One thing I know now is that our parents are human. They were never the perfect statues we once imagined them to be. If my life were to be shaped by my own voice it would sound like this: My emotions are not too much. I feel deeply, and I love even deeper. My loyalty…

They say the squeaky wheel gets the oil. In our family, that’s always felt true. There were four of us growing up. Me, the oldest, then my sister, and two younger brothers. We were raised in the same house, yet each of us walked away with such different experiences of childhood. For me, so much…

Growing up, I wore the badge of oldest daughter with pride. Protecting my siblings wasn’t a duty , it was instinct. I can still see my stepdad trying to force feed my youngest brother medicine, my fists clenched in rage, yelling at him to stop. As an adult, I understand my brother needed that medicine.…

My therapist gave me a writing assignment this week: to explore how I see myself through my parents’ eyes, and how that’s shaped me. I’m not trying to write anything perfect. I’m just trying to be honest. I agreed to this because I miss writing, and because there are things I’m ready to stop hurting…

It was the dreaded Friday. The Friday that I’d have to get in the car with my mom and drive to go visit my dad. It wasn’t my dad that I dreaded seeing, it was the way I felt when I was there. I was the poor, dirty little girl that didn’t fit in that…