I made him sit down so I could tell him everything that had happened between my biological mother and I. All the things he didn't know. Why didn’t I tell him before? I think it was because I was scared that he would not be able to handle it. Tim had met my biological mother, and besides the sexual assaults, he knew all there was to know about her, and he still wanted to marry me. So why did I think he wouldn’t stay with me after that? He was there for me and saw all the verbal abuse my biological mother and sisters threw at me, the same sisters that I loved when we moved in together for the first time. They were envious of my marriage and the lifestyle I had, and they were angry that I did not share half of our income with them. They would tell me that, as people who had money, we should just hand over the money without asking questions. And when I didn’t, they called me every name under the sun and wished the worst upon me. But I still wanted to include them in my life as much as I could. Because, deep inside, I STILL wanted to have that mother-daughter, sister-sister moment.

My brothers were in their own worlds. The one that lived with me and my grandparents for a while is incarcerated. Sadly at the age of 12 or 13, he decided he no longer wanted to live with us. Just as me, he wanted to have that mother/son relationship, so he packed up his things and moved out to be with our biological mother. Shortly after, she showed him how much she cared by taking the other 3 siblings and moving while my brother was at school. He came home to an empty house and was there for maybe a month before CPS was contacted. That is when he began to drift around on his own and got into trouble. The other is just floating through life with no aim or direction at all.

When my grandmother died I felt like the only rock I had ever had was pulled out from under me. She was able to do one last act of love for me and that was to hand me the keys to everything. I was her granddaughter, yes, but I was also the trustee of her last will and testament. Putting her last wishes into action. My biological mother did not have a positive response to this. She told me to ignore my grandmother’s will and give everything to her since I am "only" the granddaughter and she is the last living biological. My biological mother and sisters called me one day and said, “You’re just the granddaughter, we should get all of it”. It was an easy battle, with the help of lawyers, judges and good people who had kind souls, the Will was followed. With this, her voice was still heard even after she died. It was not until I told my biological mother that I was not going to give her even a single piece of dirt from my grandmother’s property that I felt the change.

For the first time I was finally able to make myself say the things that I had kept inside for so long. ‘Don't you EVER contact me again. As far as I see it, you do not exist to me, you are no one'. It was a dark yet enlightening moment of cutting off the people who have already slowly cut themselves off from my life. That was the moment I decided to defend my peace and also continue to uphold the memory of the only person who ever gave me belief. This also helped my husband and I get closer. He stood by me and held my hand as I mustard out those words. He has helped me through this journey so much. He has helped fill that void that I needed. His voice, his touch, his silly ways calm me down.

My husband Timothy

My kids don't know about my past and although my oldest is 14, I still think they are all too young to know anything. They do not know who my biological mother is or any of my siblings. To them, my grandmother was my mother; their nana. They were the highlight of her life. She loved them so much they could do no wrong in her eyes. Her and my oldest were best friends. It hurt him to see her go. I gave my daughter my grandmothers first name as her middle name and she acts just like her nana. They used to share this candy called Werther's, it was caramel hard candy. I couldn't stand it. Too sweet. But my daughter and grandmother loved it. Now, my daughter any times she sees the candy in the store she says "oh that's me and nana's candy. Can we buy it". Of course I did, I want to help her keep that memory. They know their cousins, their aunts and uncles, Tim's parents and grandparents. They have so much love around them that they don't need to know anything else. Will I tell them one day, I don't know.

I am still a to myself person and yet I love people. At times, they make me nervous. I also wonder if people can tell when I am being fake or if they can see through me. I impersonate what I think someone else may want me to be or act like. If you met the funny, obscene at times, can be rude but very silly person that I am, you will throw me away. When people come to me with an interest, I always wonder if they have a genuine interest in being my friend or if they even care about me. When these doubts come I tend to pull away to avoid getting hurt. This could have made me to bring an end to good relationships before they even began. But I am trying to change this behavior.

I have a great support system, from family, coworkers, soccer/dance moms and neighbors. I love what I do for work, which is helping people. People who often need help are the ones who want to save the world.

I started this blog as a healing journey for me. I thought that maybe if I get some of these thoughts and feelings out that maybe it can help me. Actually writing this down, forcing myself to remember every detail that I tried so hard to forget brought up some unsettling feelings. I think I've cried 4 times and have taken several breaks just to make it to the end. But by re-reading this over and over for editing purposes, it has made me realized that I'm not as healed as I thought I am....and that is ok. I am just getting started with this blog journey so I can't say if it is helping or not.

So, there you have it! This site is my way of sharing my thoughts, stories, and reflections on this beautiful, messy journey we call life. Don't know if this will take off or just continue to be a platform that I use to heal. What I do know is I am going to have fun doing it.

Thank you for being here and joining me along the way—there’s so much more to come, and I can’t wait to share it all with you!

I know this was long but thanks for staying until the end.

See you in the next blog! XOXO

-Michelle F