“Born into the Storm”

I’ve started and deleted this post more times than I can count. But I promised myself this blog would be real — not polished, not perfect. Just real. So here goes.

I was born into a world already unraveling. By the time I was two years old, both my parents were gone. My mother left. My father left. Just like that.

And from that moment on, I was tossed into the system. Court dates. Legal battles. Papers being shuffled while my childhood disappeared in the background. It didn’t stop until I turned 20 — almost two decades of being a case number instead of a kid.

I grew up constantly feeling like I was on the outside of something — anything.
School wasn’t safe.
Everyone bullied me.
Relentlessly.
For how I looked. For how I dressed. For simply existing in a way they didn’t understand.

I became insecure. Not the kind of insecurity you can cover with a fake smile, but the kind that sinks into your bones and convinces you you're not worth knowing. I didn’t have real friends. I barely had peace.

And the one person I thought was a friend?

They stole from me.
Lied straight to my face.
Made me feel like I was crazy for even questioning it.
That betrayal hit harder than all the others — not because I lost stuff, but because I lost trust. Again.

But I’m still here. I’m writing this. Which means I’ve survived the kind of pain most people never see. And if you’ve read this far, maybe you have too.

I’m not sharing this for pity. I’m not trying to make this blog a sob story.
I’m sharing this because maybe someone out there needs to know they’re not alone.
That the scars you carry don’t make you broken — they make you real.
And maybe, just maybe, they’ll lead you to someone who sees your story and says, “Me too.”

This is just the beginning.
There’s more to come — the healing, the growth, the mess, the moments I’m proud of, and the ones I’d rather forget. I’ll be writing it all. Not for attention. But for connection.

Thanks for reading.
Thanks for being here.