Dissatisfied, looking unbothered
Smiles on the outside
With holding information.
Why waste my breath on explaining?
I’m learning to vent through
Poetry and music.
That’s the best way to
Get to know me,
I’m even getting to know myself.
As I sit back and think
Of my impatient past, with
Social anxiety. Had to basically
Learn how to live without the use of
Opiates, I was constantly sedated
For year’s. Knew I had to quit.
Then eventually went cold turkey,
I could probably say Marijuana
Helped me. I’ve attempted to quit
Multiple times go 3 to 5 days
Going through a sickness. Withdrawals
Are no joke when it comes to this.
So I used Marijuana to help
With my appetite and insomnia.
& alleviate my anxiety,
I’ve tried prescriptions
For it but I lost weight &
My appetite. So I let those go to.
To me it wasn’t worth it,
I have even come to a hatred
For pills in general.
Broke some bones after being
Clean. I’ve denied any pain meds
I couldn’t handle the thought of me
Out here hurting inside like that
Again. For years I’ve hidden it
But then eventually people see
And it’s not hidden.
Trying to hide the rattling sounds
Of a prescription,
Went and seen a shrink
Asking questions about how
I feel and think. I did this voluntarily,
In search for answers!
Then went off into
The abyss, as my biological body
Has adapted to certain things
Creating new proteins.
Another moment that turned
Out scary and exciting.
Development of knowledge
As I start to become it.
Now I’m reflecting it,
This is just my story, my
Experience, my testament.
They say we’re all the same
But what works for me
Could be different for other’s.
In my opinion from my
New found perception.
This is just part of my Development
We’re all out here with different views,
Different struggles, different battles.
In every culture in every religion
What it really comes down
To is the belief system.
Integrated with information
Like a genetic memory.
The DNA within,
Conflicting as it’s constantly changing.
Influenced with intuition,
Brings up another point about
Family & traditions, cultural & environmental
Experience. we’re all brought up different
They say only elephants hold
A genetic memory,
But, doesn’t everything have
A natural instinct?
Working on my crown
As I build my wisdom & connection.
I’m very thankful & feel
Extremely blessed to climb
Out of that addiction.

As I lay to sleep crowded of fear.
Full of sadness.
Jammed with uncertainty.
I wake loaded with courage.
Bursting of bravery.
Packed with vulnerability.

We dance in joyful essence as a group
We gather in robust laughter as a family
We shoulder the duties of work diligently as partners
We cook in companionable camaraderie
But why do we cry alone

Imposter Syndrome, it’s real.
The more I step out of that silent box, the more my inner critic tries to peek through.
The more I raise my voice for my truth, that burden of “silence protects” tries to scream louder than before.
I’ve held my breath for far too long.
Bit my tongue more times than I should “to keep the peace.”
I’ve stood frozen in spots I should have walked away from.
Acknowledging what was is not what is has been a work in progress.
These mini steps that have turned into big steps have been exhausting yet fulfilling.

Imposter Syndrome, it’s real.
It does not define me, nor will ever define my character. I will not allow such. This voice will now be told across all the noise.
My truth will inspire.
I will gracefully inhale and exhale this breath of mine.
My tongue will no longer hold scars.
I will no longer stand frozen, for I’ve defrosted a long time ago.
What was is just that, was. What is, is just that, is.
These big steps I’ve created have gotten me so far. To this moment.
Bigger steps are being made.

Imposter Syndrome, it is real.
But, it is not me!

a journal on humility
who are you when you have nothing? when you allow yourself to break and sit in emptiness? who are you when there is nobody to motivate you, push you? who are you when it’s just you in a dark room working through battles? how many times can you get knocked down and still be the same person at your core? do you stay true to who you are or does life’s battles turn you into the worst version of yourself? when do you allow life to turn you cold? or do you? do you stay soft, embracing the vulnerability, the rawness of our humanity?

training for a marathon has changed my life. and I’m sure that has been said over and over from others who train for marathons, but I think I have a differing perspective. I started running not knowing I could even run a mile, but I surprised myself with two miles and decided to keep pushing myself to do more. I fell in love with the process and wanting to start gearing my training towards a goal: a marathon. as someone with asthma and vocal cord dysfunction, I knew I would have to adjust in order to complete this hefty task of a marathon. it isn’t easy to relearn how to breathe. and since I have taken on this intensity of training, I have seen some really hard days. the kind of hard days that remind you of your humanity. running through below freezing temperatures, running half marathons on no sleep, running any hour of the day or night, running through stomach issues. all of that will keep you humble if nothing else in life has.

