Never Too Late to Stand Up to Your Parents — You Just Might Learn Something About Yourself

Continuing on about why I had stopped blogging for so long…my parents.

I tend to go on and on and give too many details but I’ll try my best to get to the point. Ha-ha. Yea, right. So, (I’m really trying to find a good place to start here bc I have too much on them also. lol) we had moved from San Diego to North California, to Texas and back to San Diego. Why we moved back to San Diego? That’s another desperate housewife story that I have saved for another blog. Oh geesh. Ok, so, we bought an rv and we were staying on my parents driveway. (I feel I have to say all this because as my blogs continue, you can tie everything together later on.) I had told my husband we couldn’t move close to my family but for reasons I just will not know, we ended up right on their driveway where we lived for three years. Well, one year was in the house with them and two years in our fifthwheel on their driveway. I hated it.

In the beginning I tried to make the best of it because I very much wanted to be back in California. As the years went by though, the past hurt I carried for many years, inflicted by my parents, just dragged me down. There is so much to say but for now I’ll just speak of what was going on after May/June 2017 that kept me from blogging.

When my parents began meddling, judging and criticizing me about the decisions I was making as a mother, I just allowed all the resentment I had been carrying for over twenty years to consume me and I began getting depressed. I gained about thirty pounds and lost motivation for writing. I knew I had to get out of there or I was going to die. Seriously. That is how I felt. The days went by so desperately slow. I felt every morning I was just looking forward to the end of the day, the end of the week, the end of the month, the end of the year. There had to be good things coming. I just knew I couldn’t stay there. At the same time, it had been an ideal situation while my youngest, Benjamin, went through his screaming phase. Where else could we have gone? He was wild and defiant and screaming like a crazy kid. Another convenience was that my parents would help me some with the kids. Just having them around served as a distraction for my middle son while most of my energy and attention was going on Benjamin. My parents also helped me deal with a serious situation my oldest got himself into (save for another blog).

Every time I wanted to leave, I had reasons to stay and reasons for feeling gratitude also. It was a double edged sword. I was grateful for so many things but also resentful. I decided to use this time to confront my parents and get all this hurt out. OH BOY. OH BOY. It was a war zone at times. When I wasn’t confronting my mother about something, I was confronting my father. After we yelled and cried and hugged, then I’d be fighting with my husband. It was as if everyone wanted a turn. It was a difficult time bc I still had to stay focused on my kids and make sure they weren’t around during the explosions. I won’t go into details for now.

When my mother had her accident, things really began to change. As awful as it was, it was also the best thing that ever happened for our relationship. She couldn’t walk for three months and needed help for almost everything, at first. It was during this time that she just became a different person.

Every morning Benjamin and I went inside the house and had our breakfast. Benjamin spent time with her and then he’d go on his own to play. I loved mornings. My mother and I really bonded. She couldn’t walk away and needed my help. It was perfect. As bad as it might sound, I loved these months. Did I say I loved these three months?

I asked my mother a gazillion questions and got to know much about my father’s side of the family and some of her own side. She was hesitant on giving me too much info on her side of the family and I still wonder why the secrecy. I have come to my own conclusions. To wrap this up, I just would like to say how important I believe it is to know your parents. I mean really know them. By knowing them a little better, I got to fill in the blanks of my own story. Well, not all the blanks but the most important — like the ones which were holding me back.

I do love my parents, very much. I wish we could all live together but I realize that we cannot. Not right now at least and maybe not ever — though I am hopeful that we can live close. We wound up back in Texas for now (for another blog) and I gotta say I am enjoying the peacefulness from living in the country. I think all the fighting is done with and now I can concentrate on the other side of myself. I have lots of catching up to do!

That’s it for today. Tomorrow I’ll share yet another reason why I stopped blogging. YES. There’s more! ;D

One Day Older and Wiser

Today I’m one day old.

It’s amazing how much learning one can experience in a day. Yesterday, I was just born…I came from a place with loud sounds and vibrations…I could hear my mother’s heart beat alongside with mine…her muffled voice is now a vague memory…breathing, communicating…I can’t remember how I did these but I did them.

