- I have matured into a loving and compassionate adult, in spite of childhood abuse from my infancy to teenage years –Yeah Shirley!
- I received academic recognition in high school, receiving the honor of Magna Cum Laude as well as the music and business awards, graduating at the age of 16 – Yeah Shirley!
- I have overcome many of the shadow sides of myself by recognizing dysfunctional behaviors and through effort and persistent action changed it – Yeah Shirley!
- I married in 1981 – a blessing to have a kind, loving and loyal husband…a great friend who has stood by my side for over 30 years– Yeah Shirley!
- I have completed the Dale Carnegie Course in 1987 and was elected president of the class – Yeah Shirley!
- I have taken classes, attended lectures, read many many books, listen to countless CD’s and over the years absorbed knowledge that has guided me on my spiritual journey – Yeah Shirley!
- I Am a part of RCB Industries, Inc., a very successful telecommunications company that was established almost 30 years – Yeah, Yeah, Yeah to all of us!
- I am diligently working on my inner journey, my relationship with God and all of life, making great strides; being forever thankful for the insight, the discernment, the friendships and the support along the way – Yeah Shirley!
I AM LOVING MY LIFE!!!
Y E S T E R D A Y S
I want to forget my yesterdays
erase my past forever,
so all my tomorrows will be
pleasant yesterdays.
and yes,
My yesterdays are becoming more pleasant. This is the most exciting and uplifting time of my life. Here it is, 1986, but as I review my life, 44 earth years, I can remember some traumatic, sad, lonely and frightening experiences.
My thoughts travel back to a very young age of three, the year was 1945. I was no longer living with my parents, for reasons still unclear, and Holy Family Home Orphanage became my refuge, my home for the next four years. I had many difficult periods during my stay there. Even though very young, my memory was vividly etched with unpleasant experiences, and my body the recipient of much abuse and pain. Being a Catholic institution, discipline was very stern, regardless of the age of the child.
I was a bed-wetter and for punishment, I would be placed in a bathtub of ice cold water and then made to wash and rinse the urine smell from my body and bed sheets, which would leave my tender little hands raw and blistered, as wringing them out by hand was very difficult, if not impossible for my small frame of three.
Dining was conducted in a huge room, and, of course, proper manners and “cleaning up your plate” were mandatory. If not, you were removed from the room and deprived of food for the remainder of the day. Well, I went hungry many many times.
We attended Mass every morning at 7:00 a.m. And again, posture, no leaning back on the pew was strictly enforced. I can remember so many times how I would become so tired (being four or five at the time) and rest my little be-hind against the pew. Then the consequences. . .a late night rendezvous at a child-size table and chair in the corridor outside the dormitory, with only the light from the “Exit” sign above the door to glow. I can still see the red Exit sign (it reminds me of the glow in the windows in a “red light district”), and how dark it was and how lonely I would be through those long nights. Many times, or all the time, I would fall asleep with my little head in my arms on the table, only to be awakened by a nun hollering, “you are not to sleep – stay awake!” I don’t know the circumstances but in the summer of 1948 (I was then just 6 years old), my brother, who was also in the orphanage in the Boys Division and 2 years my senior, were taken to Ann Arbor, Michigan to become a ward of the State of Michigan. The orphanage was located in Marquette in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and I still remember crossing Lake Michigan in a big boat, the beginning of many many homes yet to be experienced in my life.
We stayed at the Michigan Children’s Institute until the fall of that year, awaiting adoption by a family who wanted to love and care for two desperate children. I remember the first time ever being with this new found family. I was excited and scared at the same time. I remember turning a light switch on and off, asking what it was. The members of the family were stunned that I had never seen a light switch, let alone a radio or television, although televisions were not a standard appliance in the home during that time.
As the days passed it became more difficult for me to conform to family living as you must remember, after four years of institutional structure, family life was foreign.
I must tell you that this family, at the time of taking my brother and me (for a trial period before adoption) did not want me. They did not want a girl, just a boy but the Institute would not separate us at that time in my life. My brother was all I had. We were extremely close and the Institute told this family that “they stay together.”