I started seeking humility. seeing how much I can brave through. how tough I really am. and part of that is trauma I’ve accrued throughout life but part of that is finding joy in struggle. finding joy in accomplishing things that are seemingly impossible in the beginning.

I’ve learned as long as you have yourself, you can push yourself through anything. training for a marathon can be so lonely. you learn how to motivate yourself. how to take care of yourself. people may not understand when you have to wake up extra early, run at 2am, miss nights out drinking, squeeze runs in, cancel plans to run. you have to be committed enough to the goal you’ve set to be there for yourself- when nobody else gets it, you will.

my dad always said that as soon as you claim yourself to be humble, you are no longer humble. and I’ve been walking the fine line of staying humble and attaining a great deal of pride. pride is often seen as negative, as one’s hubris. someone who is too prideful comes off as a bad person, egotistical. I wish not to be egotistical, self-centered. that’s why I do the things that will bring me back to my roots, humble me. ground me. it’s grounding to struggle four hours through a run and still make it out. tough conditions like freezing rain will remind you that you’re human. where is the line? I feel as though when we are prideful in a positive way, confidence exudes from us and inspires others to take on an insane task too. pride can be contagious, in a beautifully impactful way. on the opposition, humility can be taken too far. as the man who is too humble knows not their capabilities- they will live in a state of comfort.

I like to live in a way that reminds me I am human- being human is a beautiful thing. when we live in a way that is comfortable, we go blind to the simple facts of the world. we forget our luck that it took the universe to bring us here. we skate through life and allow it to be as is. that’s why we ought to strive for toughness. strive to conquer our fears. strive to live in discomfort, often. they say comfort kills growth but really, the growth never started. the lack of acknowledgment of who we are will keep you out of touch with the world. it’s special to be able to feel attached, in tune with the world. to be reminded that we are a product of the universe. and as easily as we were brought here without knowing, without asking, the opposing could happen. we could disappear from the physicality of the universe.

that’s why it’s important to be reminded of your humanity. as we ought not to go through life forgetting how special it is. not everyone was granted today. use the day. too many people allow it to pass. why would you waste a day not everyone was given? to be so selfish is the opposite of what it is to be humble.

so I run, I train hard. I put effort into my mind, body, and/or spirit every single day. I give myself love, a lot of times tough love. I take advantage of the sun, I chase it, even. for the sun only comes out for so long, to bring us warmth and remind us that even the simple gifts are to be enjoyed. the sun comes and goes to remind us of the impermanence of all things good. that things need to experience darkness to appreciate the light.

that’s part of running, experiencing some serious darkness and tough times in order to reap the benefits. some runs you have to be brave enough to tough it out. teach yourself to stick through hard things. how to show up for yourself when everything sucks. how to remain in touch with the world. how to stay grounded. how to not let pride overtake. as my proudest moments have come from the other side of darkness. pride is a direct product of struggle.

those who allow themselves to be humble, to experience struggle and pain achieve a level of pride that is earned. you earn pride. if pride is displaced, that is where is forms into ego, cockiness. only when pride is deserved will it come off as humble. only then will others be inspired by the feats you took on, conquered. until then, maybe you’re full of it. maybe you need to be grounded somehow. most people do. but it’s all part of walking the walk. embodying the things you strive to represent. identify with.

imposter syndrome and the dunning-kruger effect rival. as some feel undeserving, unaware of their capabilities. and some lack self-awareness to the extremity of believing they are invincible, in a way. unwarranted confidence versus lack of confidence. and, somewhere in-between the two, you might find someone who knows struggle, who finds there way through it. who deserves the pride they exude. that is true confidence, humility, humanity. the coexistence of the best and worst parts of yourself. acknowledging the parts of yourself that are weak. being proud of the parts of yourself that are strong. learning what it means to be human.

