Tragedy trained me for a life that I barely survived, and strength defined me for the life I fought blood sweat and tears to earn. We are all victims of circumstance, my path was a dark one. But I rose, piece by piece- moment by moment- choice by choice- I rose until the addiction, and the violence and the secretly lethal demons inside me were no longer what owned me. Women fight to be perfect. Perfectly loved, perfectly fit, perfectly nurturing, perfectly imperfect. But those of us who fought through hardships, regardless what they were, and made it still struggle. Struggle to accept normalcy (if there is such a thing) struggle to hide the ash of the fires we left behind and struggle to accept the happiness we so bravely earned. This is my story, my battles, my triumphs and my beautiful recovery into a world I gave up on.
Now sober, and honest and for the most part identified by judgment of others as somewhat normal, my tattooed arms hold the hands of a love like no other and a baby girl who already- even at 5 days old showed me what a true warrior is. This is not a story of fighting the darkness, this is my story of accepting the light.