Now, in this life I chose to join, sounds have a different beauty. I’ve learned to listen to these because in this life I’m now in, they have different meanings. These eyes have learned to see so much already. I also have learned to choose what I see. My heart was just a heart in my other life but now, is it part of how I feel? No–It isn’t…it is still just a heart. Today, I learned I can choose to believe that.

In my short time in this new life of mine, I learned I can choose to feel however I want. Though, there was a moment when I had forgotten I had that power.  I even forgot why I wanted to be here in the first place…but only eight or nine hours after I was born, it all came back to me. I am here because I wanted to be BRAVE…I wanted to HELP OTHERS…to UNDERSTAND…I am also here to LOVE.

I am here because I heard tomorrow would come…and like the rock star that it is, I am excited to see it for myself…because if I gained all this wisdom in a day, imagine with what eyes I will see tomorrow?

—-Emma G Prince  ©




(Yesterday I turned 45 but there was only a “3” candle. LOL. I can live with that.)

A Special Gift on Mother’s Day

My middle son gave me a special gift on Mother’s Day. All my boys are sweet, but this year, it was Everett’s turn to make me cry and boy…he got me good.

A few months ago I had told him how much I loved DR Seuss’ book Oh The Places You’ll Go! I had never known of such book until I had to read it in front of my son’s classroom last year. I barely got through the book but as soon as I walked out of the classroom, I couldn’t stop crying. It just had so much meaning to me, to my life at that moment.

I was forty-three or maybe I had already turned forty-four but I had just been going through so much in my life. It’s weird to think how different I am now from who I was last year. I was just waiting for earth’s gravity to squash me…pretty much.

But I hold Dr Seuss’ book close to my heart. It is so dead on. Watching those children in my son’s classroom that day, it just filled me with sadness knowing that each and every one of them would go through dark roads…and that some roads are only wide enough for one. I think of all my dark days and how many times I felt so alone. I wonder who these children will think of when these trying times grow near? God? Their angels? Their parents, family, a role model?…God, I pray whoever is their caretaker adds the tools they’ll be looking for so desperately when the time is needed.

I’m forty-four now, soon to be forty-five. I’ve been through clear roads, scary roads and hopeful roads. I’ve been alone at times and with company at others. I can definitely say that I am still learning so much, every day. Today, I am less afraid, less sad…because I’ve faced many of my fears and demons but I’ve had help. There is ALWAYS help.

I realize now I am a spirit…having a human experience…that I have a home, in another place…but that I CHOSE to come here for a reason…a reason my children and strangers help me remember every now and then. That reason is simple…to spread LOVE so that this planet can heal. Slowly, I am beginning to realize Dr Seuss was very right…

“And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)”




Past Lives

(Sorry if I jump around too much. It was four in the morning when I began typing this and was still sleepy. lol  But I knew if I didn’t do it then, I wouldn’t do it. I might fix it later.)

When I was a little girl, maybe around kinder or first grade, my mom tells me I used to tell her about my mother, Manuela.

“Yes…don’t you remember her? You two were friends!”

My mom says at times I’d give her chills with some of the things I said. LOL

I do remember something about me having a sister–who pinched me and wore glasses. Oh and that we had a little dog…white poodle or something like that.

Then, in my young adult years, I began having dreams that I had been a man, a very good-looking, young man; and I had messed around with many women. These women were so attracted to me, they’d do anything for me. They were so gullible and I took advantage and broke many hearts. I took it as a weird dream but wondered what it meant.

When I was a teen, about thirteen, my mother would tell me what an awful feeling she felt when I was born. She said as soon as she saw me she thought, “Oh NO! It’s HER! NO! NO! NO! Please! NOT HER!” And she felt an awful feeling in her gut, as if someone had punched or kicked her. At thirteen, this hurt my feelings. I mean, COME ON! But then, I had always felt my mother didn’t love me and I figured it was just her being mean to me, again.

