Pilot House—A Sanctuary for Adolescents

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Seeing Goodness in All Things: That's the God within Us

From an early age, I understood that the fear and despair that was so prevalent in my physical world would not inform the person I came here to be. Today, I am aware that my mother was not the person she came here to be but was merely a character in my play so that I could learn some of the greatest lessons in life, such as humility, appreciation, respect, and perseverance.

As I see the world through the eyes of God, I understand the greatness of my life's journey, and I appreciate the parents that I was given. To see the world through the eyes of God is to see the goodness in all things.

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I was born to a mother who had schizophrenia and a father who was an alcoholic. He was absent all of my life. Due to the severity of my mom's mental illness, my maternal grandparents and my two aunts played a large role in helping my mom raise my siblings and me.

When I was about two years old, I knew that I was my mother's teacher and her guardian. I also knew that our relationship was unlike her relationship with my siblings. When I talked with her, I could feel that she listened as though God and the loving universe was speaking directly to her. I knew she felt safe with me, as though I understood who she was. Early on, it became apparent to my three siblings and me, as well as to the rest of my family, that my mom was mentally ill.

The stress of raising four children without a husband rapidly progressed my mother's schizophrenia. During that time, my extended family, namely my grandparents and aunts, played a large role in helping my siblings and me live normal lives. We attended grade school in Kansas City, Missouri, and were able to participate in song and dance lessons.

My siblings and I became known around our community as the "Holland Four". We performed locally and even had the opportunity to travel to Joplin, Missouri, to help the town celebrate their one-hundredth year anniversary. Our shows were inspiring. Our audiences loved our music and our energy as a family. We would sing and dance and my youngest brother, Rick, would play the drums and the guitar. We also had a pianist accompany our songs. My eldest brother, Mickey, was a singing sensation. His talent was world class and always stole the show. A career in music or show business appeared inevitable for him!

When we performed, it brought magic to our lives and love and fun to our family. Music was our playground! Mental illness had no place during our performances. Our spirits were free. This was a glimpse of what was possible when talent and desire were given a chance. We performed for about five years until my grandfather was suddenly and tragically killed. He was our performance manager; without him, our shows abruptly ended.

Crime increased in our neighborhood during the late 1960s. One night, several years before my siblings and I began to perform musically, my mom was physically assaulted outside of our apartment building. We moved to a more upscale neighborhood, and it seemed as though we had moved from Harlem to Hollywood. We moved from a two-bedroom apartment to a three-bedroom house with a large yard and neighbors who would eventually become some of my closest friends.

After we moved, my mother's illness worsened. She also suffered from asthma. Unfortunately, her asthma was as severe as her schizophrenia. Many times, I lived with the fear that my mom would suffocate. I think this scared me more than any act of physical violence that I witnessed. As a toddler, physical and emotional violence became a common occurrence in our home and in our lives.

My mother would have violent episodes. She would put her fist through glass windows, drive our family car through my grandparents' garage door, slam doors repeatedly, and scream at the top of her lungs over the phone to my grandmother. She would hit my sister, and occasionally my brothers, but she never hit me. I often found myself in the middle of the physical violence, trying to protect my siblings as well as my mother. It was a lot to handle for a child.

Often, I found myself wanting to be hit so I could feel like one of my siblings, so they wouldn't think that I was siding with my mom. I wasn't. It's just that my mom could feel the love in me. Somehow, that protected me from her violence and allowed me to communicate with her—something that was not available to others in my family. Often, I would be asked to talk with my mother when she was distressed in an effort to calm her down and bring normalcy to our home. This continued as I grew into adulthood.

My mother's illness continued to worsen. There were times when I would find her standing in front of a window, staring for days, weeks, and months on end. She had totally disconnected from life, her family, and her children. My grandparents became our parents during that time.

One night, when I was about seven or eight, my mom was taken by ambulance to a psychiatric hospital. Those were some of her worst days. In an effort to help her daughter and four grandchildren, my grandmother would frequently have my mom admitted to a local hospital for psychiatric care. During those times, my grandmother would provide nursing care for my siblings and me. It was a time of great stress. Later, I learned that this was when my personality fragmented as a means of self-protection. This is also known as Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)—more about that later.

When I was thirteen, my mom decided to move our family home again. It was a time when my siblings and I had no sense of normalcy. My mom's schizophrenia prevented her from performing any motherly duties—cooking, cleaning, or keeping a home. My sister and I moved with my mom, and my brothers decided to live with my grandmother. Eventually, my eldest brother enlisted in the military. A close family friend provided a loving home for my other brother.

This was the beginning of the separation of the family I knew. The following year, my sister moved in with my grandmother, and when my mom was unable to maintain our new home, she had me move in with my grandmother too. Several weeks later, I came home from school to discover that my mom had vanished. This was a turning point in my life.

Following my mom's disappearance, I struggled to stay alive because living with my...