Well, as I was saying, this family did not want me so as their love for my brother grew, their dissatisfaction for me also grew, and was demonstrated through actions of deprivation of friends, confinement, putting a harness on me and chaining me to the fence in the backyard for the day with only the household pet, Duchess, a black cocker-spaniel as my companion, which eventually was poisoned and that sent me into great depths of despair; physically beating me because I was still a bed-wetter; all night rendezvous’ if I didn’t understand my schoolwork, physically beating me because I would bite my fingernails but the most severe case of abuse from this family happened at the age of 11.
My brother and I had gone to the movies this particular Sunday afternoon and since it was wintertime, we had called for a ride home. While we were waiting to be picked up, being kids as we were, we played ‘rough-neck’ and as I huddled in the corner of the ticket booth, my brother yanked me by the collar and pulled me out so he could get warm. When he did this, he tore my “Sunday coat.” I was very frightened so when I got home I quietly hung the coat in the front vestibule closet and went on about my day. We had special Sunday clothes, play clothes and school clothes that the “mother” of the family was very very adamant about us taking care of our clothes.
The next day, Monday, off to school I went, returning home for lunch as school was only two blocks away, along with my brother. Well, the greeting was frightful. I’ll never forget it. She, the mother, immediately was speaking in a very strong, loud and harsh voice, demanding to know “how my Sunday coat got ripped.” Without any thought, I said, “Bob did it” and explained the story. Well, my brother Bob denied it. Now remember, this was a “Catholic foster home” so if anything you said “on your Catholic honor” it meant you were absolutely telling the truth. Immediately I said, “no, he’s lying,” and when she asked my brother Bob, “on your Catholic honor did you tear Shirley’s coat” and he said he didn’t, I was the accused. I was beaten “for lying” for the better part of the afternoon. As she would pound my head on the plaster wall of the bedroom, she would say to me, “tell the truth,” and tell me you’re lying,” (she put a 2” hole in the wall with my head and beat me until I was unconscious) but I wouldn’t give in. . .I was innocent. . .I didn’t do it. I don’t know what deep sense of honesty lay within my soul for such a young child but I wouldn’t give in. . .I couldn’t.
My social worker made monthly visits, but for fear of more of the same type of beatings, I refrained from telling her about all the abuse; the beatings, the being chained the basement and locked in closets; the deprivation of meals and burns on my body if I didn’t respond to the questions in the manner that was expected. No, I remained silent.
Well, a child of 11 doesn’t realize that there are ways to see and know things besides actually “hearing the story.” My case worker did some investigating through the neighbors and the school and was astounded and appalled when she found out I was being treated in such an inhumane manner.
She would always take me to Sander’s Ice Cream Parlor in hopes of breaking my shell and getting me to talk, and I would always get my favorite treat, a hot fudge cream puff. It took many many months before I was able to talk to her, even though she would say, “Shirley darling, I know about all the bad things that are happening to you, if you would just please talk to me, we will take you away from here,” but I was so frightened and scared, I always remained mute. Then my case worker came to visit again, in fact, it was the day following a severe beating and I finally broke down and told her what had been happening over the last couple of years. I was removed from that household shortly thereafter. It was now June 1952, for what was the beginning of another traumatic-filled epoch in my life.
As I neared my “new” home, I remembered the feeling of apprehension. What will it be like here? Will they love me? Will I life here very long? It was customary procedure to use the surname of the family in which you were living and I had been Shirley Steele for the last four years. In my mind I was Shirley Steele, yet I knew I was really no longer Shirley Steele. . .but Shirley who?
The day was beautiful and the beginning of summer brought children out to play. Again I was 11, moving toward adolescence. We arrived and my social worker introduced me and all the necessary exchanges were made and she was gone. The mother of the house, who preferred me to call her Marie, told me to go ahead on outside and meet some of the kids on the block. So vividly, as though it were yesterday, I remember standing in front of the house and was approached by a young girl. “Hi, my name is Lana Murray, what’s your name?” I panicked with fear. . .I didn’t know my name. I said, uh, uh, my name is Shirley, Shirley. . .I didn’t know my new name. I didn’t know my name was now Shirley Robinson, only to carry this name for two months, as my stay in this home was not welcomed by Mr. Robinson. He did not want me. Another rejection. Another move for me.
