Guest Blog: Lorrie Jean Jones
Let me start by thanking you for taking the time to stop by.
Let me introduce myself. My name is Lorrie Jean Jones, author of The Pawn: The Curse Becomes the Blessing.
I am the oldest of five girls growing up. Although two of my younger siblings grew up elsewhere for a few years—we all remain a close-net circle of sisterly love with an unbreakable bond. I believe this is the direct result of our separation as children. Our motto: We are family.
We are Family
My biological father left my mother when she was pregnant with my younger sister, and I was under a year old. As a result of financial hardships due to the lack of child support, we grew up on government assistance and lived in Bay Area Projects. Let’s just say that I truly understand the meaning of “It takes a village to raise a child,” but also, at the same time, I learned the value of community and looking out for one another.
We moved around a lot, especially after my dangerous stepfather arrived on the scene, which turned our world upside down, inside out, and caved unexpectedly at a whim. I’m sure you get the picture. His unwanted presence spun our lives into a dark abyss filled with an array of twisted thinking, morbid and unusual punishment, fear of the unknown, and living in constant terror.
In a nutshell, I describe my childhood experiences as surviving the “Sybil Syndrome.”
The takeaway here is that not having these experiences growing up, I would have nothing to compare to the abundantly excellent and blessed life I have today.
Grew Up Fast
I grew up fast, was exposed to unusual circumstances, and sustained a distorted viewpoint of the world and everyone in it. I started acting out as an adolescent, angry, rebellious and was introduced to the Juvenile Justice System reasonably early on after stealing my mother’s car at 14.
I left home at the age of 16 and thought I could handle life on my own, so I quit school, moved in with my boyfriend, and considered getting pregnant as a much better option for me at the time. Honestly, I would do anything to get away from living under my mother’s roof and abiding by her rules.
Long story short, I made many bad choices in my youth: destructive relationships, addictions, self-loathing, carrying on the generational dysfunction, mental illness, suicidal ideation, on & on. I remained in victim mode for years, STUCK with no hope or future, just guilt-ridden forever, or so I thought.
Just how my life was invaded by the dark side of humanity early on, God would intervene and show me His light and change my life forever later on. No, I didn’t change overnight, but I was well on my way after my inability to shake a spiritual experience that I could no longer deny. I tried!
After a long battle with drug addiction, I got clean in 2000. I went back to school and became a Substance Abuse Counselor working with pregnant addicts to make a difference in the lives of other hurting women and give back to society in a redemptive type of way. I did that for eight years after getting laid off due to budget cuts from the Governor, but I managed to slide into another county position a couple of months later.
I maintained my government employment which I was extremely grateful for. I got my AA degree, which took me seven years to achieve, juggling single parenthood, a full-time job, and every type of barrier imaginable. The beauty of the struggle is my children witnessed their mother walk across the stage and achieve this milestone at the age of 47.
The important lesson is to “never give up” and always go after your dreams.
I am convinced that all my children have taken the educational route, some slower than others but on track to achieving their dreams—forever changing the trajectory of our generational choices. What a concept—they’re watching, and I get to witness an excellent example of
“What was done early on can be undone later.”
Now, I get to watch!
20-YEAR WRITING JOURNEY
I initially wrote for the wrong reasons. Round one, “Surviving Hell,” was written from the vindictive spirit to expose the wickedness from my perpetrators to the world and shame them for the evil deeds. Well, my house burnt down in 1996, and everything went up in flames, including the book. I suppose that was not the message that God intended for me to share. Go figure!
Round two, “The Voice of the Weeping Willow,” oozed the victim mentality—pity-party parade, a self-serving version without resolution or purpose. Bottom