Healing Part 1


Healing a broken heart.

If after reading the posts I have written about how my life began and why I left the life of being a Stay At Home Mom than you might get a glimpse of a woman with a broken heart. Most people might think that I have moved to Ethiopia permanently. I am sorry to burst your bubble, but I am here just visiting and working on getting my feet back on the ground. This is my story about why I had to heal.

During the summer of 2012 I had hit rock bottom and realize that the life I was living was not for me. I was in an unhealthy marriage that I had hoped would change. Yes I left my husband without anyone seeing it coming. I was tired of being unappreciated and wanted to feel whole again. The only people that could do that… was my family. I had turned my back and moved clear across the country just to try it on my own. I thought his family would help me through the post-military life. What I learned was that if I couldn’t live up to their expectations than I had to fake it. That was exactly what I did for a year and a half. It finally took Independence Day for the mask to finally droop down and reality to race into my life.

I remember my mom and her friends trying passionately to convince me that moving to Arkansas was the worse decision of my life. My son was about a few months shy of his first birthday and I was exhausted from the sudden decision to leave the only community that I knew. I remember the choice stay in Washington or move to Arkansas. I was still shocked with the idea that he lost his job. I should have known better than to choose him over my own needs. Where had he been when I was exhaustedly going to my obstetrician appointments or birthing classes. I wanted to scream, “Don’t tell me you were too busy.” The final straw was telling me that the money we supposedly had was paying for our lifestyle. At that point I was tired, stressed, and too weak to really argue much. Funny thing how that could have been seen as Post Partum from the first year. All the smiling and faking took a toll on me. Those days when I wished I could sleep in and he could help with our son were just a dream that could never come true. I gave my life for my son to feel happy and safe. I smiled and agreed to several things that just made my skin cringe. I began to lose myself and become a robot. I was slowly remembering my mother’s advice. “Molly it is time to take care of your son and you.” Funny that was what my counselor was suggesting when I saw for the emotional stress of pregnancy.

So the nights before my son and I flew out for Washington I saw the final signs of stress and anxiety. I was having dreams that God was telling me that I wouldn’t need to worry anymore. All the fighting and stressing would soon be over. It was if a peaceful feeling overtook my body. Interesting I later found out that my mom felt that whole thing was an eerie scene in my life. G and I had flown out of Arkansas on May 1, 2013. We were ready for a vacation that included reunions of all sorts with our family and close friends. Nobody knew what was about to occur after we arrived.

Now I am a very talkative person. Normally after a two-stop trip with a toddler I would be able to discuss my flight and how I had been lately. Strangely that was not what happened. We arrived when things were dark in town. I was so nervous about our flight that I hardly said a word to anyone. When we arrived in Dallas I was too nervous to miss our next flight so I forwent our normal stop at the airport food court near our terminal. It was not like me at all. So when my mom’s best friend saw us come down the escalator I was reluctantly quiet. I did recognize her and knew right away that my son and I were in a safe place. It must have been strange because my aunt took us to the nearest McDonald’s drive thru and got us our first meal back. My son and I ate silently and immediately fell asleep in the van. I remember holding my breath as we drove through the tunnel near the way away from the airport. “I wish that we were safe and sound.” Went through my mind those few moments. I obviously was not myself at that moment.

I woke up May 4 in a room that I couldn’t recognize. I tried to remember anything from before awakening in this mysterious room. I remember going through a hall that made me think about both my own birth as well as my son’s. The next memory that came to my hazy mind was my back surgery that occurred in the summer of 1992. After that everything went black. Suddenly a strange theory came to me… I was an angel that had fallen from heaven unsure of where she was.

I pushed a button that was connected to an intercom. I remember a voice saying that someone was coming. “What day is it?” I asked confused. “It was May 4th.” Answered the voice through the intercom. Now why would I be here, wherever here was, on my birthday? The mysterious figure told me that I needed my rest and left as strangely as they came. That was exactly what I did fell back asleep not knowing how I came into that strange room in an even stranger place.

It turned out two days after I arrived in Washington my odd activity got stranger. I was telling my mother that God was coming soon and we had to get ready to go. I kept clinging to her because I couldn’t figure out where I was. I just knew that being near my mom was the safest place and my son’s father couldn’t get to me. Yes I was still thinking that he might come after me and take our son away. The really weirdest thing was that all the clothes that I had packed for our trip (our suitcase was very heavy to put into my friend’s car the day we left) suddenly disappeared via transit. This included all the clothes I had packed particularly for my son. That can stress out any parent. With all this weirdness happening my mother had to make a decision. I was voluntarily checked into the nearest hospital for a breakdown.