Off I went again. For the next year I lived in numerous foster homes and attended a dozen different schools. Adjustment was unbearable, acceptance next to nothing. Each home brought a new “mother” and each home brought out more rebellion from me. I would cry and scream, “you’re not my mother.” Oh, how I prayed for my own mother. How could She have forsaken me?” How could she have left me to fight for survival against the world so big and cold, so unloving, uncompassionate and filled with such cruel people? I resented her, along with these people who would say they wanted me and open their home and say “come in” and shortly thereafter tell me “we don’t want you. You’re too much trouble.” Nobody cared about my traumas, my uprootedness, my longing to be loved and to belong to “someone.” I was building a shell around me. . .a shell against the world of many hurts.
It was now 1954. The Michigan Children’s Institute no longer knowing how to handle me, and after extensive psychiatry study came to some realizations. They must find a part of my family. . .otherwise, reform school seemed to be the only answer. Through this testing it was determined that I had a “mother hatred”–not accepting any woman who represented the maternal expression in my life. They were also very amazed at my ability to maintain a straight A scholastic record, even though placement in 12 schools had occurred the previous year. What to do! What to do!
Through lots of searching and many dead-ends, they located an uncle (my real mother’s brother) and his wife, living in the same metropolitan area as I had since becoming a ward of the State of Michigan. After extensive communication on the part of the Institute and my “real relatives” it was determined that this was where I would live. Here is where I would remain. . .with a family “to call my own.” Of course, I was informed by my social worker that if I did not conform and remain in this household until I attained the legal age when they released me from their custody, I would, in fact be placed in a reform school.
I thought my problems were all behind me, only to realize as time passed that I had just scratched the surface of “not belonging,” of “not being wanted.” Here I was again, my uncle wanting me for I was a blood relative, a daughter of a sister whom he grew up with, a close and loving relationship they exchanged and my aunt, who didn’t want me. She went along with “the program” because my uncle had the final word in their household. Pain, oh I wish it would go away. I was now 12, a freshman in high school. Advanced for my age on an intellectual level, under-developed on the emotional level, not understanding the rejection by others, just feeling it intensely.
I knew this was the end of the road. I had to stay here for I had already experienced life in an institution, the orphanage, and I couldn’t go to reform school. I hated it with my relatives. It was a completely different living environment. My aunt was “Hitler” in the flesh in the body of a woman. I hated her. I was afraid of her. She demanded oh so much from me. I had to perform, what else could I do. . .reform school lingered in my mind.
I had the responsibility of all the household chores from doing the laundry (not an automatic washer either) in the basement, carrying the heavy wet clothes up four flights of stairs to the attic to hang them to dry; the cooking, the ironing, the cleaning (and it better be done right, otherwise I had to do it all over) to maintaining an all “A” report card in school. School became my refuge. I excelled. I was not allowed to have friends. . .schoolwork and housework were my only companions.
Then, when I was 13 and a sophomore in high school, the opportunity to join the orchestra and string class presented itself. I so desperately wanted to learn to play the violin for as a child in my first foster home I had asked their real daughter on one particular occasion as she was practicing if I could hold her violin. Without any thought she said, “no and don’t ever ask again.” I remember setting a goal: one day I will play the violin. Well, here was my opportunity and I loved it. My violin and music became my “escape” from the outside world. It allowed me to feel beauty and express myself without words – without a “person” to reject me or hurt me.
As life continued on, my uncle began “drinking” which he evidently had conquered for many many years. This subjected me to sexual abuse before I reached puberty. My mind was confused –another adjustment or reform school. Many times when my aunt was at work (she worked afternoons and midnights) he would drink himself into a stupor and return home. Then it would happen. This continued for two years and many times there were bruises on my body and I would lie to my aunt. I didn’t know what to do. It seemed like reform school was to be my final home. I couldn’t handle it anymore. Finally in a fit of hysteria after an episode of abuse I told him I didn’t care if I went to reform school, I would tell the next time it happened. I was frightened and exhausted but I didn’t care. I would tell and deal with the consequences.
