Every one has a story.
Some stories are similar. Some are unique.
But we all have one.
Your past does not define you. And you are not your past.
You are you.
When I was 20 years old, the boy that I had been dating on and off since I was 14 told me, "My dad was right, you are damaged goods."
Y'all, there are so many things wrong with that statement. Men...Dads...please do not ever describe a woman as "goods"--especially not to your son. That stands out to me now. Now that I have a little boy of my own.
But in my head, at that time, it was like my worst fear had been confirmed. They were right, I was damaged goods.
I spent my pre-teen and teenage years trying desperately to be "normal." I didn't want to be different. I just wanted to be like every one else my age.
I was different though. It is quite rare to lose a parent when you are ten years old. Growing up, I didn't know any one who's parent had died. My dad was murdered when I was ten years old. He was a detective working on a murder case from earlier in the day when he was shot in the face. Not only that, but there had not been another Raleigh police officer killed by gunfire since 17 years earlier. So every thing--from his death, to the funeral, to the trials--was extremely publicized.
So, I spent the next ten years of my life pretending like I was a normal kid, secretly worrying that I was different and bad and damaged and that I would always be that way. I tried very hard to pretend like nothing had happened. I hated the fifth grade teacher who made a huge deal out of meeting me on the first day of school after the summer break when my dad was killed. "And you are Jessica," she said. 18 years later, I can still remember every detail of that perfectly.
At summer camp, when I would talk about my mom and step-dad, people assumed that my parents were divorced, and I went along with that story. In my later teenage years, I dealt with my emotions by obsessing over boys or drinking or shopping or eating. Nasty times.
But, just because your past is different from somebody else's past, you are not weird. Or damaged. Every one is different. That is what makes life interesting and beautiful. Your past is part of you, but it does not define you.
Be proud of your story. It is your's and your's alone.