Now to this day I can’t remember any of these things. I was that stressed out. Apparently they thought I might have had a stroke or some kind of breakdown in my system from the stress and anxiety I had been through the last year or so. I had been taking a whole lot of medication to help me through everything. Eventually they had to take me off some of it just to help me get over my condition. I was eventually diagnosed with PTSD from the stress and anxiety. Talk about scary situation.

While I was in the hospital I spent my time trying to figure how exactly I got there. Did my friends know where I was? Did the rest of my family know? Most importantly where was my son and was he okay? Remember I was afraid of losing him to his father who was shocked I even got full custody of him in the first place. According to my mom and her friend who we stayed with during this time of calamity I was telling them that “S” was coming to get me. He would do anything to take our son away. “If you leave with our son it would be over your dead body.” So I had to deal with a mind that blocked out a lot of events from the past year, a stressed out body, and a fear that nobody could imagine.

The nice thing about the hospital atmosphere was that it was peaceful. The staff made sure that I felt comfortable and at ease. I remember wanting to write so I could at least keep a record of what was happening. The writer in me felt the need to remember things even though the rest of me couldn’t. So with a crayon (because I couldn’t have anything sharp, but I found out if I did better I would be promoted to a pen) I began writing anything I could remember. I wrote down names of my friends, family, and whatever could come to my mind. It is very difficult when you feel like you have amnesia and the thoughts in your head are a bit swirly. When I could communicate with my mom and extended family I would continually ask them what happened to me. It was like waking up from a dream and not knowing who I was. The thing was I was waking up from a traumatic situation and couldn’t remember how I got there in the first place.

Remember how I thought I was an angel dropped out of heaven and not sure how she got on Earth on the first place? Yep that is exactly what went through my mind those few days. I did my therapy (which included various non-painful exercises) and took my medicine which they had adjusted so they could see if it could help with my condition. It wasn’t until we did an exercise for our minds (which had a whole group of us listening to music and trying to guess the artists and song title) that my love for pop music finally emerged. It was as if my mind was waking up from a long nap and I was slowly remembering my first love of listening to music. I had amazed the therapists and other patients guessing a majority of the songs correctly. I even shocked a few people with songs that were older than I was. I had my mom to thank for exposing me to the classics like Peter, Paul and Mary, The Beatles, and a few others that are numerous to list. I was living up to my name “Mahlet” that means melody.

It was soon after that therapy meeting that I discussed with my mom and the doctors about my progress. Not knowing about what had caused me to breakdown I felt like I need to be discharged and began on the next level of healing. They (the doctors) showed me the notes that lead to my going into the hospital in the first place. It was like reading a science fiction novel. I did not sound like myself at all. The thing was I was not sure who I was after the situation.

I was diagnosed with PTSD and suggested to see a therapist and support worker. The scary part was soon after I was discharged the hardest part of my healing was about to begin. I came out a woman who was angry, bitter, and couldn’t trust anyone around me. It was as if my whole life was erased and all I could remember was that I didn’t know whom to trust. I was very skinny and a ghost of my former self. The days of happy go lucky Molly was gone and what was in its place was a very different person all together.



Dedicated to my grandmothers.

I come from a long line of women who wanted to help people who were in more need then them. When I listen to my parents tell stories about how they grew up I wonder if I could ever live up to their standards.

My maternal grandmother raised five children while in an unhealthy relationship with my grandfather. While he fought for his land (going as high as the Supreme Court of the land) she took whatever she had and left him to take care of their children. The second youngest was handicapped and told that no matter what she needed to get an education or else she would end up being a beggar. Her older three children went to school in their local town and when they graduated they worked and sent money home to help their mother take care of their younger siblings. By the time the youngest two got into secondary school their mother had a home of their own and a farm. She was self-sufficient and taught all her children to be the same. She even had enough to help other young people stay in her home and get an education from the local school. My grandmother taught all her children to love God and make a life for themselves and their families. We all love you and miss you Hadda Terfa.