The storm calmed. It never happened again. Not having to deal with that anymore was a blessing, although I still had my performance of “perfection” to maintain for my aunt, she demanded it.
I was now 15, a senior in high school. Soon it would be over – just one more year. I turned 16 in March and graduated in June. Yeah, I was proud of my accomplishments in school. I graduated Magna Cum Laude and the youngest graduate of 500 students. I received an outstanding award for attendance. I graduated with the Business Award and my most accomplished effort of all – the Music Award. Yes, I held my first violin when I was 13 and worked long and hard for this award. I started out in the 4th chair of the 2nd violin section, working my way up to the 1st chair, 1st violin section. I was proud and I loved my music. I soloed the Christmas before graduation, playing “Ave Maria” by Bach-Gounod. My soul played this fine instrument, my heart felt its music. I was connected with a vibration I never wanted to lose. . .a peacefulness.
After graduation, just barely 16, off to college for two years. I was becoming an adult, approaching the time when I could make the decisions and not have to “answer” to anyone, so I thought. I moved out of my aunt and uncle’s home after a disagreement on the attire I was to wear to college. I would make those decisions from that day forward.
Free at last! Free from the dictatorships of others, only to be hurled into the world of a much larger scale. Scared, alone, frightened and sad, off I went to meet my life. . .come what may I knew I could handle it – it couldn’t get any worse than what I had already been through.
Well, surprise, surprise. It got much worse before it got better. I didn’t keep in contact with my aunt and uncle for they were but a memory etched in my mind – hopefully to be forgotten.
It is now 1960. College is behind me. I attended modeling school and enjoyed it and was now living at the YWCA. Again, alone, frightened, sad and a sense of “not belonging” enveloped me. It was time to find employment. Difficult times lay ahead – either I was “too young” that of 18, or we can’t hire you without experience. It didn’t matter that I could take shorthand at 160 wpm and type accurately at 90 wpm. So what, big deal. Attitudes, attitudes were building. . .the chip on my shoulder grew.
Well, my social life blossomed. I was dating a man much greater my senior and at last someone cared. Someone saw me. . .young, wild (that is, anxious to experience life), a risk-taker, energetic and full of love – just waiting for a receiver. We dated for well over a year, enjoying each other; roller skating, water skiing, snow skiing, tennis, fine dining, dancing. What more could a girl ask for. Well, marriage soon was proposed and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t become imprisoned again – not just yet. I had only been experiencing life for such a short time. Frustration set it. I wanted to be with him. I enjoyed everything with him. Tension built and finally the relationship dissolved because I needed to be free. . .to breathe on my own and face many more trials. Here I was again, alone, frightened, just wanting to be loved and accepted and “fit in” somewhere.
It is now 1962 and finally, after working temporarily for Kelly Girl Services I was hired as a full-time employee. I had a job. I could meet my obligations. Yeah! I accepted the position with apprehensiveness for I felt “something” in the office environment but didn’t know just what it was.
It was January 1962, when I started working and by summer I was once again socially involved. This time. a married man. I knew this was unethical (Do unto others as you would have them do unto you) but it wasn’t unethical in my mind. I loved this man. He loved me. He helped me through some very stressful days that laid ahead. He helped me to release many harbored and angry feelings. He helped me to break a thick layer of my shell “against the world of many hurts.” How could this be wrong? I grew to hate the weekends, for I was alone. The Holidays, too! I always loved the spirit of the Holidays – just hated the aloneness. I stayed in this relationship for seven years. Faithful to him until the last year. I finally understood why I sought a married man. Why wouldn’t I. After all, my history dictated that I didn’t have any lasting relationships in my life (family in particular – the orphanage, the many many foster homes, not having friendships growing up) and so deep within my psyche I developed the understanding that I didn’t deserve anyone to love and commit to me. Amazing what we store in our subconscious through repetitive conditioning and experiences.
