When I was a little little kid, just around the time I started to read, I believed in magic. I didn’t need explanations for things; I just believed.
I sang little songs I made up, all day long. Finger painting was awesome. My toys had a rich life in the sandbox and the corners of my room.
As a teenager, I read a LOT of books and wrote even more poems. I danced for hours to whatever music came on the radio.
Then, by the time I was 19, I dropped out of high school and was essentially homeless (couch hopping). The dream of going to college was gone. I was hungry a lot and self-harmed. Imagination and creativity disappeared as I just tried to survive.
I was date raped just after I turned 18, but for a long, long time I didn’t see that terrible experience as being a turning point in my young life. I told no one, and buried my emotions.
My story is not unique. It seems like a hard luck story, but it’s really not. It’s just a story, and in my work as a sexual assault advocate, I’ve heard lots of stories that sound familiar, met many people who started out as promising children and then got smashed by the realities of their families, who had no coping skills.
Nowadays, people my age tell those stories about their children, and grandparents about their grandchildren. Maybe you have a kid in your life who already seems lost, and you feel deep sadness at the potential that’s wasted.
Maybe you yourself are still that kid who’s lost, struggling to survive.
What if life could be better for you or for your loved ones?
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