My paternal grandmother raised eleven children. My father was the second from the eldest. She was the kind of woman who was a farmer and humanitarian. Her husband was known for his legal sense. He was also known for being outspoken in his neighborhood. I really don’t know a whole lot about my grandmother when my father was young he was sent to live with a distant relative of his father’s. It was a hard life because the family was a military family. I do know that when my father came home to visit his parents his mother doted on him. She was a pillar of the community that gave food to the poor from her backdoor. I love my grandmother for being a loving person to her family and the community. Rest in peace Akko.


Mahlet S.

Why did I left?


Why I left

By Sara Gamachu

It wasn’t the easiest decision in my life. I left “S” because I felt underappreciated. I remember towards the end of the marriage I asked him why he didn’t compliment me for things I did. His response was why I needed it. The house was getting messy and I wasn’t able to keep up with my work. I had enough strength to keep up with our toddler who was easy and lovable.

Our little “G” was learning the facts of life at an early age. Mommy cleaned and tried to keep things comfortable. Daddy went out to work to take care of things. What “G” also saw was mommy beginning to emotionally shutdown. She wouldn’t argue with daddy. In fact she thought this was life. Daddy made the decisions and she just went with it. That was her job right?

Mommy didn’t know what a normal relationship was until she realized how much she had put up with in her life. She didn’t see the love in daddy’s eyes. She just saw how tired he was. Maybe if daddy had listened to grandma he would have known ahead of time that mommy had more talents than he could ever imagine.

So in a way mommy quit her job as a wife and decided to become mommy again. Even if it meant leaving everything she had put in to start over. The day mommy said goodbye to “G” she was asked by his daddy if she was sure about leaving for this trip. “Yes this is my decision not my parents.” said mommy. She knew that she needed help to find her identity so when she came back to her young “G” he will hopefully understand that mommy needed to be mommy.

Mahlet S.

Would you like Pina Colada?


Just been reading over a note from my best friend. This has been one of my difficult weeks. Our ultilities has been playing games with us. They go on and off than on again. Than I started doing more of my natural supplements. I am up to 3xs a day with St. John’s Wart and 2xs a day with Niacin. I am just trying my best to stay calm and not stress. Thankfully I am being taken seriously about my hormonal imbalance. Thank God I am on birth control. I am thinking I maybe perimenaposal or something like that. I feel bad that I have mood swings or as I like to call them emotional whiplash.

My brother being a sweetheart has been checking on me a few times today. He is my yin to my yang (I think that is the right expression). Although we argue a lot I know he has my back. These days that is exactly what I need. I am going to miss him when he goes back home. My hope is that someday we can meet up on the other side and just talk about movies or something over coffee make mine a mocha and all will be well. Like I tell everyone that comes and goes please don’t forget me. No matter how much I am a brat to him… he is my brother and I am proud of him. Plus I think the next time someone asks if he is the older one… I will happily say “Yep and I am glad.” (with a four year difference I will give him this one).

So for those of you who might wonder the Pina Colada reference I was asking my friend any advice when it comes to the dreaded dandruff issue I am having. Yes all those haircuts are for a reason. As people here like to call it 404 (that is how it is pronounced). I have come to learn that dry season means it is in the hands, head, and feet. Yeah gross I know. So I am going to find me some coconut oil and try out that advice. I might even show a picture of me in a scarf during my bad dry days. Trust me folks it apparently is not pretty.

For those of you who might like a laugh I was ordering a drink with my dad and brother at lunch this week and I thought this drink Malta was an energy drink. Turns out it was a non-alcoholic beer. I think I ended up with a Fanta or some kind of soda. It has been a few weeks since I got off of Prozac due to pharmaceutical issues. Hence the natural way. Lets see what is going to happen in December. Any ideas how I can keep myself occupied?



Sent from Mahlet S.



Not poor nor rich. A true story.

She grew wearing clothes bought from a second hand store. She never really understood the trends like Levi jeans, Gap shirts, or Nordstrom/Macy’s brand. If it was comfortable she would wear it alternate days.

As she got older the fads became louder Reeboks, Nike, and 401 blues. It started with a jean jacket that everyone was wearing. Begging her mom so she could feel included. She learned soon that it wasn’t worth it.

As she grew even older she learned new things like how people saw a person by their appearance. She learned that she could work hard and earn a living. She could buy her own clothes, devices, and appliances.

She never thought she was rich no poor. She was just comfortable with what she had. Somebody once told her since she had attended private school she must have been wealthy. What they didn’t know was she had been on scholarship in order to get an education.