It was October, 1968, the Detroit Tigers won the World Series. It was time for me, when after an automobile accident (caused by a person who ran a red light) I noticed a lump on my left breast. I went to the doctor. Observations were made and it was now January 1969. I was admitted into the hospital. No family. Few friends. Surgery was determined necessary. On February 27, 1969, I underwent an extreme radical mastectomy at the age of 26. Another traumatic event in my life that changed the course of my history – another adjustment. The aftermath was a difficult uphill climb. Alone, frightened and scared.
Again, the feeling of rejection was intense. I went through it alone – the story of my life. Alone. I dealt with it, what else could I do. The physical pain was excruciating. My left arm was a vegetable. I couldn’t use it – I’m left handed – panic. A wonderful staff member of the hospital took an interest in me and saw to it that I received government aid until I was able to once again fight the elements of existence alone. I left the hospital in April – 7 weeks. I wanted out. I was able to stay with an older lady and her two nieces for I couldn’t make it on my own. I put all my energies into overcoming this physical “temporary” handicap. I had to be self-supporting. I had to be free. A month had passed and I was feeling somewhat better. I had to find a part time job. I had to contribute – laziness was not a part of my character. So off I went. I found a job. Tending bar for a friend and her husband 3 days a week. At least it would buy my personal needs, for the State was funding me to cover my general living expenses. I felt degraded, working in a bar for I had held a position in the business world and the bar scene brought back unpleasant memories, but at the same time I was thankful. I was able to do something. My arm was getting stronger. I went to physical therapy three times a week and in a couple of months that was discontinued. I endured the pain to overcome the weakness and strengthen my arm and chest muscles. I still tired easily. My days off I slept, replenishing my expended energy for work the next day.
I was feeling “so what’s this all for” – I would find out. I would have to know beforehand, occurrences that would take place in my life. I would never experience such unknowings again. Here I was, my left breast removed, 66 stitches on my chest where they did skin-grafting, barely able to use my left arm with any kind of coordination, unable to return to my profession and was not informed of what to expect after surgery. I would know from now on. . . my quest was just now beginning.
It is now mid-May, life is breaking through the earth, the trees are budding. . .it’s a new beginning. . .and that it was. I met the man I would marry. Another wonderful person. Even though I’ve had trials and hardships in my life, I was still blessed for here he was, gentle, kind and loving. He loved me, he loved my spirit, my fight for life, and 16 months later we were married. It was June 1970. We moved into our home but the little girl, that I sheltered “against the world of many hurts,” had to come with me. Before my surgery I met her. She was 10. Her mother died when she was 7. Her father drank heavily and left her with her aunt; the lady I lived with after my surgery. I loved her as though she were me. She was alone, scared and frightened. I knew the feeling so well; I had to help. My husband really didn’t want her (deja vu) but I wouldn’t give in – she had to come too. . .and so she did. We remained married for six years and even though our marriage did dissolve, I was blessed with a very good man. It’s just that we “out-grew” each other, or something like that and we were divorced in 1976. We are still good friends and we met each others needs during this relationship and gave each other the space to grow.
The next two years I was “on my own” again. I was granted the home as my vibrations were so strongly felt. I also had 2 dogs and 4 cats and they too needed a home. Life for the next two years was quite enlightening. I spent a lot of time with my “Mom.” Yes, can you believe it. I met a lady’ a “fortune-teller” as it was called then, in 1973 and remained a part of her life until her death in 1983. This was a whole new world to me. The world of the metaphysics. I thirsted for knowledge. I read books and more books, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. Helping everyone I could. Opening my home for the wayward, many times a victim of hurt, for I didn’t realize that struggles are sometimes necessary for everyone’s growth. I just wanted to help everyone, for I knew the pain of life and I didn’t want anyone else to have to feel that pain. So, I subjected myself to many experiences, many hurts, many rejections – – trying to live the Golden Rule. I don’t regret anything in my life, for it has made me who I am today and as the Bible says, “When the way gets rough it gives your patience a chance to grow.” JAM1:2-4. I love who I am for I am a child of God, and the metaphysical philosophy was implemented in my life and my prayers of thanksgiving.