I will remember November 18, 2024 as the day I not only celebrated 39 yrs on this planet but a day I became a self publishing author for the very first time.
One random June night, I got this idea as I was watching Bob’s Burgers to write a book. I’m an avid journal writer, so the joke between siblings was they’d have to wait til later in life to read those journals. I told this sibling I’m thinking of finally writing out my story. Write a book. A memoir. Share my story of how I took my childhood traumas and used them as my motivation to heal. To break those generational cycles. To share my mental illness stories of how I don’t let anxiety and depression dictate my life.
Fast forward to today, my book is selling like hot cakes. Within the first 24 hours, my book sold over 30 copies. These last 30+ days, I sold 99 copies. One shy of 100! My message inbox is full of positive feedback. My text messages bring tears to my eyes. This heart of mine heals with each word these eyes read!
If you asked me a year ago if I would be an author, I would have told you absolutely not. I would have told you my story isn’t impactful like I think it is. I would make the remarks of whose going to read a memoir about healing and finding one’s voice. I’d just respond with such negative feedback. Haha!
Here I am, sitting at my weekend job writing about how I became a self publishing author on my 39th birthday. How I took that joke amongst siblings and made it a reality. Reading more positive feedback on my memoir about healing and finding my voice. Here I am, writing to you, the reader, about how you too can write that book about your story. About taking those traumas and turning them into motivation to heal. Inspiration for others on the same journey.
Let me leave you with these fancy words that were spoken to me at the beginning of my book process: “If you continue to joke about something, it is no longer a joke. It is a dream. It is your reality!”

Dear Mary, daughter of Joachim:

I thought it appropriate to write to you on this eve of the celebration of your son’s birth.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when we met, but it was very early in my life. As a child, I was introduced to you through my Catholic upbringing. I learned of you and revered your place in history as the mother of Jesus Christ.

Through teachings in the church, I learned that you were chosen by God to deliver a son who would eventually die for our sins. As a mother, I can’t imagine giving birth to a child that I knew was destined to die to save the world. That’s a heavy burden.

Through stories told in the Bible, I learned that not only did you and Joseph take on this challenge, but you did it with the utmost grace.

How proud you must have been as Jesus taught us to live in God’s light, to do His work and act in ways that put the rest of us to shame. Through every adversity, your son rose to the challenge, even when He was falsely accused of witchcraft.

Ironically, those who questioned His powers were the same people who brought Him to the cross.

Mary, if given the chance, you and I would have a cup of tea and talk for hours. I have so many questions, one mother to another.

In closing, I’d like to thank you for your sacrifice as Jesus’s mother. I’ll refer to one of my favorite Christmas songs: “Mary, did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters . . . And when you kiss your baby boy, you’ve kissed the face of God.”

I can remember the feeling clearly. I can still taste it, I can still feel the weight of it dragging on my heels, filling my lungs, and chilling my bones.
I am grateful I made it out alive, because looking back I can see that I needed serious help, but help was not coming for me.
I lived with severe depression, suicide ideation, low self esteem, and a handful of other BPD/BP symptoms that went undiagnosed for years.
I was never introduced to the idea of coping skills, boundaries, self care, and I had never heard of things like self fulfilling prophecies, victim mindsets, and justification/avoidance/etc. I wish someone would have brought these things to life, because I think I may have realized sooner that I wasn’t alone or the one to blame for the awful sadness that clawed at my chest like some tortured animal.
I began self-harming as a form of punishing myself. I believed that I was selfish for even breathing. I hated myself so much that I truly, truly believed that I deserved to get hurt and I should feel guilty because if I loved my family then I wouldn’t poison their life by being present in it.
Often I would fall asleep in tears, praying to wake up as someone else or to not wake up at all.
It breaks my heart sometimes when I look back. As a child, I just wanted to be loved and important, and as a teen, I just wanted to be loved and beautiful.
I wanted to be beautiful more than anything.
To me, beauty was something unattainable and far away.
I really was an ugly duckling , so to speak. I don’t believe there are more than 3 photos of me from the time I was in 2nd grade to about 5th.
The summer before 2nd grade my babysitter decided to shave my hair off. On top of being malnourished and having extreme dental issues, having no hair was enough to push me to become a social outcast.
Those little kids treated me like I wasn’t even human.
But every day I woke up just hoping to have a good day. I could forgive my worst enemies without blinking. Every day I just wanted to have a good day.
But I started fighting a lot, partly because the other kids thought I was a boy and partly because I wouldn’t tolerate being bullied any longer. After some months went by, even the adults at school and around public spaces were confused about my gender, and a few had even asked me to stop saying I was a girl.
I felt betrayed and confused. I learned during that time that I could hurt people back if they insulted me, and that love is conditional to beauty.
I moved away after 7th grade for 2 years but was forced to move right back.
They acted like I was a completely different person.
Now people suddenly expected me to be female?
I couldn’t hang out with the guys anymore, and if I did they were trying to throw game at me? I couldn’t wear whatever I wanted anymore because people couldn’t control themselves? I’m supposed to do my hair and makeup and wear dresses and walk in heels now?
Deep down I yearned to be in touch with that femininity that had been denied to be so long ago, but it was hard.
I tried to be grateful, because I knew some people’s journey required surgery and years of hormone therapy. To be told your something that you know your not and trying to play pretend as something else causes a pain I can’t describe, so even though I was secretly relieved I wasn’t sure how to just “be a girl.”
I obsessed over my appearance, I would often stare at my reflection until tears welled in my eyes and whisper to myself these horrible things like, “you’re so freakin ugly. No wonder your mother drinks all the time. No wonder everyone hates you. Your so freaking stupid look at you. I wish so much that I could just beat you up, I hate you so much.”
… It was just one vicious cycle after another.

