As a young girl, I was infinitely creative, sweetly mischievous and alive through and through. Over the years of growing into a woman, I felt more and more overwhelmed with the road that life took me on. What started at the beginning of puberty was an innate fight with existence.
I stopped trusting myself, god, and other people. I built the habit of victimizing myself, feeling like everybody was able to deal with the harshness that the human experience entailed, besides me. I blamed my family’s trauma, my past, my hormones and all the people who had done me wrong.
For years, misery’s sweet lullaby kept me mesmerized.
I was ashamed for struggling. I was ashamed for not being able to laugh and love from the bottom of my heart. Still, I was too proud and too gutless to show up as my whole self. I denied my responsibility and isolated.
With every day, I hated myself more… because the person I pretended to be when other people were watching wasn’t me at all!
It was only a fracture, only a tiny part.
“It seemed to me like we were all completely naked. Each pair of eyes that I looked into reflected myself. And I realized that…