It is now summer of 1978. I was working as an executive secretary for a large organization. I was making ends meet and thankful for so many many blessings in my life. Then one day the young mail girl became a part of my life. I’m not sure what words, if any, were exchanged but it was time. A time for another new beginning. This young girl was in awe of my metaphysical gifts. She talked about me frequently to her older brother, and being raised in the “born-again” Christian faith, and also a very close sibling, found it necessary to find out who this “Shirley” was and make sure his sister was not in any danger.
Our lives have never been separate since the meeting of Rick Brown on August 15, 1978. In fact, I am now Mrs. Rick Brown and am loving life more and more every day. Rick is the first, the very first person who really took the time to find out who I was, what I stood for, and gave me the freedom to be myself. He has helped me overcome so many childhood hurts that I thought were handled so long ago. We are prospering. We live in tune with the Creator and therefore, are very blessed. We have now been married almost 5 years and are in business for ourselves. The young mail girl Barbara, Rick’s sister, my sister-in-law is a part of the trinity of RCB Industries. I love her dearly and she too reaps from the Universe.
My aunt, the one I hated, is now a very very special part of my life. I am so thankful that I had the guidance and direction from God to take the time to understand her, for it was lack of understanding in my childhood that caused her to do the things she did. She loves me, she always did love me. She just didn’t know how to express it and that is why today I am a beacon of God’s Light, I am a spiritual magnet; I am spiritually attuned and strive to help my fellowman to attain peace, love and understanding of their fellowman.
I am blessed and thankful for all the wonderful vibrations that surround me and for the strength I have been given to endure my past.
It is now late December 1987, and the year is coming to a close and yes. . .my yesterdays are fading memories and my tomorrows are becoming pleasant yesterdays. The NOW is the time.
We have now been in business for four years and that “young girl of 10” is also working with us for a few hours a day while her 2 children are in school. We have reached our goal of $250,000.00 this year. Our goal for 1988, our 5th year in business will be $340,000 to make our first million. . .that is, $1,000,000.00 in our first five years in business. What an accomplishment. Rick has worked hard in directing this endeavor and I have helped in my area of expertise. Of course, without our wonderful and dedicated employees it couldn’t have happened.
Now down to the nitty-gritty. 1987 was a year of deep introspection. I realized so many things and tapped my deepest resources to overcome childhood weaknesses and heal the emotional scars of years gone by. Many emotional upheavals took place this past year and the only blessing from them was knowing that “it would never happen again” – – I understood why, and therefore gained the wisdom. Yes, through understanding comes wisdom. I am still working hard to unleash some fears and make it over the hurdles but I will. . .that I know. It has been a very trying year, but with all of this behind me I can look back and say I made it. . But it was through FORGIVENESS that I created these realities in my life. This is one of my lessons to learn, forgiveness, and it is a wonderful feeling to let go. I didn’t realize what an entrapment I had placed myself in by blaming others for many many hurts in my life. It is through these experiences I chose to grow and become Christ-like and therefore, I had to forgive – -”and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” I am truly blessed for having the awareness to know and therefore, to be.
Twenty plus years have passed. We are still in business and the four pillars are still here (Rick, Barb, Phyllis and me.) So many experiences, with many challenges, many memories, many losses, many triumphs, many lessons learned and so so many blessings.
It is now 2011. Yes, amazing how time is so fleeting. I am still learning to love myself which is easier said than done. Although I must say, my internal critic is taking more vacations. I love my life. Especially my husband Rick, my best friend, for I wouldn’t have healed so many of yesterdays hurts without his love, his support, his patience and his understanding. Rick’s presence and His Presence in my life have been a divine gift.
I am truly blessed
and yes,
my tomorrows are becoming pleasant yesterdays.
Shirley Sheone Brown (I love, love, love my name) <3