My child’s father. I thought I found solace in our shared pain. However, he shattered me in the most public and humiliating way imaginable.
The earliest memory I have is living with my mom and baby brother. Life was good, filled with excitement about the world—until everything shifted. My mom got married, and suddenly, we were a “new family,” something I was too young to understand fully. We moved, and I had to start at a new school, where I met Ricardo, my elementary school bully. He made my life a nightmare with his constant teasing and taunting. But, as things sometimes go in childhood, he eventually revealed that it was just him “liking” me. Life has a way of twisting the unexpected, and somehow, I ended up dating my bully by eighth grade. It felt like a bandage for the holes left by my confusion about family, identity, and love.
But it didn’t last.
My life was shattered on a family vacation to Jamaica when a family member violated my innocence. I returned to my old world, but something inside me was irreparably broken. I was cold. I pushed Ricardo away, chased after his friends, anything to distract me from the emptiness swallowing me whole. I didn’t understand it then, but I had lost my sense of worth, and hurting others was my way of protecting myself.
High school was worse—a mess of bad decisions, toxic relationships, and chasing validation from people who only wanted to use me. I dated older men, looking for worth in places that only deepened my wounds. I ran away from home at sixteen, chasing something I couldn’t name, a ghost of the life I felt I’d lost long ago.
Then came my child’s father. I thought I found solace in our shared pain. But like many broken relationships, it quickly turned toxic. I clung to the idea that his love could heal me, but all it did was destroy me further. I lost everything—my job, my direction, my hope. When I found out I was pregnant, he was in jail. Eighteen, alone, scared, and ashamed, I tried to make sense of a world that seemed intent on breaking me down.
But rock bottom has a way of revealing who you really are. One day, after the most painful betrayals, I decided I was done. I would be a mother, but I wouldn’t be his anymore. I cut him off, closed the door on that chapter, and began mentally preparing for a life as a single mother. I walked to my parents’ house at one of my lowest points. It felt like surrender, admitting I couldn’t do it alone. But in that surrender was my first step toward healing. They welcomed me back, and little by little, I began to rebuild.
But healing isn’t linear. In 2016, my child’s father resurfaced and shattered me in the most public and humiliating way imaginable. He assaulted me in front of everyone—friends, strangers, the world. It made the news, became a viral story, and left me drowning in shame, fear, and PTSD. I was terrified to leave the house, convinced that every step outside was a step closer to danger. My daughter, too young to understand, watched me fall apart. I tried to protect her from the truth, but she knew. And that was the most challenging part—seeing the confusion and pain in her eyes, knowing that my brokenness was affecting her too.
But somewhere in all that fear, something shifted. I realized that if I didn’t fight to rebuild my life, the cycle would repeat, and I couldn’t let that happen to my daughter. She needed me to be strong, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to be.
It wasn’t easy. Rebuilding after trauma feels like walking through fire. I had to learn to live without fear, trust again, and, most importantly, forgive myself. Slowly, I started to find my way back—sharing my story online, reconnecting with family, and finding joy in small moments. Each victory was a step toward reclaiming my life, no matter how small.
I returned to school, graduated high school, and earned a Social Work and Psychology degree. I built a life for my child and me grounded in purpose and hope. I cut ties with my past, determined to create a future where we could thrive.
Today, I am a wife to my elementary school bully, a mother to five beautiful daughters, and a successful content creator and coach. My story is one of resilience, not because I never fell but because I kept getting back up. If there’s anything I’ve learned, resilience isn’t about being unbreakable—it’s about finding the strength to rebuild, no matter how many times life tries to tear you down.
If I had to give one piece of advice to someone going through a tough time, it’s this: don’t rush to find all the answers. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is embrace the uncertainty and allow yourself to feel everything without forcing solutions.
It’s okay not to have it all figured out. What matters is that you keep showing up, even on the hard days. Healing is messy and unpredictable, but you find your true strength in those moments of chaos.
Instead of just seeking comfort, seek growth. Let go of the need to control everything, and trust that in time, things will unfold as they’re meant to. What feels overwhelming now will be the foundation of your strength tomorrow. And now, by sharing my story, I hope someone else feels a little less alone and a little more hopeful in their own journey.
I invite you to follow my continued healing journey by connecting with me on Instagram or TikTok. I continue to share the good, the uneasy truths, and the incredible partnerships my family and I create while breaking generational curses.
Are you ready to share your story of RESILIENCE? You can do that HERE.