Part 1: The Lost Girl & The Labels

How I Forgot Who I Was While Trying to Survive

I was a rebellious teen with my head lost in the clouds.

I turned to alcohol at a young age...at first because it was “fun,” then because it became my “escape,” and eventually, my “medicine” to deal with the depression, anxiety, and every other mental health label doctors decided to slap on me. Labels that made it easier for them to justify their billing codes and convince me that I WAS in fact defective and would need medication to function like a "normal" freaking person in society.

I remember feeling SO freaking sad, lost, and disappointed in myself. All. The. Time.  Fighting my way (literally, at times) just to feel seen.

Seriously… I would physically fight people. Why? Because back then, I thought if I could make people scared of me, they wouldn’t hurt me first. I wanted to be intimidating. I wanted to be unapproachable. But deep down… I was just a hurting little girl who felt completely unlovable. And after the adrenaline from fighting faded? 

I’d sit with the guilt.

Feeling sorry.

Ashamed. 

Because I didn’t really want people to fear me.

I wanted them to love me. 

I wanted to be respected.

I wanted to feel safe. But I didn’t know how to ask for love without armor.  And I didn’t know how to feel safe without a fight.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped loving myself. 

And I genuinely believed everyone else had stopped loving me too. I felt unlovable.

I got pregnant in high school. And I was SO judged. But I couldn’t even blame people for it… because truthfully? I judged me too. I didn’t know how to be human outside of the Catholic beliefs that had been instilled in me from birth. In their eyes, I was clearly a sinner. A broken child. A chick who probably would've qualified for a freaking exorcism.

And now, when I look back at my younger self, it still brings me to tears. I can still feel her pain. Her loneliness. Her shame. And I think that's why I felt so passionately drawn to helping children. I thought by “saving” other kids, I was fulfilling my purpose. But what I’ve realized is this:

The child who I actually needed to save… was me.

Little me.  She still needed to be seen. To be held. To be understood.

For so many years, I looked for someone or something to save me... my parents, therapists, boyfriends, friends, medications, alcohol, education, fancy clothes, shiny cars… you name it.  I was a master of external validation. Outsourcing my worth like a freaking pro.

And all the while, I was slowly chipping away at my authentic self. 

Day by day, year by year. Not even realizing at the time that I was losing more and more of who I truly was. 

My inner, authentic self was fading as I tried to become who the world expected me to be. 

Eventually, I became a shell of the person I was meant to be.

Shaped by society. 

Defined by labels. 

Paralyzed by judgment. 

And ruled by fear.

And what came next would break me open and rebuild me in ways I never saw coming or even thought was possible at time...