Generational Curses; We All Experience Them!

Let me share a true story with you all that I recently gotten clarity on which has helped my perspective to be changed about the event. Now I must fore mention what I am about to share is very personal and transparent about my life. It is not easy to share some of my darkest secrets that some will judge and shame me for, but a part of my purpose in life is to help others be free. And due to the calling on my life to share my story for others to see what hope looks like, I am willing to die so that others can not only live but thrive.
When I was twelve years old, I was sitting on a step with a boy who liked me, and I liked him too. Our families were close, and we were sitting outside on the steps waiting for our parents to leave a family event. My mother and grandmother exited the house and stood on the stoop above where we were seated and talking. Now let’s think about this, I was twelve, so I am sure our conversation was much ado about nothing. I think he tried to sneak a kiss, but the adults showed up. My grandmother was unhappy that I was sitting on the steps with a boy and sternly told me to get in the car. As I was getting up to go to the car, I overheard her say something to my mother that confused and deeply hurt me. I hear my grandmother say, “She is fresh, fast, and boy crazy. She is going to be the first one of your daughters to get pregnant.” I cannot recall if my mother said anything to refute that statement, but I would say no if I had to guess. She was just as scared of my grandmother as us children. I did not understand what she said and why she would say anything like that about me. Did I think boys were cute? Sure I did? But the getting pregnant statement was confusing me. I knew about sex a little, but I was not thinking about it. The truth be told, I was still playing with baby dolls and creating pretend people out of my mother’s nail polish and perfume bottles. And even in my confusion, I knew it was not a compliment she was giving me, and therefore it hurt my feelings.
Fast forward four years, and now I am sixteen years old and can have boyfriends. I am also at an age where sex is on my mind, and I am open to exploring what it is all about. I did not have a mother who sat me down and talked to me about becoming sexually active; she would say, “I do not want you to have sex, but if you do, please let me know, and I will take you to the doctors for birth control.” Of course, when it came to the first time I had sex, I did not tell my mother. My first consented sexual experience was not magical, and it did not take very long. I remember wondering what all the hype was over sex. I did not think about it afterwards and did not feel much happened. Some weeks later, I would discover quite a bit happened; I was pregnant!
I remember my mother asking me if my period had come on. It was not until she asked that question did it dawn on me that it had not. I did not know she checked trash cans around my time a month to see any evidence of a monthly visit from “Aunt Flo.” (Aunt Flo is a reference to a woman’s menstrual cycle.) She began to ask me had I had sex, and I had to confess that I did. She immediately took me for a pregnancy test at her doctor, and it confirmed my worst nightmare. I was horrified at the thought of having a baby at sixteen. I did not want to experience labor and delivery nor give up my freedom. My mother asked me if I wanted to have the baby, place the baby up for adoption or abort the baby. She made it clear that she would support me with whatever decision I made, but I had to make it. I chose abortion because of my fears but consciously because of what my grandmother said about me when I was twelve. I had a mindset that I was not going to prove her right. And I wish I could say that was the only time I made that decision, but I made it two more times after that.
The focus of my story is not about the abortions I had; it is about what I learned about that generational curse my grandmother spoke over me when I was twelve. I am also not saying I had the worst grandmother in the world. The truth is my grandmother played a significant role in helping my mother meet our basic and practical needs. She loved her grandchildren with the love that was afforded to her. She did not know any better in many ways because no one who came before her had decided to do better and change the legacy.
Recently, I had a counseling check-in with my pastor. Three months ago, my husband suddenly died from a heart attack, and it shook my world and turned it upside down. My pastor does occasional check-ins to see how I am doing. He is a true shepherd. In our two-hour session, we talked about many things related to my journey, and I shared my memory about my grandmother. He began to help me process through the whole statement because I was and have been fixated only on the pregnancy part of her words. After some time, he helped me understand that my grandmother had placed a generational curse over me, which has had a continual hold over my life forty-four years.
I was so focused on the pregnancy part that I did not realize how damaging the words fresh, fast, and boy crazy were and that those words were the curse bestowed on me. The pregnancy part was the consequences of the labels. He asked me several times if I thought my grandmother was right about me, and I said no each time. But at twelve years old, I was too immature and afraid of my grandmother to argue otherwise. Those words caused me to live my life out as if they were true of me. Somewhere in the subconscious believing there was something wrong with me. I spent my life editing myself according to the room I was in, not wanting to come off as fresh, fast, or boy crazy. I would even feel I was wrong for liking boys at a young age. I worked hard at trying not to be perceived as fast or fresh. Until this day, I try to blend in with the walls if I am in a room full of men. I never want anyone to confuse my natural outgoing personality with being attracted to them. I am constantly evaluating myself on how I am behaving. Am I laughing too much, am I spending too much time talking to these gentlemen, and am I acting appropriately where everyone in the room understands my intentions. I am learning more about myself each day, and I am moving towards healing.
The reason why I felt led to share this story is so others can experience clarity and healing. I am not the only one who has received generational curses upon my life. We all have. If you were told you were bad, dumb, stupid, ugly, fat, worth nothing, and cry baby, to name a few, then you have been cursed. We become accustomed to being described by these adjectives to the point they become a part of our normalcy and acceptance. We make light of them at the moment, even when they hurt our feelings. When you are a child, you can feel powerless against those in authority over you, so you be quiet. The ripple effect of that can manifest in adulthood by creating a narrative that you are not hurt by the words and continue to say nothing. I want to encourage everyone who reads this story to reflect upon what was said to you and be honest about how they made you feel. Look for positive words to speak over your life. At first, you may have to say them several times throughout the day for weeks or months before they become the norm; but do not stop saying them! Do not be afraid to correct anyone speaking negative things about you. Teach people how to treat you. And most importantly, make it a point from this day forward not to speak curses over others!