As an adult, I grew tired of her telling me the same story…about how awful it was once she saw I was a girl…once she recognized me and I was HER. I couldn’t believe she’d tell me this. So, for a long time, I dealt with depression. I felt unloved by my parents but mostly by my mother. It was a pain so deep, I sometimes didn’t know how I was going to make it in this life. I figured, “what was the point of living if I didn’t have my mother’s love?” My depression went on for so many years…maybe thirty years because I felt it since I was a child.

I tried to kill myself twice. They were clumsy attempts really. The first time I was about ten and the second, a young teen—but my parents never knew. Around my mid twenties, I ended up seeing psychologists and psychiatrists, and little by little, I met amazing people who helped me grow strong, mentally.

It was weird because although my mother and I did not get along and she always made me feel like I was the “other woman”, we did come together at times…these were the best of times. She did teach me about God and kinder things. We connected when we talked about books, reading, spirituality, a loving God, hypnotherapy, past lives, regression…She was always reading a book and she’d share it with me.

I began getting interested in my spirituality and read many books she recommended, like Dr Brian Weiss, and others I came across on my own—but I’ve felt I’ve been searching for answers as to why she has pushed me away.

To cut this short, it wasn’t until earlier this year, once I made up my mind that I didn’t care if my mother loved me or not—and I recognized I was loved by many other important people in my life—that I came across a friend of the family who helped me figure all this out.

She used Spiritual Response Therapy. At first, I was skeptical and a bit scared. I wasn’t sure what to think but it ended up providing me with the answer I’ve been searching.

But first, let me jump around some more…in the past, I also had dreamt a shocking dream and woke up thinking, “I was the other woman!” In my dream, my mom and dad were not related to me but they were an item. I was a frivolous woman and had an affair with my father, her man. The woman, my mother, never forgave me. It makes sense because in this life, I have felt a deep respect with my fellow females and I have been careful about not making them feel I’m a threat. I’ve never been about taking someone’s man, competing for a man or anything like that.

So, back to this family friend. She came back with a surprising story but it made sense to me. She said she only went back so much but that my mom and I had been an “item”. She had been very cruel with me and emotionally, mentally abusive, to the point that I killed myself in despair. She told me that was why I suffered from depression in this life.

It took a couple of days for me to put together all the clues. I summed it all up: When I was a man, I broke a woman’s heart. She finally met her match in another life but I took him from her—he and I had an affair. We met again romantically, this time her, the woman and me, the man— but she had not forgiven me…and emotionally abused me and manipulated me so much that I took my own life.

In this life, I am now her daughter. That’s why she recognized me at birth. That’s why she had thought “NO! NOT HER!” That’s why she was jealous of my relationship with my father and made me feel like I was THE OTHER WOMAN. That’s why she told me once to take care of my own husband and to leave hers alone—I used to think my mother just had a sick mind. That’s why she was doing it all over again in this life, being emotionally and mentally abusive towards me. That’s why I felt depressed and wanted to kill myself…again…because no matter what I had done to show her I was sorry, she hadn’t forgiven me…and I hadn’t forgiven myself.

In this life, as her daughter, her opportunity to forgive me is evident. She had me inside of her, I was a product of my father and her. I came into this world from her womb. She’s had to bathe me, clothe me, feed me, clean me, watch me, soothe me…yes…SHE’S HAD TO LOVE ME. Growing up I sensed her mixed feelings of love and hate towards me.

As for me, in this life as her daughter, being female I had to feel what other women I hurt have felt. More importantly, I had the ultimate test and opportunity…an opportunity to realize that I had to FORGIVE MYSELF…that it didn’t even matter if my own mother, who is supposed to symbolize love and life, didn’t forgive me. I rejoice because I first forgave myself because I knew God loved me and his love was much, much greater. Knowing His love was what saved my life and what has brought me to this conclusion.

Finally, I approached my mother with all this information. I figured I’d give it one last try and asked her to be open minded. After all, I knew she believed in past lives. I ended up telling her everything I knew and apologized one last time.

