I gave birth to three children, all gifted and at least one is an indigo. My kids are now 14, 12 and 3. I also have a 17 year old stepdaughter from my second marriage to hubby Tom.
As a child I hardly ever pleased anyone, least of all my mother, and in my late teens I went through a severe identity crisis almost resulting in suicide.
My outlet from the very beginning has been creative writing and poetry. Even before I knew how to write, I told myself good-night stories and as a kid I always entertained neighborhood kids with my never ending imagination.
I have a small book published, but I intend to be a world known author before I leave this physical body.
When I was 17 I left my home country Germany to be an exchange student in the USA. I never wanted to go back home...
Ultimately in 1984 I married an American and have been a permanent resident ever since.
When I got married for the second time, I wanted to keep my first name for the kids' sake. So the state employee suggested that I attach that name to my middle name with a hyphen. That's why I have 2 initials for my middle name and I like it that way. What's even better: my intials now are HAWK, and I feel like a powerful bird soaring the sky!
All of my life I have felt like a misfit.
My mom hid my existence from as many people as possible for my first two years in this life, because I was an illegitimate child.
At age three I ran away. And I don't mean I teetered off like many toddlers do. No, I was ticked off at my then 17 year old sister, and I ran. I remember running and running and running along a straight country road with miles and miles of green fields.
A group of people on their way from a funeral to a reception picked me up and took me with them. They called the police from the reception. I remember all those tall people, all dressed in black, gooing and gaaing over me showering me with goodies and "Isn't she sooooooo cuuute!"
At the police station, even though I knew my name and address, I refused to give out that information. I did not want to go home!
When my mom finally got me back very late that night, she questioned me with concern about my underwear being on wrong.
According to her I just non-chalantly stated :"Mother, you know police mens have toilets too!"
I preferred to tell and write stories over playing with toys. I entertained all the neighborhood children, who would be for more, while having their ears glued to my lips. I'd be sitting on the swing, talking, while they surrounded me.
My playground was a junk yard. I was a tomboy sabotaging my mother's endless attempts to turn me into "a little lady".
I wanted to catch tad poles, climb trees and jump over fences to steal other people's apples and pears right from their trees.
On one of such occasions I broke a piece out of my elbow. Three times the doctor had to make a cast for my arm, because I kept breaking it...
When I had just turned five, my mother, by then single (she threw my dad out, when I was four), had a job as a chamber maid in a hotel on a small island. for the summer.
One Sunday morning, as she was taking a bath, I slipped out and joined some kids, who were climbing onto a shed. There was a window that was boarded over on the roof. We decided to see, who could break it. I won. However, it turned out that the boards were just card board. I fell through, but managed to catch myself, holding my body in midair, while we were waiting for help. My mom showed up in not much more than shorts and a bra...
I could have easily gotten killed, the broken glass slashed my leg so badly, that I was in the hospital for three weeks. It was a miracle that I was able to hold myself up high enough not to slash my throat as well. I probably would have broken all my bones as well, had I hit the ground! So the only doctor available was a guy, who had already had one too many beers, when we got to the operating table...
He decided to give me local anesthetic only. My mother leaned over me to spare me the sight of the blood. I amazed both of them not only with my calmness, but also with my fascinated narration about what was going on. Finally they realized that I was able to watch everything in the silver trim of the ceiling light! When I left the hospital, the doctor informed my mother that I had been making sexual advances at him...
Later that year my mother was evicted from an apartment, because I bit the landlady's son. He must have done something pretty bad! He was twice my age and I jumped on his back and left teeth marks through his sweater!
My sister reports that my mom spoon-fed me until I was at least four, because my table manners were atrocious. I have a photograph, on which I am about 4 in a baby crib with a harness on. "Mom tied you to the bed, because you never stayed in..." my sister explained.
Before I had ever heard the words reincarnation and wicca, I was convinced that I had existed before as a witch and was burned at a stake. I constantly tried to wake up my lost powers.
As a teenager I fluctuated between different social circles, trying to find where I fit in.
I even left the country for a year. I never wanted to go back home, but had to.
One thing remained constant through all these years: even when I was fairly popular with a hip crowd, kids, who were left out, because they were ugly or poor or stupid, they could always count on me for being a friend.
In my early twenties I hit rock bottom. Identity problems threw me into a severe manic depressive phase that lasted about five years with three suicide attempts.
I also fell prey to a physically abusive man. Somehow I managed to slowly, but steadily recover. I left the abusive man only to marry another abusive man.
But I was growing stronger. I discovered my spirituality, found a non-denominational church that promoted a lot of my beliefs and left room for accepting added beliefs of my own.
Then at 35 I was diagnosed with AD/HD. A lot of stuff from my past made painful sense to me.
I got divorced and remarried. I hyphenated my first married name onto my middle name for my kids' sake, but also because my new initials spell HAWK. A bird of Prey with sharp eyes soaring in the sky! I love my initials!!!
I relit my passion for writing. Met many new people on the Internet. One of them read one of my articles on my spirituality and excitedly wrote "You are, what I call a Christian Pagan!" I really liked that!
Then I came across the words "Indigos". Was I ever drawn like a magnet to that! I read the description of Indigos.
I am finally home...
Love and Light and Laughter
ADULT INDIGOS INDEX
BACK TO MAIN INDIGO INDEX
© 1998-2017 Wendy Chapman