Journalism I Facilitator Samaya Ellis (left) holds her sister Ada Manning (right) in their living room in 2010. Ellis grew up watching over her sister and tending to her needs when others weren’t available to. “As the oldest child in my family, I naturally adopted an independent personality in order to help raise my siblings,” Ellis wrote. “I loved providing for my siblings, especially my sister Ada, who needed it most.” Photo courtesy of Samaya Ellis
Journalism I Facilitator Samaya Ellis reflects on her childhood experiences and relationship with her mother.
I became conscious of my mother’s addiction when I was 7-years-old. Through my child’s eyes, I watched my mother, knowing she was not like everyone else’s mother.
But I didn’t know it for certain until another girl came up to me on the playground and told me the answer I had been looking for.
“My mom says your mom is in jail because she does drugs,” she blurted out before returning to her friends.
She stared at me from the playground for a moment afterwards. As if the statement that opened my eyes to the fact that my mother, who I was taught to avoid, was a joke.
My sense of self was ripped away and replaced by a gray cloud; the warmth of ignorance was gone.
But, my mother’s addiction had been challenging long before I realized it dictated my generous and approval-seeking behavior towards others.
My whole life, I fought to find someone I could look up to, someone to hold my hand and prepare me for the walk of life. I found my true path of being a hand for others to hold, the mask melted into my skin, solidifying.
Throughout elementary school, I helped those around me constantly; tying peoples’ shoes, mentoring them though work they didn’t understand, and making everyone feel included. Because of this nurturing quality I possessed, I began receiving compliments from the adults around me.
“You’re so mature, you must have an old soul,” they’d say.
As teachers began noticing me as a leader in classrooms, and the only student that could read audibly, they pulled me out of class to read to kindergarteners.
As a second grader, I would sit in the front of the room, facing the criss-cross-applesauce-seated kindergarteners. My small fingers flipping through the pages and pointing at pictures as I read the lines.
Journalism I Facilitator Samaya Ellis (right), and her sister Ada Manning (left) pose for a picture in their living room in 2012. Ellis and Manning had a close-knit bond and were inseparable from a young age. “My sister and I were always with each other. We would do anything from eating to putting on our shoes together,” Ellis wrote. “I felt more comfortable being by her side, watching over her, and providing her with guidance as her big sister.” Photo courtesy of Samaya Ellis
I did the same with my little sister at home, although I didn’t get the same reciprocity in attention that I would at school. Moments like these helped distract me from the newly discovered gray cloud over me.
As the years passed, I began to grow more ignorant and avoidant of my mother, but the mask of leadership I put on to avoid my true feelings stayed with me.
In middle school, I joined a peer leadership program in which I was a mentor for sixth graders who were shy or struggled in school, becoming a friendly face for them.
In high school, I joined the ODYSSEY Media Group. Working in the program quickly set my assumed identity in stone. I am a facilitator who teaches freshmen the basics of Journalism. I come into class, setting the pace of professionalism within the program.
I flourished within the organization, finding a fiery passion for being seen as someone who was a true leader by heart.
The confirmation of the whispers from those who knew the truth of my mother’s condition had created a bittersweet trait of leadership that I was forced to adopt. I grew to carry this on with me, a trait that defines who I am today at my core.
My whole life, I fought to find someone I could look up to, someone to hold my hand and prepare me for the walk of life. Instead, I found my true path of being a hand for others to hold, the mask melted into my skin, solidifying. I was more prepared to face the walk than I gave myself credit for.