“Mom, if I have hurt you in a past life or in this one, I am sincerely sorry.” I meant it with all my heart. She didn’t comment about what I had just told her. She just listened and I could tell her brain was absorbing it. But she did say, “Me too. I’m sorry if I have hurt you in a past life or in this one.”

That was good for me. In this life, her as my mother and I as her daughter, we’ve had to love one another no matter what our past has been. As a daughter, I’ve had to respect her and as a woman, I’ve had to understand her. And her, as my mother, she’s had to care for me and forgive me and as a woman, she’s had to empathize with me.



Autistic Love of Mine

I said I would share how this journey has been for our household and I’m finally finding the time to sit down and share with you all about it.

My Benjamin was born with a perfect pink little body. Three pushes and out he came. I was forty when I had him and stayed healthy. My doctor had me walking a strict line that when I told him I ate a cookie, he scolded me and made me blush.

Benjamin was beautiful. I counted his fingers and toes and listened to him breath…perfect. I was tired after giving birth and when he cried I did get frustrated at times…going on very little sleep; it takes its toll on the mind and bring you to a delirious state of exhaustion. Nevertheless, I was determined to be a better mom; especially since he was my last baby for this lifetime.

Crawling, walking— all came fine. I never noticed anything wrong. It wasn’t until he was two years old and he began trying to speak. He began making loud noises and then full out screaming. He’d scream and scream for no reason— it seemed to me. At first I didn’t know how to respond. I thought it was just as all toddlers begin to do but his was just louder.

At three I noticed more of a defiance character and I thought I should be quick to correct it. Putting him in time out was challenging and often drove my blood pressure through the roof. People were telling me I needed to spank him and for one who believed in no spanking, I finally caved in and I spanked him… only to have him scream louder and get more frustrated. It was a nightmare.


We couldn’t go anywhere…restaurants, malls, visiting friends, etc. We had our house in TX but moved to San Diego and were staying with my parents for a while. But when we bought a fifth wheel and parked it in my parents’ driveway, we just moved in it so that his screams wouldn’t torment everybody else inside the house.

My son Everett, my middle child, had won a prestigious award in fifth grade…only very few got this award and only one in his grade level. It was a president’s award and I missed the ceremony. My Benjamin threw a fit just as I was trying to get him ready. It was a tantrum full of loud screams and kicks. All I could do to keep myself from beating him out of frustration was to let my knees hit the floor and sob. I had so many pity parties for myself during that time.

People couldn’t believe I missed the ceremony and when I’d explain about my Benjamin, they looked at me in disbelief. Parties, birthdays, events, we could never go. I lost friends and soon people stopped inviting us. In a way it was a relief because it was stressful to always say no as well.

I’m giving a fast version of the events ofcourse, since I’m not planning on writing a book about it…at least not yet. But it wasn’t until one day, when I had just had it. I was tired of being unhappy and not knowing how to show my son any love. I had always been a fun mom with my other two boys and I felt like a failure here with my very last one. My face dragged to the floor, my hair was beginning to turn white, I gained so much weight from being depressed and not going anywhere public anymore. My blood pressure was bad and I woke up with my eyes blood shot on several days. I began praying for answers and I wasn’t getting any. My husband worked and when he got home he wanted no responsibility whatsoever with the boys, especially none with Benjamin. My marriage was deteriorating…I was full of resentment. Pity party.


Why was I doing this all alone? Why was I failing at the one thing I wanted to succeed in the most in life?

All the psychology I knew was out the window. All the Child psychology, Child Development courses I had taken meant nothing because I had no CONTROL of my son.

I collapsed on the step of my fifth wheel, inside by the bedroom. I cried and cried and buried my face in my hands and cried—exhausted.

“I’m trying Benjamin…I’m really trying…”

Just then, I looked up and I see Benjamin walking towards me, he’s stopped crying too and is no longer screaming. He touched my face and wiped a tear away…with so much tenderness, so much empathy. How could this three year old possibly understand me? I looked in his eyes…I mean deep in his core…as if he was allowing me to do so…he could not talk…all he could do was make noise and in his stare I saw what he told me.

“You are too…huh? Benjamin?…you are also trying— huh?”

