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Alone in the Dark, Volume II Part I: When Chaos Became Normal

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I spent much of my life wondering why I was ever brought into this realm. If we choose to come here, what would have possessed me to make that choice, knowing what I was up against? Why these parents? Why these people I once called family? Why a life that felt like a detriment to me emotionally in more ways than I can count? Before I knew what depression was, I experienced it. Before I knew family could hate you, I was hated. Before I knew emotional scars could last decades, I was already feeling their ache. I had no terminology. No psychology language. No understanding that what I was experiencing had a name, that other people dealt with it too, and that some of them did not make it out. When I eventually found that out, it scared me. It almost broke me. But we’ll talk about that later. What I knew then was this: I have never been protected. I have never felt psychologically safe. Even with people around me, I have been alone ninety percent of my life. Life felt like one hit after ano...
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The Roots We Don’t Talk About

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There’s a mother of seven who often comes across my timeline. I don’t engage with her content. It isn’t what I seek out, and I’m not the type to leave harsh comments or critique strangers online. When something doesn’t resonate, I scroll quickly, so the algorithm learns and moves on. But her content kept returning. Eventually, I paused on a video of her cleaning. In it, she spoke about the condition of her home and attributed it to raising seven children. The word condition made me stop. So I looked more deeply, not to judge but to understand. What I noticed was that the conditions she referenced weren’t occasional. They were frequent. And while I immediately saw a lack of structure, I also knew that wasn’t the real conversation. The real concern wasn’t the home. It was the foundation. Because the foundation we lay today is the one our children build on tomorrow. As I continued observing, I learned she was a teen mom. That added context. My first thought was that perhaps she was grow...
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If Nothing Were Holding Me Back, I Would…

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If nothing were holding me back, I would… The sentence feels simple. Almost harmless. But when I sit with it, I notice how quickly my mind tries to interrupt. How fast it wants to qualify, soften, explain, or protect me from my own honesty. Be realistic. That’s not practical. You can’t just do that. And that’s when I realize something is holding me back. Not always fear. Sometimes responsibility. Sometimes loyalty. Sometimes, old versions of myself that learned to survive before they learned to expand. When I first asked myself this question, my answer didn’t arrive fully formed. It came in fragments. Images. Sensations. A tightness in my chest. A pull toward something unnamed. And that felt important. Because this question isn’t about immediate action. It’s about permission. Permission to name desire without consequence. Permission to imagine without commitment. Permission to speak what has been waiting quietly beneath logic. So before you rush to answer, pause. Take a breath. Noti...
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