There are a lot of factors that led to my escape from the prison of that perspective.
But the main one I want to share happened on my own.
Its strange, because now I am considered “hot.” Sometimes I even feel beautiful, but not a whole lot. That’s okay with me, though. I wish that the younger me could feel even the small approvals I give myself, even the smallest kindnesses… But it wasnt until the day I came to this conclusion that any of my self esteem started to change.
I realized… There are worse things to be than ugly.
It may sound ridiculous or even obnoxiously obvious… But this thought had never actually occured to me before.b
There are better things to be than pretty. There are worse things to be than ugly.
I mean, id been through some of them. Being lost in the woods, feeling heartbroken, searching for a missing person that you care deeply about, losing a parent to prison, and being miserable were just a few of the things that I went through personally that I decided in that moment were much worse than being ugly.
This was a breakthrough.
I don’t NEED to be pretty. Sure I want to but do I NEED to be?
Hell no.
I was tired of chasing people’s love, tired of wasting so much energy on their approval. I was just plain tired.
I realized that people couldn’t see right through me. They couldn’t see the damage beneath the surface.
The day I stopped caring if I was ugly or beautiful changed my life. Because that’s the day I started caring about if my life was beautiful or not. I started caring about what I was doing and not about if others cared.
This led me to getting some painful dental surgeries that ended with dentures and a normal smile, some crazy tattoos, and a few hair color choices I could have left in the bottle but mostly it led me to freedom.
I don’t know if my story is unique or if anyone else out there is trapped by the beauty myth… But just in case I’ll say it again:
Beauty does not define value.
Others do not define your beauty.
Your value is yours to see and appreciate. You set the bar for how you will be treated and respected.
Beauty does not define importance, power, or entitlement.
Beauty is not just appearance.
Love yourself, you will see the change in your reflection yourself.
You are beautiful, you are worthy, and you are human.
There are so many worse things to be than ugly.
-a horrible person
-attacked by wolves
-evil and cruel
-dying
-mean
-lost
-sad
-going through the motions
-uncaring, inconsiderate
-starving
Etc. Etc. etc.

I was strong… Loneliness so deep, like the sea.
I was strong—I didn’t need nobody.
I was so strong, I needed everybody.
I was strong enough to pass as Happy-Go-Lucky,
Even when the cracks showed under the weight.

But strength, they say, isn’t always a gift.
Being “The Strong Black Woman”—what a cruel myth.
A title dressed in resilience but laced with chains,
Hiding the truth of my heart’s quiet pains.

I was strong, even when they looked past me,
Strong, even when disregard was all they’d see.
Strong enough to hold the world,
Yet too strong to be held myself.

They called me strong like it was praise,
But strength became my cage in so many ways.
No room for tears, no space for need,
Just a shell of power, a soul to bleed.

But what of my vulnerability?
Why is softness seen as fragility?
I’ve learned that strength isn’t just standing tall,
It’s also knowing when to let yourself fall.

I am both—strong and tender, bold and unsure,
A mixture of fire and water, pain and cure.
I am whole, not in spite of my duality,
But because I embrace all that makes me me.

So don’t call me strong if it means I must break.
See me as human, for my own sake.
Strength isn’t a shield; it’s a choice to be free,
To honor both the strength and softness in me.

The ghost of “us” still lingers, a haunting refrain,
A melody of memories, a bittersweet pain.
I grieved for the future we’d never attain,
Two souls entwined, then severed in twain.

We’re like two planes in the sky, headed in two different directions,
A near hit or miss, a fleeting connection.
I gave it all I had before I ever decided to quit.
Deep within the depths of my heart, you’re someone I’ll always miss.

But the weight of “what ifs” began to erode,
A heavy cloak of sorrow, a lonely road.
I knew I deserved better, a love that would unfold,
A story where my spirit wouldn’t grow cold.

So I broke the chains, shattered the illusion,
Found the strength within, a silent revolution.
Each step forward, a victory, a new constitution,
Rebuilding myself, a slow, steady evolution.