Instantly, our worlds changed from that day forward. I don’t know how it was possible but we understood each other. It was as if we were lifted in a space bubble, both sharing this moment and in it, God gave us the opportunity to find comprehension. Autistic son with his mother and Crazed mother with her son.

Once I comprehended that he was trying…a lot harder than I was…my approach changed. I mean, after all, he had only been in this earth for three years and I had been here for forty three now and still feeling sorry for myself? I realized I was his mother for a reason and I brought him here so that I would just love him. I was the one who had to adapt.

We chose to choose our battles from now on. I opted to having more kisses and hugs and fun and tell him how much I loved him than getting angry because he won’t get his shoes on…or because he doesn’t want to wear a jacket. We began to compromise and I started trusting him more with things and letting him have responsibilities.

It’s been great. I try to get him to sleep early so he can be feeling good in the morning. Before he goes to bed I kiss him and tell him I love him. I smile often and model behavior. If I tell him not to scream, I can’t be loosing my temper either. If I’m upset at something, I tell myself to count to ten and breathe in and out and say, “Calm down Emma…breathe.” I know he’s watching. Seldom do I give him a time out anymore but if I do and if he cries and throws a fit, I tell him he’s off time out when he is calm and stops screaming. As soon as I hear he has stopped and is calm, I call him over and with a stern voice, I tell him I didn’t like the behavior but that I love him and then, with a stern/sweet voice (I’ve mastered it), I tell him to give me a hug and I kiss him and tell him I love him. It make his day and mine and we are all good again.

It’s been working out for us. If he thinks I’m upset at him, he quickly searches my eyes and I make sure I communicate love for I know that is how he sees me, through my eyes.

I love my Benjamin so much. I love him for who he is and what he’s come to teach me. My life is so much more free. I don’t care if friends are gone right now, they’ll just have to understand. He’s my priority and I am so grateful. I even stopped working just to share these moments with my son. I was scared that he’d be off to school and I wouldn’t know him but now I know him and we have bonded like no one would have ever imagined.

Benjamin is now in a Special Ed class-prek and is doing fabulous. He goes part time, leaving me a few hours to continue with my writing and my blog. When the bus picks him up, he loves going in the bus and thinks he’s such a big boy. My mom, my dad, my eldest and myself walk out to the front of the house and excitedly wave him off and send him with blessings. He is always in a good mood for school. When he returns, my mom, my dad, his father and his middle brother, we all stand outside to greet him and ask him about his day even if he doesn’t answer. He comes home happy and hungry for dinner.

Sometimes he doesn’t like what I’ve set up in the dinner table for him to eat and he’ll push the plate away. We’re working on what to do when that happens. Also, his vocabulary has expanded and he doesn’t scream like before.

Well, this is us in a nutshell. I wouldn’t advise anybody anything because I know every child is different. All I can say is that we found something that works for us and we’re loving life. ❤ He’s got so much love at home that I don’t care who is ok with him or not. He’s got his family who accepts him and supports him and we’re all working together now to make his existence a spectacular one.

Tomorrow we are traveling eight hours to go to a friend’s baby shower. There will be many other kids there too. I think he’s going to do great but we’ll see. Either way, I’ve got a Plan B and Plan C. LOL. I’ll post on here about our trip on Monday, hopefully. Stop by and see how our weekend went! =)



Will and Testament

Yesterday was a lovely morning. My mom and I were bonding like we haven’t bonded in a long time. We were talking about books (one of our favorite topics) and I shared with her my next book. This time, she sounded supportive. I almost stopped several times since there were several interruptions, and expecting her to let me; but she reminded me to continue.

You see, my mom and I haven’t been the best of friends. We’ve always had animosity towards one another. There was even a time I could tell you I felt hate. Even towards my father.

There are so many mixed feelings about the experiences I’ve had with them in this life. My husband says I obsess about it but I call it something else. You see, I’m also a mathematician, a psychologist, a teacher, a counselor, a problem solver. I need to solve problems. I have to. That is what I do. People come to me to help them solve theirs but no one is as dedicated to solving their problems as much as I have been to solve my own. After all, that is how I fought and won my battle with depression.