She earned her own way working in customer service. So she learned how to blend into both worlds. She learned new brand names like Sony, Samsung, Chanel, D&G, Toshiba, and Prada. She learned to care for the knockoff versions of the fashion industry. She treasured shopping at Target and Walmart where she could find products at amazingly low prices. She could look stylish at half the price.

Now as she began to start her life over she used the knowledge that she had collected over the years to feel content being neither rich nor poor.

I am the woman in the story.

Sent from Mahlet S.




Tags: dreams, goals, education, creative writing, health, career, ADD

When the whole college idea came to my mind I couldn’t see myself in that scene. After high school I earned a scholarship from the writing department. That was when I thought that maybe I could do this. I let myself dream of being a writer of some sort. Perhaps for a magazine or newspaper.

Then I took a class to be a teacher’s assistant. I wanted to help kids falling through the educational system’s cracks. They needed to know that there was hope for them weather they were special needs or ESL they needed to to know yes they can do it!

Then I realized that I needed money to be able to take classes for my AA degree. I couldn’t see myself with a BA, MA, or PhD. I just wanted an Associate’s Degree so I can get a basic job. I had to lower my expectations so I could rise against my fears and discouragements. I wasn’t mediocre. I was just right. So now as I write my blog, read other people’s blogs, and post my thoughts I live up to my dream of inspiring and motivating people. Maybe I’ll get that AA degree someday.

Sent from Mahlet S.



Talking with people, I felt alive. Okay maybe it was the macchiato talking. I was proud of my brother for sharing his techie skills. I should not be jealous, but happy that he can get answers.

How can people make a difference n other people’s life if they can’t handle their own life? My mom brought up that point that I live a restless life. I want to tell my story or even a story and feel confident about it.

Two things you cannot live without hope and faith. They go hand in hand.




How long did it take for the pain to go away? For the sun to return from a cloudy day? Did you get over the sad feelings when people moved on while you still sat there in your chair?

I literally left everything behind the day I got on the plane. When I wonder what will happen if I return. Where will I go and what to do next? I am afraid of being alone nobody to understand me. The sunshine is gone and all I see are leftover shadows of what was behind me.

That is why I left. Left the only country I grew up in. Find me if you can. Find this beautiful soul that is me. I am waiting to be found. I am waiting for thee.

Here we go….its honesty time.


I just redid my address so I am hoping it will go up this time. Somewhere out there in cyberspace is my last few tries. I will not give up! Okay maybe that was too much gusto, but can you blame a girl for trying. I love the saying if at first you do not succeed try, try again. Well that is exactly what I am doing.

I was reading my new project From Hell to Healing to my mom and she mentioned that I needed to be sequential with my writing. So that one is back to the drawing board. Sorry folks we are going to delay that one ☹ it is okay though with my mom on board I will be able to nip this thing in the bud. Hopefully at least. One thing she mentioned was why I used the word “hell.” For one thing, it will get someone’s attention (that is me talking). Another is pretty much how she describes the lasts 4-5 years of my life. By marrying “S,” I put my family in a position that they have never been in before. They have always advised people to think first before traveling the road of relationship.

What people do not understand is that I have not felt that I was needed or part of a puzzle per say. I hardly belonged and have lived in other people’s shadow. Does anyone out there know what I mean? It is hard enough being a Pastor’s kid… but add living in a bicultural world and well you have a lot to deal with.

Did I mention that I have been reading a book about women’s mid life crisis? Oh my gosh, I felt like this woman was talking to me… Literally! I am not ready for menopause. I am just getting used to being in my 30s. I am literally starting my life over from losing my self-confidence and what little respect I had for myself. I remember how my mother went through the big “M.” I am afraid of going at it alone. I know that I am not exactly the most neatest person in the world. I would rather be in the States where there are washing machines and dryers (not the hang out on the wire kind!). Can I say this rolling electricity thing is getting to be annoying? Sure, it was okay at first… but now if I hear someone say it is going to get better I just might scream. Oh and the water thing. Do not get me started! Okay simplicity is something I can bear. I just might fast from watching TV cause the ads for dishwasher and laundry detergent just makes me homesick. Wow, I just let it rip! When I see what could have happened if my parents had come back to Ethiopia earlier when my brother and I were younger I would not have lasted. I love my family and friends here, but I am sorry there is no way I would let anyone circumcise my woman parts. I am sorry but hell no it is not going to happen. I would rather be an outcast than let anyone near me