The sting of regret still lingers, a phantom limb,
But I’m learning to breathe, to finally swim.
In the ocean of life, I’m no longer adrift,
I’ve found the courage to rise, to finally shift.

Truth be told, we’re better off apart,
But our connection is one that genuinely touched my heart.

I watched you from the shadows,
a quiet, steady beat.
You moved through the world
like the ground kissed your feet.

I studied the curve of your laugh,
the shine in your eyes,
dreamt of moments we’d share,
but they were all lies.

I was invisible, a ghost in the crowd,
a whisper, a breeze, never too loud.
But inside, my heart raged,
a storm I couldn’t tame,
trapped between silence
and the sound of your name.

So one day, I stood tall,
my fear on display,
and told you the truth
in the boldest of ways.
But your smile held pity,
your answer a no—
a wound I expected,
but it still cut low.

Yet from that “no,” I found my voice,
discovered in me, I had a choice.
No longer hiding in the cracks of the wall,
I became the light that burns through it all.

Now I walk taller,
no fear in my step,
because loving myself
is the best move yet.

You didn’t choose me,
but that’s okay,
I’ve learned to love me
in a brand-new way.

Walking the dogs at night,
They don’t ask for much.
My pups,
just a stroll.
They teach me so much,
to stop and pause,
to look up and sniff.

So much can be seen!

I hear the children laughing and yelling and the sound of whistles from the referees.
The sky is bright with both baseball field lights and the full moon.
The leaves already brown and orange and crunchy under my feet
An owl in the distance mixes with the aromas of rosemary by the sidewalk’s edge.

I feel a presence.

I see my grandpa in my mind’s eye, dressed in white,
wearing a hat and smoking a cigar,
strolling behind me, whistling then lowly singing a song I have never heard
but feels familiar just the same

(Even though I didn’t know him or the song in this life…)

The moon, the stars, the kids in the distance, the sound of panting and patter of paws on the concrete-
It doesn’t get better than this,
And it is just Monday.

My life has been a rollercoaster of self-discovery and survival. From a young age, I never quite fit in. In school, I had friends, but I always felt like the outsider. They got the dates, the attention from boys, the spotlight. Me? I was just… there. Tall, skinny, with long hair and hand-me-down clothes, I came from a family that didn’t have much. My father was strict, even into my twenties, and our household lacked the freedom to explore or express who we were.

But the real challenge wasn’t just at home—it was the relentless bullying that shaped my self-image and, for a long time, my life. I was teased, mocked, and made to feel invisible or unworthy. And those scars followed me into adulthood. They left me questioning my value, my voice, and my right to take up space. They turned me into a people pleaser, someone willing to go above and beyond for others just to feel accepted—only to be used and discarded when my boundaries went unnoticed or ignored.

That need for acceptance shaped my choices in ways I couldn’t see at the time. I picked the wrong partners, made bad decisions, and ended up chasing validation from people who never had my best interests at heart. Even in the workplace, I sought belonging, only to be met with superficial acceptance that often turned into exploitation. The same patterns of feeling unseen and unvalued repeated themselves, leaving me struggling with depression, self-doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being misunderstood.

For years, I carried this weight, convinced it was mine to bear. I felt trapped in a cycle of trying to prove myself to people who had already made up their minds about me. But then, somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Now, in my forties, I’ve reached a turning point. I’ve had enough. I’ve realized that the reason I never fit in, the reason I was bullied and mistreated, wasn’t because I lacked something—it was because of my light, my aura, the favor God placed on my life. People weren’t pushing me down because I was weak; they were trying to dim the brightness they saw in me.

I came across a quote one day that struck me to my core: ‘Thieves don’t take from houses or stores that have no value.’ That’s when it clicked—I had value all along. That’s why I was targeted. That’s why I felt the weight of other people’s insecurities projected onto me.

Now, I understand that no amount of changing myself will ever make someone like me if they’re determined not to. And that’s okay. Their opinions don’t define me, and their insecurities aren’t mine to carry.

I’ve stopped shrinking myself for others. I’ve stopped trying to be the loudest voice in the room or bending myself into someone I’m not just to avoid rejection. I’ve embraced who I am—flaws, light, and all.

The journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it. I’ve learned to set boundaries, to value my own voice, and to love myself without needing outside validation. I’ve discovered the freedom that comes from knowing I am enough, just as I am.

For anyone reading this, who feels unseen, unworthy, or caught in the trap of trying to please everyone else—know this: You don’t need to change to fit someone else’s mold. You are valuable, and your light is worth protecting. The people who matter will see it, and those who don’t? They were never meant to stay in your story anyway.