After my wonderful morning with my mother, my father comes and reminds my mother they have somewhere to be in the next hour. I usually don’t ask them where they’re going, but this time, for the sake of keeping the conversation with my mother going, I ask. My mom tells me they’ve got an appointment with a lawyer.

“A lawyer?” I ask.

“Yes, for the will.”

I don’t dare ask anything else. At the same time, I’m fearing I possibly heard wrong. My expression is expressionless, unresponsive. I even feel guilty for not responding but I just don’t dare.

Two reasons: One, I’ve been accused of being a person of monetary interests by my mother. (That really hurt but the child who will always reside in me is willing to forgive her; for this morning she’s been kind.) Second, I don’t want to face the destiny that awaits us all.

Though I’ve had issues with my parents, I need them both, still. I feel an urgency to solve this puzzle. My time is limited and I must solve it before they pass on. I don’t want to live without them in an abyss of misery with unanswered questions.

In the afternoon, I hear again where they were. I finally gather the courage. I have to know, and I ask, “Lawyer for what?” My mother affirms my fears—to write their will and testament.

I wanted to cry but I didn’t. How do you react to that? Do you joke about it and ask for her book collection? Do you weep and fall to your knees and possibly make them feel worse about how close they are to moving to the next unknown? Again, I looked down, fearing my puzzled expression would show. I said nothing.


Little Spiderman Shirt

So, today I was cleaning and sorting and moving furniture around when I came across a small Spiderman shirt.


Little Spiderman shirt

Immediately, I began feeling things I wouldn’t know how to describe. My heart squeezed and a lump went in my throat, it was my son’s shirt from about twenty years ago.

There’s much I regret. I once, for many years, claimed I never would regret a thing, for all I would regret has made me into the woman I am today—but I have a different thought today. I carefully took the shirt out from it’s place, as if it was from the days of Egyptian Pharaohs, afraid the fabric would disintegrate, and I held it up to breathe it all in. I smelled the still soft fabric as it felt cool to the touch, and in some ways delicate; it smelled fresh as if it was just washed yesterday.

The feeling, the coolness, the softness, the freshness, it all took me way back, some twenty years ago. I very much remember that shirt. My eldest was only three and a half or four at the time, and I must have been twenty four—the age he is today. As I type this here I am getting choked up. Tears are running down my face and I tell myself it is just a memory and why does it cause me sadness or pain? Well, I clearly answer myself back saying there are things I will never quite understand. The twin in me challenges to try. So, I take on the challenge.

I think about the pain I’m feeling. I’m attempting to reflect upon it as if I was there now, twenty years ago. He’s come home, my son, so happy and proud, excited to show me what he has done at school. I am smiling, I adore this little boy. I hug him and tell him how cool I think it is. He wears it for days and days. He one day outgrows it so I put it away for him, for safekeeping so that one day he may show it to his children.

This little boy grows up and is now a man. I am left feeling regret. “What regret?” I ask myself.  I wish I wouldn’t have been so messed up in my twenties. I wish I wouldn’t have had my stupid depression, which did nothing for nobody. Such a waste of time. I’m sitting here feeling angry, rebellious—because that depression came from my parents. I wish I would have taken him more places like the crater in Arizona, the great Redwoods and Yosemite. I wish we would have gone to see the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Mount Rushmore, Mall of America, etc. I think back on how I believed he was so special. Such a sweet boy with so much potential. I think of all the things we could have done, the places we could have explored, but it’s all useless because I do remember playing with him lots, reading and talking and joking and laughing; kissing and hugs. It finally dawns on me—the answer to how I could have made this little boy’s life so much better—I wish I could have loved myself.

I realize that is where I went wrong and hence, my pain. I wish I would have loved myself so much that it would have poured on to him like a silk blanket. I wish I would have known love and introduced it to him. The only love I knew was that which I felt for him, but I’ve been so ignorant for the love he’s always needed was the one I couldn’t give to myself. That’s the kind of love which would have made him believe in whom he is to become.