Image source: secondchancetolive.org
Do you recall the moment when adolescence ended for you, that moment when you suddenly became utterly aware that all of your actions and reactions have consequences and you know there is no going back to ignorance? I remember that moment. Prior to, I had been in the daze and mental shield that is a childhood trauma survivor.
All of a sudden, staring back at me was a 14 year old, pale skinned, black haired, black clothed, black makeup-covered face that I hardly recognized. I had no idea how to handle what stared back at me; the raw, outward demons I would build all future versions of myself off of.
Growing up a lower-middle class female with no cultural or physical differences than the majority of the urban population around me, having divorced parents who were not active in school functions and had never gone to college, and following in the shadow of a troubled older brother, no one really expected anything of me. No one questioned what weight I already bared when I started wearing all black and stopped participating in class. The lack of expectations went 7-fold when my cousin and role model died in a car accident a few days before Christmas. No one would blink an eye when I stopped going outside and stopped talking for a year.
No one understood that I had this war waging inside of me and that I already barred scars of trauma deep beneath my porcelain 13 year old skin. I didn’t even understand it. Hell, how could I have? A 13 year old brain is not meant to process traumatic injuries like that. Then, out of nowhere, I saw myself for the first time. In that moment of self realization, I knew that I could make or break myself. Naturally I initially tried to break myself, but the path was always clear that I was not going to let myself be defined by the lack of expectations around me.
Even after my spell of attempted suicides and the years of trying to “fit in” with drugs and alcohol, even some jail time, I knew I owed the little girl that was robbed of her innocence so young some redemption. She deserved to be cased in gold for surviving. I needed to make a lot of changes and tear up all the prewritten pages of my stereotype.
My story would not determine my future.
I became a first gen in my family to go to college. I even graduated with honors. After college I taught journalism and literature in the indigenous Pacific Islands of Chuuk, Micronesia, surrounded by impoverished, putrid wreckage. I was able to make a difference in the lives of children there.
Later I returned to the U.S. to work with elderly and take on community sustainability as an AmeriCorps member in various tutoring programs. Today I still work in the nonprofit sector for hospice and have BIG dreams for my young family, the publishing industry, and eventually a Master’s Degree.
Some days I cannot help but laugh at how things turned out; what I came from and how much emotional fire it took to burn those previous pages. Some days I think I like that no one knows my whole story, other days I am just baffled that I ever tried to end my life. I would have missed so many miraculous moments of standing on top of mountains or swimming in the ocean as the sun rose. I would never have met the love of my life nor would I get to see this beautiful daughter we are about to have.
In many moments of sorrow I thought I would never outgrow the roots of trauma. Who I’ve become is monumentous and stands miles above those roots. I know the young girl I once was would be proud.
There are always options, no matter your situation. There are always at least two paths. One that could be the “easy way” where you let yourself buckle and fold: suicide, drug abuse, internalizing until you become a hollow shell of a human being.
The other takes work, time, strength, emotional uprooting, tearing open scars over and over again, and utter determination. You will hate seeing those dark corners of your mind that you pretend don’t exist. You will feel lower than ever. You will regret your decision. You will feel like you are being torn in half. But you will come out the other side a whole person.
The second path is worth the struggle. I promise.
Author: Morgana Schmidt
Editor(s): Daniel Watson
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